Journal of Dr. John Watson
The days pass. At first they didn't, the sun set the day of the fall, and for me, it did not rise again for a very long time. I became a specter, floating around the flat, but you, you were not there. I waited, for you to come home. I waited for something, anything from you. I sat in my chair, put a cup of tea next to yours, and I waited.
Finally, the days stopped blurring together, and I roused myself. I checked your blog, habit I guess, I always read your blog. The posts were the same as you had left them, nothing new, and you weren't there either. I felt another piece of my heart crack open. I rushed to close the window, but something caught my eye. At first I couldn't spot it, couldn't see what was different, and I could almost hear you whisper, "Of course you see, but do you observe?", and there it was. The comments. The sheer number of comments on your blog astounded me, and even as I sat there, the numbers clicked over, climbing still. As I scrolled through, I found you. There you were, in the thousands of variations on "I believe in Sherlock Holmes". The sun peaked its fingertips over the fog.
My times with you were always a glorious high noon, even when pursuing your homeless network. I felt the muscles tighten around my spine, and I sat up straighter. A small measure of curiosity tickled the back of my brain, and on a whim, I checked my own blog. The same held true there, the comments overflowing, bursting at the seams with emotion, with faith. Here also, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" reigned supreme, but that's just because it's you. Now and then, someone broke the chain, "It'll be okay John", "He'll be back soon Doctor Watson", or even "It will all be over soon, and back to the way it was". Was that you? Were you reaching out even then? The fog burned off of the hill tops, and the sky was painted orange with a whisper of dawn.
Not long after I found the comments, I began to find life again. Spoke to Lestrade, poor fellow's always out of his depth without you around, so much so he even offered me a chance to be his new consulting detective. I surprised us both and took him up on the offer. Maybe he will call sometime in the future. Mrs. Hudson informed me of her "special deal", it seems she thinks that I've been spending too much time alone as well.
Instead of making me go out and search for a flatmate, she's bringing one in. Her American born granddaughter. I'll go ahead and assume you knew about this girl, even though I was in the dark. She's set to arrive next week, and Mrs. Hudson has employed my help cleaning up the basement flat for her. Mrs. Hudson's daughter that followed her father to America, I honestly didn't know she existed, but she is kicking this girl out at barely eighteen, insisting she is insufferable. Her name is Billie, and she has spent her whole life in America, except to visit on summer breaks with Mrs. Hudson when she was younger. Still I imagine living in London will be a bit of a shock to her.
...Neither of us discussed giving her your room.
It's just as you left it.