Hey there! This is my first ever fic – ever. So it'd be nice if you could take the time to review it and tell me what I can do better.
Just a prologue for now, first actual chapter in a few hours. I'll still be awake.
Prologue
John W. – A Personal Account - 29th April
I've been thinking about the past. You know, since I've met Sherlock. And I seem to find myself always wondering... why me? I wouldn't change what's happened for the world, but... Sherlock's done so much for me. Given me so many things. And I can't seem to avoid thinking about how lucky I was. After the army, things never seemed to be going my way. Harry's drinking got worse, I ended up with my limp, and nobody ever tried to speak to me the way they had before. People were afraid of me, like I was the one that had shot someone. Before, they were appreciative - 'What you're doing is so brave' and 'I wish there were more people like you in the world'. But afterwards... I felt so alone. Only the jolly ones, like Stamford, would even look me in the eye.
And then we met.
Since then, everything's been so much more enjoyable. And I know it's not just a coincidence. Sherlock...
It was always meant to be this way.
I clicked the close button on the document and rested my head in his hands, a despairing sigh escaping me. The time I spend thinking only seems to make things worse. I feel like there's a secret I have to keep, only I hadn't really known exactly what that secret was for a while. But now it's so much clearer. I don't know when exactly these feelings started... all I know is that Sherlock has an effect on me that takes me to another place, a place where...
...he knows.