I met a girl this week on the tube. Her name's Victoria. She's pretty. I took her to dinner tonight, and we passed a theatre that was having some sort of Chinese circus. A feeling of annoyance and fear crept over me, but I didn't know why. Victoria asked me what was wrong. I answered nothing, because that's exactly what it was. Then she linked her arm through mine, and we walked on.
Later, she asked me up to her flat where we had sex. The feeling of her legs wrapped around my hips and her lips on my neck should have made me feel happy, but I just felt alone. She whispered filthy words into my ear and dug her nails into my back, but rather than turning me on, it made me sad. Why? Why couldn't I just enjoy her?
Because this isn't where I'm meant to be. I should be inches from death, strapped to a chair whilst I watch my date hopelessly struggle away from an impending arrow. You're supposed to burst in at the very last minute and save us both. I told you that you were late then… you weren't. You were right on time. Why can't you be now?
In the past week, there have been stories on the news of two separate explosions around London. They say it's just a gas leakage. That's a dangerous business isn't it? It makes me worry about my own pipes.
I was on my way to Tescos last night when I passed by a community centre. On the door they were advertising for swimming lessons. My memories raced straight to a dead end. There was something familiar there, but I couldn't tell what it was. There was a big empty space where something was missing… something big. Shrugging it off, I continued to the store.
Your face looked so scared when you saw me walk out with semtex strapped across my chest. You tried to hide it, but I could tell. It looked like you loved me; did you? Not like it matters anymore. That night, you pointed a gun at Moriarity, but he said it was the wrong time to die. Did he know then? Did he know then that he was going to take you from me later on? Did you know? Oh, Sherlock, please say you didn't.