Sherlock's Point of View
I stood across the street from where John was talking with his therapist. I had my disguise on. It was practically flawless. Of course it was. I made it. John still hadn't returned to our flat. He had a limp once again, still clearly psychosomatic. But the war hadn't caused it. Oh no. That was me.
I never would truly understand what goes on in normal people's brains. I didn't see the point in caring when it wouldn't get the job done, and that was what mattered. "All that matters is the work." I'd told him, when I was 'alive'. Oh yes, I was smart enough to stay dead. Only Molly knew, alongside some of the homeless network, but they are easily bribed. Molly, I didn't have to bribe. She says she would never give me away. The reason I can not fathom, I'm just glad she does, because I needed her.
I needed her to help me die. And she did, perfectly. The DNA in the body was mine. But I just needed her for that. She seems to have some... sentimental attachment to me now. She never had boyfriends since she helped me. Now all she does is sits and stares at me. It would be quite unnerving, if I wasn't focused on my microscope or my papers. I was sleeping in her guest bedroom, where I had her salvage my work from Mrs Hudson, who was taking it to a school. All of my work, my microscopes, everything, she just put it in a box and was about to take it to a school if I hadn't sent Molly to run into her.
Molly seemed to know that the only way to get the things off of her was to improvise a theatrical scene about how much she loved me and she had a sentimental attachment to the objects held within the box. She told me it was improvised, but I could see the lies in her eyes. Molly loved me, and she didn't seem to understand that I didn't love her back. I couldn't. I'd been told it was physically impossible for me to love. It didn't make a difference to me.
John's Point of View
I thanked Ella in a croaky voice and left the therapist's office. She had made me tell her- Something that I had never said out loud. She told me that I should continue writing on my blog, but she knew that I wouldn't. My life had changed since he came along, and I wanted to keep the record I had of the eighteen months I had spent with him, the best months of my life, in fact, untouched.
I had only typed one entry since...
I sighed and wiped my eyes, wary of the old man sitting on a bench on the other side of the road staring at me. I took a deep breath and continued walking down the street, letting my feet take me on autopilot to my home. Rain splattered on my coat as I trudged through the street. When I looked up, I found myself at 221B. Oh no. My chest felt tight. I coughed and unintentionally pushed open the door, revealing Mrs Hudson.
She smiled sadly at me. "Come in. Next time wrap yourself up a bit more!" She said, gesturing to my shivering form whilst looking up into the grey skies. "It's going to be a cold night, dear."
I nodded and exhaled loudly. I felt the wall where we had stopped after running from the police when we had met Angelo. Where I'd realised my limp was psychosomatic. Where I agreed I'd move in to 221B. The nook in the wall from where Mrs Hudson had been dragged into our flat and held hostage until...
This place held too many memories. And I wasn't even up the staircase. I couldn't even think...his name, let alone going to where we had lived.
Why? Why would he jump?