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~
