If anything, his years on the first shift of murder police have taught him that life is not something to be taken for granted. He figures that these streets have taught him well, that if not for them, he would not know most of what he knows. For what he has learned, he is grateful…those life lessons have helped him become who he is now. And that is why he feels as if it is time to leave these beloved streets…to look for something new. The only problem is that no matter what he tries to tell himself, he is afraid. Being one of the murder police is all he knows…all he has ever known as a career. He is not sure that he wants to move on, but at the same time, he is.
The sound of the door closing on an empty apartment echoes in his mind. If there is one thing that John knows for sure, it is that the sound signifies the closing of an extensive chapter in his life story…as well as the opening of a new one. Pushing the door to headquarters open, he steps inside and is immediately flooded by memories. Some of them he wants to keep forever…others, he wants to forget. But they are all there…all of them as vivid as if they had taken place mere minutes ago instead of over the course of many years. He closes his eyes, allowing his guard to drop momentarily as a faint smile crosses his face.
He remembers saying once, in those fleeting days of his childhood, that he wanted to be a detective. And now, he is one. Voices drift in the space around him, but he ignores them, thinking back to his own beginning days. Suddenly, he is that young, inexperienced, naïve rookie again, standing in that renowned squad room's doorway. Suddenly, he is the one waiting for someone else to come along and teach him. John wonders vaguely for a moment if the only reason he stayed on after the old faces were gone was to carry on what they'd started, but decides it wasn't. Each of the murder police have their own reasons for coming in and going out: his are not yet clear, but he knows they're there.
He opens his eyes and starts the familiar path up those well-worn stairs that everyone has known for so long. He's left something in the squad room, and he knows it'll drive him up the wall if he doesn't have it when he gets where he's going…no matter how unimportant it might seem to those around him. And as he walks, he continues to remember, his thoughts floating forward…forward to when things really began. He chuckles softly as he remembers the squad giving Bayliss a hard time when he'd first come along…sending him all the way to the first floor for coffee, when they'd known all along that it was available right there. It seems like a petty thing now, but it is one of those things that will linger.
He remembers all the breakups…inadvertently taking it out on the squad with random ranting about life, love and those without either…how the others would listen some days and ignore him on others. He remembers being constantly compared to Bolander's former partner and how much he'd hated it. Pausing at the top of the stairwell, John looks back at the path that he has just taken and wonders why so many out there think that he has wasted his life on it. It certainly doesn't seem like a waste to him…when he thinks about it.
He remembers the feeling of numbness that ran through him when they were told that Crosetti had committed suicide. How a feeling of melancholy had settled over the squad for a long while afterwards. None of them had wanted to believe it…but forensics never lied. It had been hard for them all, especially for Lewis, to accept the fact the loss of one of their own. And he remembers the feelings towards Pembleton, who had refused to attend the funeral…only to stand on their headquarters stairs, stubborn in his beliefs as he waited, in full dress uniform, to salute their fallen brother, after Barnfather had insisted that their be no honor guard.
Startled to find that tears have come unbidden to his eyes, John remains where he is, this time taking in the sounds around him as another memory takes him. This time, he hears gunshots, feels himself slipping in the blood of three beloved colleagues…Howard, shot straight through the heart, Bolander, shot in the head, and Felton, shot in both the leg and neck. His stomach lurches as he struggles to forget, but he can't. The memory lingers, an unpleasant reminder of what his past as a police officer has held. He knows that these haunting recollections are only a small part of the price he's had to pay to be who he is at this moment in time.
He wonders if he would have rediscovered his faith if not for the murder of someone from an innocent past long forgotten. Seeing murders day in and day out has been enough to leave him cynical, with little or no faith in the world around him. In a way, he is glad that he has rediscovered something to keep him balanced in an otherwise unbalanced world. But not that it took Helen Rosenthal's death for him to do so. Turning to the right, John makes his way to the squad room as his thoughts float forward again.
If it hadn't been for Luther Mahoney, he muses, Kellerman would most likely still be on the force instead of earning a living as a P.I. The details have become obscure over the time since it happened, but he remembers enough. Lewis and Stivers both would have gone down if Kellerman had decided to leave them out of the entire incident. Now he was gone, but the two of them remained as they were. In a way, he was glad for this as well. Somehow it seemed better to lose one that to lose all three. The squad had been shaken, but they had soon returned to normal. After all, they were murder police. That was what they did.
And now…John pauses again in his tracks, this time just outside the squad room. This last year has been many different things. Nothing in particular seems to stick out. The murder of Gee's cousin….a cold case run with Mike Giardello…Sheppard's beatdown…the internet killer….the romance between Ballard and Falsone…and his own wedding and subsequent divorce. There is so much to think about…so much to remember, and yet life is short. He knows that even if he were to sit for a few hours and just think about his years in this city alone, there would not be enough time to contemplate it all.
With this thought in mind, John enters the squad room, walks towards his desk and picks up the one thing that he has forgotten: a photo album that holds all those memories and more. Luckily, no one else is present. He isn't sure that he can take any more goodbyes. Turning on his heel, he walks out, wiping at his eyes, surprised by this sudden display of emotions. He figures that it is only because he has given so much of himself to this job…to this city that it hurts to let go of it all.
The night air is cold, stinging his face as he steps outside. The streetlights glare down at him, as if daring him to leave, but they do not know that he has already made up his mind. He is leaving, and nothing will make him go back on that decision. The city is shedding its skin again, and he will go along with it this time. He wishes that he could stay, but the memories of a heart broken one time too many linger as well as those of a veteran murder police.
He is turning the ignition in his car and leaving the headquarters' parking lot before he even realizes it. As he comes to a stop close by, he turns to look behind him. The building is all lit up, almost beautiful in its so-called glory. And there is the Waterfront, across the street, where he knows the others are dwelling. He feels a tug on his heart and continues to drive, knowing that if he does not, he will stay. This city has been his livelihood for so long that leaving now seems like treason.
And yet, he finds himself moving past familiar places,the scenery moving by faster than he would like it to. He finds himself staring out at the road ahead of him, and thinks he sees the blood of all the victims whose names have come through the squad room. He finds himself blinded again by tears, but this time, he lets them fall, and before long, he can feel himself shaking.
He drives past the city's limits and when he does, there is only one thought on his mind.
"You are now leaving Baltimore, Maryland…the greatest city in the world."
A/N: For the record, H:LOTS is definitely not mine...but it is awesome, and the fact that it was canceled annoys the hell out of me, but hey...everything comes to an end sooner or later.