Chapter One:-Seven
Seven days till he comes to get me. To kill me. I've never been afraid of death and I never will be - even as it stares me in the face. I have nothing. I've made my peace.
I doesn't seem real. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. A letter was posted through my door two weeks ago saying that 'they' were watching me. I chuckled as I read it, but it became less than funny when I received more letters everyday after that, counting down to one specific day. The 3rd of July. The one year anniversary of Sherlock's death. That's when I started wondering if it was Moriarty. I know Sherlock told me he invented Moriarty but I still refuse to believe he told me a lie.
I'm not worried about what is going to happen to me at the end of this week, though I know I should be. Since Sherlock's death, I haven't exactly been careful. I leave doors and windows open, I don't look when I walk out into roads - hell, I even left the oven on overnight. I'm not suicidal, but if something terrible were to happen I wouldn't try to stop it. Maybe whatever is going to happen to happen to me in a weeks time is for the best, even if it is death.