John sighed and got in the taxi with Mrs. Hudson to go back to 221B. He drove in silence, 'cause he was feeling like he was dead inside and so lonely he just couldn't bring himself to say anything. Mrs. Hudson seemed to understand him, so she didn't do any tries to start an useless conversation that would have ended with John answering her with monosyllabes.
By the time they arrived, John's tears were dried.
The old lady was the first to get off the car and enter the apartment. John was following her, esitating a little.
- ...Mrs. Hudson?- he suddenly called.
- Yes, darling? – she turned around to face him.
- Why do you think he killed himself? I thought about it and I just can't get this question out of my mind. And I've never had the courage to really talk about it with someone, because it's so painful, but... Do you... Do you believe he was a fraud like everyone else does? Do you believe he invented, like... everything?-
- No, of course I don't, John. I'm totally convinced he was a genius, and we both know it. –
John slowly nodded.
- I agree, but I just don't get why he jumped of that roof. I'm also a bit mad at him. How could he leave us like that? How could he leave me, after all we've been through together? – he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
- Oh, honey, I really have no idea, but I don't care about what other people say, he must have had a reason. He wasn't a psycopath. Everyone – the world will miss him. –
- Not as much as me. – John murmured, finally following her inside. He glanced around briefly before closing the door behind him.
He didn't notice the man with dark curls and blue eyes who was watching him, hidden behind a mail box just across the road.