At first, John Watson felt despair.
Nothing could convince him that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud. There was no way that he was lied to for over a year by his best friend. None of it made sense, and nobody believed him. His psychiatrist tried to make him open up to her, but John kept a good majority of his feelings inside. Just saying that Sherlock was dead was emotionally exhausting. He lived in the flat alone, and was often visited by Mrs. Hudson. She was frustrated at Sherlock's suicide and had no one else to turn to for help. Sherlock was like a son to her. Mrs. Hudson watched John's limp come back and pitied him, but John didn't want to be pitied. All he wanted was for Sherlock to walk up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. Days and weeks passed, and John's wish was left empty and untouched.
Now, one year later, John Watson was angry.
Normally, he wasn't one to hold a grudge against a man, but something within him snapped. He heard the gossip about Sherlock every day. He read the stories in the newspaper as they unfolded. Moriarty's story had captivated the nation, and though the evidence was thin, the public believed the lies. Lestrade had been demoted at the Yard, and as a result began to drink heavily. Hopelessness was everywhere.
John was lying on the sofa when it happened. He'd been running a finger over his pistol when he heard Sherlock in his head.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Bored."
"What?"
"Bored!"
He looked at the gun, and then looked at the wall. The face was far too happy to be smiling. Moriarty was like that. He would smile when the most evil things would happen. John aimed and fired. A hole was now where the left eye was.
"Let's see if we can do this again," he muttered. Ready, aim, fire!
The second eye was gone.
"Who's smiling now, you bastard."
John put the pistol down and shut his eyes. If only he had the chance to get rid of Moriarty, none of this would have happened. The night at the pool flashed before him. If it hadn't been for Moriarty's gunmen, the drama wouldn't have occurred-
John's eyes flew open. Moriarty's gunmen. They were probably still out there, creating havoc and killing innocent people. He looked at the wall again. Moriarty may have escaped his wrath, but there was no way in hell that he was going to let the others survive.