Chapter 10 – Life Goes On

...

On one particular fall day, London was blessed with fine weather, if not a bit chill, giving most people the incentive to go and explore the last colours of the season. People walked around the suburbs, strolled around the streets and lingered just a bit longer around the parks than usual. Many sat on the park benches, admiring the trees. The normally grey surroundings were a bit brighter by the weather and the normally dull leaves on the trees now wafted like little striking banners. But not all park-goers and bench sitters where admiring the scenery, especially not a certain young woman wrapped in a spindle of warm layers, trying to fight off the chill.

Robin sat on that lovely day on a bench just underneath an old poplar tree in Hyde Park, waiting for Doctor Watson to arrive while she calculated the approximate speed of the leaves falling. He'd contacted her yesterday about meeting him today after she'd awoken from the strange nightmare. She hadn't been reluctant to meet him, though his choice of scenery didn't really put Robin in the best of moods. Fall wasn't her favourite time.

Oddly enough he had persuaded her to go out to meet him today, promising that some fresh air would do her some good. After a few moments of persuasion over the phone she had caved, sighing dramatically. And went to get ready by bundling up with a sweater and a warm coat. He really didn't have to convince her, but she did have to tease him somehow.

Looking back on it, she figured that John's cheery attitude had persuaded her to go out. Over the past year he'd been able to get back the spring in his step, his old demeanour returning after so long in mourning. He no longer grieved as he had finally accepted his friend's death, though he still seemed to hold some burden of memory. His limp was still there, the only reminder of his past and, as it turned out, a motivator to keep on living to the fullest. He still had nightmares, but that hadn't really changed ever since he came back from the war. It also helped that he was 'going steady' with a certain Mary Morstan and he had finally established himself fully at his practice. Though his apprehensive voice had worried Robin, once he'd called again his happy mood had helped quell any anxieties Robin had.

'A whole year...' thought Robin as she waited silently in the park, her thoughts drifting away from the phone conversation finally.

Though John had changed for the better over the year, Robin, on the other hand, hadn't. Not in the slightest, or not really anyway.

She had gained a friend, yes, but she knew that it was short lived and soon she would have to move on from her life there in London. She was still awkward and introverted, paranoia playing at her mind whenever she was alone. She lived a solitary life and her emotions where dulled by the constant input from the internet and her lack (or overdose) of stimuli. Her work consumed her constantly when she wasn't out with John or occasionally meeting up with him and one or two of his mates. Honestly, she didn't really care to meet most of his so called 'mates', most of them were colleagues and obviously nor all that close to John, and by association, were oblivious to Robin. Her social life revolved solely around John and yet her life was barely connected to his. Oh, she'd go out for a stroll or to the library or something of the sort now and again, but those things were always done in solidarity. The problem was, though, that with this new friendship Robin had also gained the horrible nagging guilt that causes her so much grief. And that grief often manifested into her nightmares. Robin knew that he knew barely anything about her, his only fault was in being too trusting and not asking enough questions, and yet she felt some sort of homage towards the kind doctor. She knew by now she was attached to him, he was like a brother and she would do anything for him. But the guilt ate her silently and she knew she would soon have to either tell him or just move on.

"...but it's n-nice having a friend. That'll just make cutting ties with him all the harder..." she mumbled as she sat on the bench, gazing warily around the park.

She knew that she didn't deserve such a good friend as John. She was a selfish, distant and confusing person. And yet she still stayed and helped John, watching as he moved on from his grievance, a thing that she had never done.

Robin had planned to tell John on that particular autumn day that she was going to move on, find a new city to live in for the moment. Well, that was the plan anyway. Maybe then the guilt would finally stop.

Life in London was getting too comfortable and she had to move on. She'd tell him eventually... she'd planned on telling him today but had reasoned against it, as she'd done every other time.

