People rushed around the city every day, talking loudly to each other across the street or on mobile phones. Cars fought for position, beeped horns and revved engines. Yet none of it registered with John. The last 28 days in London had been silent apart from the noises from the pool which still swam around his head. The crack of the explosion, the crumbling of bricks, the shrieks of men trapped, facing death. Every bone in his body wanted rid of the memories yet his brain refused to forget. Every second his mind focussed on those terrible hours he had spent encased in the darkness, not knowing until...
BANG. There was a knock on the door. It was just a small tap really but enough to bring John from his reflections back into the lounge. The high ceilinged room seemed emptier than ever, the dull painted walls still showing the scars of the occupant who hadn't returned 4 weeks ago. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway, smiling but thinly disguising the agony she herself had been feeling.
"John, someone to see you?" If it wasn't for his landlady, John would have gone quite insane. The physical aspects of day to day life were hard enough but the meals and endless cups of tea she brought him without a word had been, well, life saving. She had given John his space, not bothered him with questions or useless words of support. Just being there had been enough and every plate of biscuits meant the world.
"Oh..." he said, realising she had asked a question. "No, I really can't..."
"Now John, I know you haven't been up to seeing anyone since... Well, this man has such a nice demeanour and he's an old friend of yours. I think it might be good for you."
"No, Mrs Hudson, I really don't think so. My leg is as bad as ever today."
"Nonsense, you just sit there, I'll send the nice man up."
"No..." but she had already turned and left an empty doorframe. The arch that led to the stairway, which led to the hall, to the street, to the city and outside. How many people had come to this flat, looking for help? Desperate people. Good people...
A strong footstep echoed up the stairs and within a few seconds a tall, dark haired man filled the frame. If he was an acquaintance of John's then it was a very distant and brief encounter. The man, in his mid 20s, was well dressed but looked incredibly awkward in his clothes, a dark blue suit and tie that was expensive and clearly new yet didn't seem to hang comfortably on his figure. His rugged skin and deep, dark eyes told a different story to the broad smile he held. There was a full and heavy looking holdall hanging casually over his shoulder. He wasn't from London yet he was dressed like a banker without actually being in the profession, perhaps trying to fit in. A graduate, from the north of England perhaps, making his first visit to the city looking for a job? Almost certainly.
"Hey there Dr Watson. How are ya doin'?"
The big city American twang was obvious immediately. A familiar, mocking chuckle echoed in John's head which bought a smile to his face. His face hadn't felt a smile in so long. Suddenly, he realised he was staring at the stranger whose face was beaming straight back. "I'm sorry. Yes, I am Dr Watson. John, please, and I'm fine thanks, but who..."
"Henry, call me Henry." He bounded across the room and shook John firmly by the hand. "I told the old bird that I was an old University buddy because... well I wanted to get my foot in the door so to speak."
"Well, nice to meet you Henry. Please, sit down. Now what can I do for you?"
"I really need your help with a problem."
"Oh, I think you have the wrong man, you want..."
"Sherlock, yes I know."
It was the first time the name had been said aloud since that day. Hearing it brought a welling of emotion deep from within John's chest. The flat seemed emptier than ever.
"I think..."
"Yes, I know what happened, at the pool." Henry bowed his head and looked at John from behind dark locks which had crept over his face. "Terrible thing to happen. I read your blog you know. Such a... a fine man."
John's head nodded absent-mindedly. "So, if it is Sherlock's... help you want, I'm afraid you have had a wasted journey."
"Far from it," Henry stood up. He really was a large man, at least 6 ft 4 with broad shoulders, an excellent rugby player no doubt had he taken up the sport. "Let me show you this." He handed John a Smart-phone which had an e-mail open.
DearHenry,
thankyouforcontactingmewiththeissuesyouhaveandletmepassonmycondolencesonyourloss.Unfortunately,mylatestcaseistakingupallofmytimeandthereforeIshallbeunabletoassistyou.However,ifyouwishtocontactmygoodfriendandcolleagueDrJohnWatsoninthefutureIamsurethathewillprovetobejustashelpfultoyouasIcouldeverwishedtohavebeen.
SH
It had been sent the day before the pool explosion. The flash of light, the darkness underneath the rubble, the anonymous screams from the water. John put the phone on the table and turned to the window. "I'm sorry..."
"I understand. I believe Sherlock to have been a wonderful man and the stories you told of his powers... Quite extraordinary. Were you close?"
A taxi beeped its horn across the road. A couple were kissing a goodbye at the entrance to the tube station. The newsagent was changing the headline on his shop front. "A Scandal In Belgravia!" as if the exclamation marks mattered.
"More a friendship of convenience actually, we both needed somewhere to live and... well, affordability really."
"That isn't the impression I got from your blog. I'm sorry, I can see it is still raw with you."
"Its fine, I just haven't talked about it since. So, what is the problem you have?"
"Well, as luck would have it, I have just come into some property in the English countryside. Dartmoor, do you know the area? Anyway, my uncle died last month and as the only living heir, I now get to take over the property. Except, there is something troubling about how he passed on..."