'Cause I'd rather stay here
With all the madmen
Than perish with the sadmen roaming free
And I'd rather play here
With all the madmen
For I'm quite content they're all as sane as me
David Bowie, All the madmen
PROLOGUE
To be honest, I knew from the beginning that this man would be the death of me.
I met him at a stage of my life when I would have done pretty much anything to stop being bored. I had just gotten out of what my therapist calls a "traumatic experience". The thing with traumatic experiences, with people like me, is that no matter how horrible they are, you miss them when it's over. I know it's sick. I know it's wrong. But it's the way it's always been for me.
Even as a kid I would constantly find ways to make my life more interesting, and so what if it meant putting myself in danger ? I was that sort of kid, you see, that is all nice and polite, but that ends up with torn clothes and skinned knees for running head first into whatever crazy game he'd come up with. It got me in trouble a lot, as you can imagine, because my parents... well, let's just say they were not the most understanding of parents. My sister was a bit like me, though she would usually bail when things got too rough.
But I digress.
The day I met him, I remember my mind was in that bad place again. The place that would whisper that something needed to happen, now. The kind of place that would rather I get hurt, and seriously, than stay still for one more minute. It's like a demon, really. A shadow that keeps hanging around you, makes you ache for something more. Even though you don't know what more is, you can't think of anything else.
It's an idea that infiltrates your mind, quietly at first, but then it starts beckoning louder and louder until you can't hear anything else. It makes the little everyday things your life is made of suddenly seem unbearable. Even the things you enjoy, you end up resenting. The people around you – when there are people around you – feel obnoxious. Little by little, every little fragment of your life becomes annoying. Then you start giving yourself deadlines. If things are still the same in a year, I'm going to go crazy. Then something good happens, and it goes away for a while. Something bad happens, and the countdown rushes to the end line. If things are still the same in six months...
So you probably understand why I couldn't resist the implied offer that came with meeting him. He had fire in his eyes and danger in his steps. But he looked at me for a second and he understood. He never really told me what I was in for but let's face it, I probably would have followed anyway. I know, I know. Self-destructive attraction to danger. John Watson is ready to ignore safety in an attempt to make himself feel alive. Ella Thompson added these words to my file a long time ago.
She doesn't understand, and I don't blame her. When I told her about him – never going into too much detail, obviously – I could tell she was worried. She said it was a good thing that I wasn't alone, that I'd found someone to share my life with, but she thought being around him was dangerous to me. How was I supposed to tell her that that was the point ?
When I moved in with him, things weren't easy at first. He seemed unable to understand the basic notions of emotions and sentiment – and boundaries – but we made do. It felt like a full-time job, really. Keeping the sociopath in check. But we found a rythm and I like to think we got quite close. I like to think he's telling the truth when he talks about his feelings for me. I know I'm sure of my feelings for him.
At this point, you may think I wanted to change him. That I thought I could teach him how to care, how to act around people, how to become more human. You may think that I, as a doctor, just saw a damaged man and tried to fix him. But that's not what happened. I didn't care that he was different. It didn't matter to me the way he acted towards others, or that he sometimes had dark thoughts. I didn't care, I just wanted to be with him. I know, you think it's impossible for me, not to care, but remember that was a different time and a different place. Besides, at the time, he didn't seem so dangerous. He kept me on my toes, sure, but I told myself things would never go too far.
Wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
Of course things would go too far. Of course. And you know what ? I think deep down I knew it. I think I wanted them to. And that's probably why I never minded the whole sociopath thing. Who was I to judge, when I was just as messed up as he was ? And the worse part is, when things did change, it was all because of me.
But let me tell you all about it, and please don't interrupt me, because if I stop I can never start up again. I know it will be hard to understand, I'm not asking you to. I'm not looking for excuses, either. I just need to tell you everything. I need to get it off my chest, no matter what the consequences might be. So I'll just tell you my story and leave you to draw your own conclusions and make up your mind about me.
So, here it is. The whole truth.
The story of how I, John Watson, fell in love with James Moriarty.
Hope the twist worked its magic on you, and that you'll want to read more (that's kind of the point of a prologue, anyway).
Thanks for reading, and even more thanks if you review!
nerwende