'It's too soon, too sudden anyway. I-I still want to see that he won't relapse in to depression... or if he needs support if he breaks up with Mary... or...or,' one of her conflicting voices kept saying. 'Okay... he's probably marrying Mary but still...I would like to see them marry, and I could maybe go to the wedding...or maybe help him more...or,'

"I'll get to it eventually...I kind of like London in the winter...I just need to get to it..." she mumbled further, gazing up at the tree above her as leaves floated down from it.

Or she could tell him the truth.

No…

She put her thoughts aside and glared at the poor tree, annoyed at the world and all in it (again) as leaf after leaf floated down and landed precariously on top of her hat fitted head.

Mumbling, she started to hum quietly. "Leaves are most beautiful when they're about to die, when they're about to fall from trees, when they're about to dry up..." recited Robin under her breath, chatting with the trees.

"You know you are all dying just a bit. Dying and wilting. But unlike us humans you lot are going to bloom again in the spring. Human's don't really do that," she commented half-heartedly, thinking a bit before continuing.

"Well, maybe that's just me. John, he's my friend, he's been able to regain his life. See, he's been through some trauma...twice. I guess I have too, but that's a story for another time. Anyway, he seems to be getting past his trauma, I can't though, I'm a bit too far gone for that…or maybe I'm just forgetting,"

"You know, he's actually really late. We were to meet a half an hour ago at least...he better have brought some tea for his troubles. I could be working on one of my 'projects' or maybe catching up on some drawing...I've taken up drawing again. Haven't done that in a while. Maybe I should take up leaf pressing. Hrmm…he didn't have to make me come out if he was going to be late. It's chilly out here…how can you stand it?" suddenly Robin narrowed her eyes, glaring intently at the trees around her, still talking to the one above.

"I really hate autumn, I really do. Bad memories and really, everything is just dying...But then...I did meet John around this time last year, so I guess the season has its upsides," finished Robin, looking up at the old poplar as if expecting a response that would never come.

"Miss, are you okay?" asked an old voice, sounding more like the rumbling of wagons, or maybe trucks, or maybe really, really, thunder. Thunder with a cold? Robin didn't have much time to register the voice as she realized what was actually happening. Robin jumped; she hadn't expected anyone to overhear her and for a split second she thought that maybe the trees where responding. Turning her head, she was met with the sight of a crookedly tall old man. 'Alright then, so I'm not crazy...or at the very least the trees aren't talking.' Though most of his eyes were covered by an old fisher's hat, she could easily see his white wispy beard and curly, ashen hair. He seemed to sway, like an old tree in the wind. Maybe he was one of the trees. He was a bit like and Ent.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'm fine...just t-talking to the trees," replied Robin timidly, not really sure what to say.

"More like arguing with them...A young lady such as yourself shouldn't be alone like this, especially with this chill. Although I myself have found nature to be relaxing, I don't quite find it a good conversationalist."

"Oh, um, I suppose. I-I'm waiting for a friend."

"Are you then? Is he late? Terrible way to treat his lady, chivalry these days aren't what they used to be," asked the seemingly chatty elderly man. Wincing, Robin didn't know how to tell the old man that it wasn't like that. Oh, why did he have to talk? "I'm, well, it's -it's not a date. He just had something to attend to,… business! Yes, business! And we were s-suppose to talk about…about business too. That's all. He's been busy lately," answered Robin, trying to reassure the man so he could be on his way. 'A garrulous man, isn't he?'

"Is he? What could he ever be up to?" asked the elderly man sharply, snapping his head up suddenly. Piercing cold eyes boring into the poor woman as the old man suddenly looked a lot more menacing. "Well then, enjoy your trees. Goodbye."

Before Robin could even answer, the man was hobbling away again as if nothing had happened. The conversation confused Robin, but she put it beside her, accepting that he was just some eccentric man.

"Right...talking to trees."

Robin sat in silence for a while longer, not quite ready to pick up her previous conversation. She watched as other Londoners strolled by, ignorant of her presence as they walked towards their own destinations.

Finally she saw a familiar doctor hobbling as fast as he could in her direction, having spotted her first.

"Rob! Hey!" called out John as he finally approached her, two cups of tea in hand.

