a/n: One year after "The Reichenbach Fall" and John Watson is moving out of Baker Street.

Someone is watching him...

Sherlock and friends do not belong to me


Moving On 9


Standing in the shadows

Of an old and empty house,

Staring at a window,

Curtains closed;

Hoping for a glimpse

Of a familiar, well-loved face;

Risking all,

On edge,

Alert,

Exposed.

Consequences fatal

If his presence is observed;

Corpses cannot rise,

Nor ghosts appear.

Logic would dictate

That he should not

Approach this place;

Sentiment decrees

He's standing here.

~0~

Months of part-existence;

Always restless,

Never still;

Noting every sight

And every sound.

Life lived on the margins,

Seeking refuge where he can;

Hidden,

Haunted,

Hunted;

Gone to ground.

Commonplace restrictions

Don't affect him

Anymore;

Rules and regulations

Don't apply;

Dead

Detective walking

Though the London streets

At night;

All that mattered once,

He lets pass by.

~0~

A line of light appearing,

From the house across the street,

Widens;

Someone's opening the door.

First time since he saw him

At the graveside,

Lost in grief,

He sees his closest,

Dearest friend

Once more.

Kit bag over shoulder

And a final backward glance;

Jacket, jumper, jeans, fair hair and...

Cane.

Shock then comprehension

Briefly touch the watcher's face;

Thought he'd never see it used

Again.

~0~

Limping,

Proud,

Ex-soldier,

Lines so deep

Around his eyes,

Starts to hail a taxi,

Stops and turns.

Something has disturbed him

In the waning evening light;

Skin begins to prickle,

Instinct burns.

He stares across

The traffic

Where the deepest

Shadows meet;

Hope begins to fan

A gentle flame.

He wonders at his folly

As he runs across the road,

Calling out his lost

Companion's name.

~0~

He reaches empty shadows,

No-one waiting,

Nothing found;

A trick of light and movement,

Hope has gone.

He hails a passing cab,

Ignores a vagrant

In the street...

Sherlock Holmes,

Once more,

Is moving on.

~0~