To: Sherlock Holmes
Subject: What's the real name for the fear of heights?
- I don't like heights much anymore. Not that I frequented the ferris wheel anything in particular like that. It's just a bit... unsettling now. Not to
- mention that I don't go to Barts anymore. It's not like I have a reason. It's not like I'll have have a reason now. Maybe that's okay. Probably not
- too good to hang around hospitals so much, anyway.
John unconsciously (or consciously) avoids St. Bartholomews Hospital now. Without Sherlock, he has no reason to go to the morgue. Not that he had particularly enjoyed that bit, but it had come with the part of having a death-obsessed detective living in his flat. Analyzing dead bodies came with the territory of being a death-obsessed detective's assistant.
Now, he doesn't have the death-obsessed detective and he doesn't have a reason to go to the hospital. Which is good, because he doesn't even want to look at it. He knows that he's unearthed a fear that is totally unrational, because no matter how many times John passes by the hospital, he won't delete the picture of Sherlock laid out on the pavement anymore. He knows that that mental picture is enough to keep him away. So, he stays away.
He has also unearthed a fear of heights. He'd been out with a girl (hadn't gone well; dating was weird when he knew Sherlock wasn't going to be there to mess it up), on the rooftop of her flat, watching the stars. She was a stargazer. He liked stars. He didn't know how it could go wrong.
Until it did, because he took the one stupid glance over the edge, and everything that Sherlock had done had come rushing back until John felt like he was the one who was falling.
When Moriarty had given Sherlock a fall, he had given John one, too.
To: John Watson
Subject: (No subject)
- Failure to deliver message.
I really wish that Moftiss would illustrate how John copes. However, I don't think they will. Sadly. Because I'd really love to see it. Maybe that's just me. XD