'At least he brought the tea,' thought Robin as she smirked, getting up to greet her friend.

"Hello Watson, it seems you've finally decided to grace me with your presence," she said, joking as John handed over her tea. "Ta."

"Sorry about the wait. Lestrade called me earlier this morning and asked if he could talk to me. I forgot my phone so I couldn't call when the meeting went longer than expected. Then I stopped for tea, hoping it would help make it up to you but then there was a really long line so that failed," babbled John, talking expressively as he went through what he had done throughout the day. They both now sat on the bench, sipping tea and chatting.

"Lestrade called? He's the DI from Scotland Yard, right?" asked Robin, fairly sure that the man was one of the people at the Christmas party.

"Yep, that's him. He sends his greetings and all."

"Mmm...he was the one with the salt and pepper hair, right?"

"Ha, yeah, that's him. He noticed you didn't come in at Christmas, told me to bring you around more."

"Best not, he's married and I'm awfully busy, never know when I might pop off a-anyway..." Robin said, cutting off John before he could even start on that train of thought. She hoped that her last comment might initiate a conversation where she could announce her plans for moving...It backfired completely of course.

"Don't sell yourself short. But yeah, I think he's married now. He was the last time I asked... Mary says you have a problem with that... t-the confidence thing, I mean."

"Oh? She does?" asked Robin, a bit more curiously, putting her previous plan aside. 'I'll deal with it…later.'

She hadn't met Mary yet, but had discussed her on several occasions by now and had even talked a few times with her over the phone, one conversation almost lasting two hours. That was a success, in Robin's books. Mary had informed Robin that she'd like to be friends. Robin couldn't really respond, mostly because of the bewilderment of gaining more friends.

"I tell her that you're just like that, but she seems to think that you need to believe in yourself more... low self-esteem and all…n-not like you have… well… maybe just a bit," said John, finishing lamely.

Robin stayed silent for the moment, contemplating what he'd said, yet only really taking it half-heartedly.

"It's fine, I know," was the only thing Robin said in response. And she wasn't lying, her personality was too self-aware for it to not be obvious to her. She knew the reasons behind what she was now. She quickly gulped down some of her tea, hoping to change the subject around so they could focus on John.

"Hopefully I'm not the only thing you two talk to while you're off on holidays," commented Robin, earning a laugh from John.

"So, what did Lestrade talk to you about? I-if you don't mind me asking." She started, relaxing subconsciously as John visibly switched focuses.

"Oh, well... I need your advice on that actually," started John, pausing for only a moment to collect his thoughts. "Have you heard of the string of murders that's been going on for a while now?"

"Which one?"

"Oh, ha, right. It just came to light in the media but apparently the Yard's been tracking the murders – assassinations, whatever you want to call them – for a while now, trying to figure out how they relate. Th-The... soft bullet killer?" recited John.

Robin nodded solemnly, not letting on that she knew any more than she should. She knew plenty about the murders, of course; though she would have to agree that they seemed more like assassinations. Her line of work had made her review many an article on the murders. With her 'computer tech' work, she'd actually been involved directly in the media's ignorance about the matter. 'Though I can't say anything about it to John... or anyone else. Shame...'

"Well," continued John, "Lestrade called... the murders would have been right up his alley, an odd bunch. The Yard had started figuring out some sort of pattern when suddenly yesterday there was another victim."

"The people were killed by a soft metal bullet, right? Like…like aluminium, or was it copper? Aren't they used for pistols?" interjected Robin, trying to get the facts straight.

'I wonder if I could do any 'research' on the subject without getting caught. I saw at least some probable explanations last time I read that article...too bad I didn't look more into it. Anonymous tips are still a thing, I presume,' thought Robin quickly, already trying to help John the best she could.

"Yeah, but it's odd because there was never any sign of intrusion. The victims were found there, a bullet shot right through their head...yet no sign of anybody being close enough to be able to shoot them and create such damage."

"What was the new victim's name?" asked Robin, thinking about the case...

