Author's note: This is just a one-shot short story. I typed this before season three and definitely don't own the show, but I hope you enjoy! Quick shout out to Hoodoo for being my beta! Thanks!
It bothers him. Why can't people see? The non-existent lives they live: the ceaseless roaming, batting an eye at the most important things in front of their dreary faces. Much of the work they do is pointless. A grey fog covers their minds, poisoning the brain like a parasite. Everyone is stupid. An idiot. They cannot comprehend the spider's web, the endless labyrinth, the long winding road. They are mere puppets in a play for gods. No more, no less.
He takes into calculation what others do not acknowledge. Privet lives behind closed doors are now open books in his eyes. Short sighted? What kind of pets? Where were they last week? In the heart of London, his mind cannot find a solid grasp, a foothold to ground the man who was meant to play God. What he cares most about, he cared enough to leave behind.
Mrs. Hudson, the closest he came to having family. Sometimes his mind is so busy that her face is shifted to the background. This frustrates him. She was never his housekeeper, but he misses the constant reminder. Walking down the street, he notices short red hair and turns. Only to watch as she rushes past, taking no notice of him. A year has passed, yet she cannot see what she never forgets.
He silently observes his former flat mate.
Oh John, he wants to shout, It's all in your head!
But John just stands there. The whirring mind of the consulting detective wishes he could consult someone. He wants so badly to run and console John. What can he say? He left his life behind, but this one piece seems lodged in his emotions. The key that is welded to forever unlock his steel heart. Or a hacker uncoding his programming. Well, one of those analogies.
All these thoughts run through his head as he waits in the shadows of the cemetery, watching the one man, no, friend, who worships the gravestone of an empty casket.