I really, reeeeeally need to get to sleep. However this was nagging me. So, I write!

You clearly remember flipping the file open breifly, taking in the formal precursory information.

John Hamish Watson

M

5' 6"

124lbs

37yrs

blond

eye color blue

left hand dom

Persue with extreme caution

Do not contact

You even remembered snorting at that last bit. Persue with extreme caution. Please. This would be a peice of cake. This guy was absolutely boring. You didn't even bother to read further. Why waste your time? You'd thought.

First mistake.

"I'm binning these-these." John, your person of interest, growled from within the refrigerator. "Bio-hazard waste buckets." He shuddered. "Where the hell did you even get these!?"

No reply.

"Sod you!"

No reply.

So into the bin the toxins went. No one to stop him, it seemed. Why was he talking aloud to no one?

You made a quick note, possibly unstable.

Your eyes wandered back to the thick file on your desk. Pretty big for such an average bloke. And you knew in the back of your mind, something's off, but you ignored it. Whatever. The only reason this guy was being investigated was because he lived with such an important guys little brother. Whom you'd been assured was not around anymore.

The man was dead.

So why watch this crazy man yell about odd things in the fridge? Or make tea for no one as he so often did. Biscuits that never got et. It was a waste of your bloody time, but the pay was good, really good.

Why were they paying so much?

Guilt. It had to be guilt. Your boss, Mycroft, he must have known the man would crack. Maybe this was a suicide watch.

But you had explicit orders not to contact the boss. Cept for once a month when he paid you. Seriously. Why so much money?

So if not to protect the guy, what? What were you watching for?

You were just supposed to be taking notes. Nothing else was specified. Notes of bloody what?

Ah, hell, what did it matter anyway? The pay was good. So you leaned back in your chair and you watched.

On the fifth day he did something interesting. He yelled from the top of the staircase, "I know you're watching, Holmes!" then he continued up the stairs and slammed his door shut.

In his room he looked straight at the hidden camera and with a gun you hadn't seen before he shot it!

The sudden motion of a crack going across the screen caused you to jump back and cry out. After you'd calmed down some you had a shaky sip of your coffee. Little brown blotches had sprayed across the Watson file and across your notes.

Your first thought was to get a towel and mop it up, but you had three more hours of watching to do today.

Once again your eyes drifted to the file. What was this guy all about? You looked at the now black camera screen.

And you laughed. You laughed at how ridiculous you were being. So the guy shot a camera. Who wouldn't have?

Still you couldn't shake off the feeling that your subject had, for all of two seconds before he fired, stared straight at you. Looked like he was looking you in the eye and challenging you to do something.

But that's nonsense, right?

The sixth day wasn't normal either. Two police officers came to the door, asking about unauthorized weapons.

"Do you own any guns Dr. Watson? Mind if we come in?" The older of the two asked despising already moving to step inside.

"Uh no. No I don't."

The younger officer gulped as the older nudged him. Then he spoke in a wavory voice. "We're going to need to search your flat Dr. Watson."

Your subject was unmoved. Talking to the younger officer he asked, "Do you have a warrant?"

"N-no, but when under suspicion of possession of illegal recreational substances a warrant is not- n-not um...required." It sounded like the kid was reading a script or had a voice talking in his ear.

"What reason do you have to be suspicious?" The subject asked ignoring the older police man.

"We have reports from a neighbor of suspicious gun fire." That was the older cop. He'd been looking around since he came inside. "How'd those bullet holes get in that wall?"

"That was my flatmate, but he's..moved out." The subject wavered, but was quickly back to looking uninterested in the goings on.

What was with this guy?

"Likely story." Older cop says. "Bryan here is going to stay here with you while I have a quick look around. Make sure everything checks out."

You couldn't see the subjects bedroom anymore since he shot the camera yesterday, but you could still hear drawers sliding open and a frustrated half sigh as the cop found nothing.

Three more police men showed up and began looking around. They searched for half an hour before, begrudgingly the old cop said, "All clear. Lets go."

Of course they'd patted down the subject during the search, but he'd had nothing on him. So where the hell had the gun gone? You wondered.

The young guy, Bryan he was the last one out. As he made his way out the door the subject nicked the gun from his holster. No it wasn't Bryan's gun. It was the Browning! Subject John Watson's Browning!

When had this prestidigitation taken place! How the hell had he slipped that past you!? What was this guys angle!?

You looked up at the file again. Maybe you should check it out.

But for some reason, you didn't.