It is a Thursday when John Watson finally snaps.
It was over fairly quickly. There were only six other patrons in the pub aside from himself, as well as the bartender and a waitress.
He shot every single one of them. They all died.
He turned himself in immediately to the police. The DI who admitted him was calm and let him speak until he was finished, and then explained what was going to happen to him now in an equally calm manner. As he was lead to an overnight cell, he bizarrely thought that in different circumstances he might have been the sort of person he'd be friends with.
There was a court case somewhere, and men in suits shouting at each other, but he barely noticed. Then there were laboratories and sterile offices with harsh white lighting that made him feel sick. There were lots of tests, and looking through the records of his life.
Psychotic breakdown, they said, and sent him away again.
Harry cried when she came to say goodbye, but he didn't cry with her.
It is also a Thursday when he is admitted to the hospital. He notices the coincidence in the dates, but forgets it almost immediately. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
Nothing matters.
Nothing matters.
Nothing matters.
He was going to die here, so nothing mattered anymore.