"Rick Whitehall, he's the son of some old money, found in his estate in west London just last night."

"And Lestrade has called you to ask your opinion, as you once worked close to the greatest detective?" assumed Robin, pretty sure where the conversation was heading.

"Not specifically that... see, he's asked me to consult medically for the Scotland Yard, since I have quite a bit of e-experience. He asked me to come in and look at Whitehall's body and the crime scene...and –and, I just don't know if I can," said John, now lowering his head as he silently wrung his hands together in his lap. "I-I want to though...I really do."

'Crap.' He hadn't looked so stressed or conflicted for a long time, since around the time Robin first met the doctor. He wasn't even sad anymore. He'd improved so much; she didn't want him to remember anything bad because of this.

'But look at him, he told you once that he loved to help solve cases. Even now he looks a lot more excited than he did a year ago. He's fidgeting, he wants to move and he should do this. It'll help him,' whispered Robin's subconscious, once again interfering in her thoughts. 'I don't know though... what should I say? Would I be able to help him?' her mind raced, thinking of the best approach, when she suddenly remembered the odd request she'd gotten in text.

Guard him

'Well, this might not be safe, but it's the right thing to do,' she concluded silently.

"I don't know if I'll live up to their standards...I'm no consulting detective and I'm certainly no genius. But...I miss the old life and I want to try consulting, at least before it's too late," added John, seeing Robin silently contemplating. She seemed focus, intent on the problem in front of her. He'd seen her look like that sometimes, with such extreme concentration, as if the problem itself was right in front of her like a map. Finally, she seemed to have come to a conclusion, rubbing her hands in her warm mittens and pursing her lips.

"Well, if that Anderson can manage to do it, than I see no reason why you can't consult."

"Very true," replied John before cracking a grin that slowly stretched across his face. They both started giggling uncontrollably as they both remembered stories of the ratty man and envisioning John trying to take the place of the late consulting detective. Coat and all.

Eventually they calmed down, John huffing lightly as he tried to stifle the laughter. Robin calmed down quickly, not one for lingering, not even on laughter.

"Although, I'm not sure how he's doing these days, even. He's still on the force, but just barely. Something about guilt, Lestrade mentioned," confided John, coughing lightly. "He's apparently started up his very own fan group too. Pesters Lestrade endlessly with his theories on how he might have survived."

Robin raised an eyebrow, wondering if Anderson was really that guilty. Serves him right, she supposed, for practically killing a man and then shaming the ones dear to him. Although she knew about a few 'fan clubs' here and there, she would have never figured Anderson of all people would start one. She might need to keep a closer eye on him.

"Lestrade kept telling me, too, how every time Anderson visited he'd have crazier and crazier theories. Soon he'll be involving Dan Brown!" exclaimed John, making both of them burst into a fit of giggles again, dying off only minutes later.

"Come along, if you want," requested John abruptly.

"Wha-?" cried Robin, startled. 'A crime scene? Oh, no, no no no no, I can't go to something like that. No, no. Too much variability, too much exposure. Too many bad codes...that's too dark a game,' she thought urgently. She never wanted to see the dead again, never ever, she couldn't deal with such an eyes wide, she stared at the army doctor, suddenly rigid as her mind started to perceive the moment as a threat. Her breaths shortened and she started to blink rapidly. Her hand fluttering up to her chest, she tried to calm herself before she had a full blown panic attack.

"Robin, are you okay? I know this isn't for most people, but I thought you had said that you where... into...these things, you always liked the stories and you told me you loved Bond," asked John, snapping Robin out of her fear for a second. She was getting used to new experiences, of adventurous thoughts, but a crime scene was too much at the moment.

"John, I'm sorry but this is where I draw the line. I…I can read about that stuff and yeah, I love the stories and everything you've told me but…I can't do that. I can't go into the field. I can't go," she stated resolutely, hoping to quickly move past the conversation, a bad habit she had when confronted.

