Chapter 1

John Watson

Fluffy, white clouds littered the cobalt blue sky that was suspended over the beautiful city of London. Tendrils of bliss, golden sunlight radiated from the giant, yellow ball that made life on Earth possible. The air was surprisingly fresh, and the vast streets of London weren't terribly crowded. The day could not be any better.

Walking down one of the less populated sidewalks of the city, I took my time looking into the portly display windows that looked into shops and restaurants. Savory aromas drifted out of open doors, and my stomach growled, despite the fact that I had just eaten at Sarah's house.

Sarah had invited me over for lunch, and we had had an enjoyable time chatting, and getting to know one another. I told her about my time in the military, and the cases I had ventured upon with Sherlock. She found them fascinating, and she never interrupted me when I was speaking.

Surprisingly, Sarah had some intriguing stories of her own. She told me about her childhood and her family, and of some of the experiences she had endured at the clinic. Most of her tales were humorous, and I found myself laughing harder then I had in a long time.

When I mentioned the case I have referred to as "The Blind Banker", Sarah didn't show any signs of fear or regret. She admitted that she had been terrified in the situation, but for some reason unknown to her, she was actually glad that she had gone to the circus with me. Talking to Sarah had been the perfect stress reliever that I had needed desperately.

When you share a flat with Sherlock Holmes, you begin to lack time in the social department. Not saying that the man couldn't carry on a conversation, but he was usually busy solving a case, conducting an experiment, or wallowing in his own self-pity. Even if the man did try to have a "chat", he would go on about something I didn't completely understand, or complain about how life is dull.

So as I strolled down the street, I decided that I would have to visit Sarah more often. It was enjoyable to have a completely ordinary and normal conversation with someone.

Although, there was a small part in me that had absolutely detested the time I had spent with Sarah. It was the nagging train of thought that had been attracted to Sherlock, and the danger that followed him. This small part of my mind took control when a loaded gun was aimed at me, and produced the crazy adrenaline that filled my veins in suspenseful situations.

No matter how much I tried, I could never rid myself of it. It always attempted to take control, and when I let it, an amazing pleasure washed over my mind. The only bad side I could see to letting this sensation envelop me all the time, was the fact that when I experienced it, I was usually on the verge of getting killed. Yet, life would be so dull without it.

"What!" I exclaimed out loud. Had I really just thought that? Yet, life would be so dull without it. He was intruding into my thoughts! Why, oh why did Sherlock Holmes have to invade my mind. I was starting to think let him. What a nightmare that would be!

Chuckling to myself, I made my way back home towards our flat, wondering if there would be any milk in the fridge when I arrived. Probably not. Even if there wasn't I wouldn't argue with Sherlock about who should be the one to buy some. Today was fantastic, and not even the worlds only consulting detective could tint it grey.

Sherlock Holmes

Sinister beams of sunlight attempted to sneak up on me from behind the curtains. I slowly stalked forward, quickly reaching my hand out to yank them shut. The claret curtains absorbed the light and heat, leaving me in a cold darkness. Perfect.

Today was absolutely pointless, dull, and crappy. I despised this day of the year because of a reason, vaguely known by only my family. No matter how hard they tried to make me, I would never speak of the events that had occurred on this horrendous day. Never.

I sighed and pulled my royal blue robe tighter around my body, as if it would ward off the memories I had frequently tried to delete from my mind. They haunted me constantly, but I always managed to suppress them from my train of thought.

Instead I concocted riddles, solved problems, pondered theories, and craved mental stimulation. Oh how I needed a case! Why couldn't the bloody criminals of London get creative?

The only opponent that presented to me a real challenge was Moriarty. Jim had been "inactive" for a while, and more "important" issues had been brought to my attention.

I had recently solved a case involving an American football player and his girlfriend. Simple, obvious, and disappointingly stereotypical. How do people let something as petty as love cause them to be such idiots? Even MORE stupid then normal.

The day had started out averagely, and had been a feeble distraction of the events that had occurred on this day more than twenty years ago. Ms. Hudson had prepared breakfast for John and I, and we had talked about the case I have just spoken of.

Somewhere in the back of my over-loaded head, a faint voice prompted me to open up to him about the events that had traumatized me so long ago.

After all, it had said, you trust him more than anyone else on the planet. Despite the diminutive amount of appeal it sparked in my heart, I brushed the voice away, and pondered where Ms. Hudson had hidden my skull. Probably under her bed. How boring.

I was startled from my thoughts when I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my pajama pants. I slid it open and read the text.

Sherlock, Mummy and I would really appreciate it if you would visit us on this memorable day. If you are ready to set aside that emotionless wall of yours, we would be happy to comfort you. –Mycroft Holmes.

I sighed and tossed my phone onto the couch. Why did Mycroft have to be so annoying? It was incredibly frustrating when someone so brilliant had his views so; hmmm what's the right word, distorted by politics and the law. Both just got in my way and caused un-necessary problems.

Mycroft has always reached out to me on this day. He always visits mummy, and he always invites me to accompany him. He says that I need to tell them about what happened, and that I need to express how it affected me. What they don't realize is that going back will hurt too much.

"What do you mean it will hurt too much?" I yell at myself, burying my fingers in my unruly hair. "You're too smart for emotion! Emotions get in the way and cloud your vision!"

I collapsed onto the couch, my mind tearing itself to pieces. I NEEDED a distraction! Something, anything!

I felt myself begin to break. Memories began to slip through cracks in my wall of defense.

"Lookie here, a riddle you can't solve!" The voice echoed in my mind. Fear, sadness, and regret shinned in my companion's eyes as they were held at gunpoint. My mind had been racing, desperately searching for an answer. I could feel my heart beating erratically in my chest, my breathing increasing rapidly. I remembered the feeling of my sweaty palms gripping onto the ledge of a wooden table, and an umpteen amount of tears that had been sliding down my face.

"Times up!"

BAMMMMM!

My eyes flashed open as my flashback came to an end. I hugged my knees to my chest, gently rocking back and forth on the couch. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and I blinked them back, biting my lip. Crying was pathetic. Sadness was over-rated.

As soon as it started, any feelings stirred by my memories vanished. I picked myself up off of the couch, walking over to the telly. I slapped my forehead in frustration. It was truly a sad day when I relied on something as worthless as the telly to satisfy my boredom.

After watching an incredibly stupid reality show for an hour, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I eagerly retrieved it from its home, sliding up the screen.

Murder on Delacin Street. This one's interesting. See you there. –Lestrade

I felt excitement bubble in the pit of my stomach. Finally, something to pull me up from the depths of boredom.

Springing up from my perch on my chair, I hurried down the stairs. I stopped at the door, sliding on my long dark coat. I quickly sent a text to John, informing him of this exciting new development. My hand found the door knob, and I relished its cool touch on my hand. A new game had started.