Sadly John was adamant, he'd known Robin long enough to know that she would normally be at the very least fascinated by such things. She loved puzzles, the game of it. She loved the codes and mysteries in crime movies and books. John knew she wasn't the queasy type, either. It was all really just bad timing, Robin had let it slip that she was a sort of 'expert' in subjects that related to death recently, when he'd commented on some Grimm tales. John hadn't been all too shocked, more like concerned, but soon came to accept the new fact about his friend, happy that he was able to learn just a little bit more. But he was misinterpreting her interest for intrigue. She loved the stories and she's give him advice if he asked, but an actual crime scene…no. That was too much for her right now.

"Are you sure? I'd love the help and I thought you might be curious. I'd be able to introduce you to Lestrade better as well. Come on," insisted the doctor.

"Are you trying to set me us with Lestrade?" asked Robin, swaying the conversation one way, hoping that it would catch.

"No! And that's not the point. Please Robin, will you at least consider it? I'd really like your support there... I don't want to look like a fool."

"Stop using my loyalty in your matters against me, John! I won't always be there! I'm sorry, but I can't and I won't go. I'll help you any other way, but not like this," snapped Robin weakly, her body brisling slightly. Still, her brain worked against her, for she really did love a good crime mystery. A voice still nagged at her, her old curiosity becoming braver as she spent more time with John. But, she was resolute. Her logic and even intuition screamed for her not to go.

"Are you sure?"

"Extremely, I've seen enough of death in my lifetime," mumbled Robin in return, her interest still picking at her resolve.

"I once said something similar... then I wound up chasing madmen through streets," replied John catching onto her last comment, thought oblivious to it's actually meaning. He'd ask her about it later, when he wasn't so worried. Robin cringed silently, scolding herself for letting her tongue slip.

"John, I can't. This is a simple matter, that's all. If anything truly troublesome happens, I'll back you up but until then I've got to go," finished Robin, getting up to leave. She huffed and gathered her stuff before giving him a clipped farewell, ignoring John's protests.

She didn't feel anger toward her friend, not really. She appreciated his efforts to help her, no matter how ill-advised they where, but her logic told her to get away as fast as possible. She'd already just made the mistake letting her curiosity slip a bit. She lived a secluded life for a reason; she promised herself she wouldn't get too involved. 'Now look where this has brought me. This is getting too complicated, too quickly.' She was desensitized for a reason, she had excluded herself for a reason, she'd become a drifter, a hermit, for a reason.

'I've got to get out of here; I need to get back home. This is too much, far too much, for me to handle right now,' she rationalized.

She swore silently on the way home, feeling as though she'd failed miserably. She hadn't even been able to talk to John about moving on. She wasn't even able to tell him about…well…anything. And she he'd let her tongue slip! Death was a touchy subject but that didn't justify her slip.

Trudging along, she completely missed the old man from earlier, stopping to gaze at her in confusion as she rushed past, rearranging her scarf and coat as she went.

Guilt still ate at her.

When she had finally reached home, exhausted from the outburst, she was surprised to once again get a text from someone other than John. She was even more surprised that it was from the anonymous source. She had hoped it might have been a mistake the first time. It apparently wasn't, as it was meant for her. This time it read:

Watch him, tricky business.

Robin stared at the text, growing concerned.

"Alright, it stops at two. I don't know how you got my phone number but it's time to track down who you are," she said to the phone, glaring at the texts. There were only two of them but with her need of privacy, an anonymous text-er wasn't something she enjoyed. "I should be able to track your IP..." she mumbled as she set off to work.

...

Author's Note: Hey look! I'm posting something in the middle of my exam week! How dangerous of me. Livin' on the edge for all of you. Eheheh. But no, seriously. I just finished one of my exams so I let myself have a few hours off to finish editing this chapter.
Also, it's really cold around where I live. I dunno, it's just been really cold.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially Ducky the Insomniac Panda. You have a wonderful name. You really do.

Anyway, here's to character development and odd men and talking trees. By the way, the little humming Robin was doing (the part that kind of rhymed) was from a song by Regina Spektor. I also have a LoTR reference.

Cheers,

Elleari