I hope this update's all right :) just one review for the last chapter! :(

Kitty Riley

There was something telling me not to go outside today. As I gazed out the window on the dull London morning, my stomach gave a jerk as if my body knew something bad was going to happen before my brain did. I knew it was a warning, I'd had this gut feeling a lot when I was serving in the army, telling me something was going to go wrong. The feeling got worse when I considered going outside, but for some every strange reason I ignored it, and within a few minutes I had left the house and was walking down the street.

I'd started walking a lot recently. It was the only thing that kept my mind off of all that had happened, there was something about the crisp, cold air and the constant motion of my legs driving me forward that made me feel like there was a little less weight hanging over my shoulders. There were other things around me to keep my mind working, keep me thinking about the outside world. Once I'm indoors there is nothing to stimulate my brain, the rooms are stuffy and dark and all I can think about is the empty, staring eyes of Sherlock Holmes as he lay dead before me.

I'm not sure how much time has past since his funeral. The minutes, hours and days had slowly started moulding into each other, my sleeping and eating patterns had changed so I couldn't determine from them what time it was through my body clock. I knew it had been a while after the funeral that I decided to go out again, as whenever I looked out the window there were journalists at the door, waiting for me or Mr Hudson to come out so they could badger us with questions about Sherlock Holmes.

Why couldn't people just leave us alone? Didn't they think that we were in mourning and needed a little time for ourselves? Sometimes Mrs Hudson threw open the door and tried to chase them away, some of them actually got pretty scared of her, which was strange, who knew Mrs Hudson could be scary? But it wasn't very long until the journalists gave up and left us be, no one was coming to the door to tell them anything interesting, and I think Lestrade put them off as well. Once I saw him drive up the 221B Baker Street, get out and talk sternly to the journalists standing around the front door, looking like stray dogs waiting for a scrap of food. I don't know what he said to them, but after that there were no more journalists at the door.

I should of known though, you see it on the television, you hear people talk about it, journalists never leave you alone.

As soon as I left 221B Baker Street I headed straight for Regents Park. It's not far from Baker Street, and I enjoy going there just to get out of the way of the busy, polluted London atmosphere, it's quieter and calmer and I feel like I can breathe a little easier.

I was standing over a bridge*, staring down at the water below me, calm and clear like the park surrounding me, but there was something about the river that didn't seem right, there was no sun reflecting off the dark-blue waters, so it lost its shine. I leaned over the side of the bridge and watched the water gently and slowly flowing by, almost hypnotising me so I started to forget why I needed to leave Baker Street and go on these long walks, trying desperately to leave memories behind.

I thought I was completely alone, but then...

"Don't you ever get bored, just standing there staring at the water?"

I turned around to discover a woman standing on the bridge a few feet away from me, watching me closely. I recognised immediately who it was, with her ginger hair tied back in a loose pony tail and the dark eyes slightly narrowed - it was the journalist, Kitty Riley. The woman who believed Moriarty's stories and started to tell the world Sherlock was a fraud. I was so surprised to see her I just stared for a moment, memories flooding back that I had just started to subdue. Finally I murmured:

"What are you doing here?"

Riley shrugged, "it's a park, people can walk through it if they want."

I didn't trust her answer. "Did you know I come here?" My eyes narrowed as I spoke and my voice had suddenly dropped to a low, dark tone, as if I was threatening her.

Riley didn't seem intimidated by my voice, she just shrugged again. I wish Sherlock was here, he'd know what to say, he'd know what to do if he wanted to get rid of someone. I couldn't look at her, I looked back down at the water below me, but she was there, in the corner of my eye. "I was hoping to come across you sometime," she admitted.

"Why?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

I shook my head, pulling myself away from the edge of the bridge and looking at her full in the face. "Sorry, but I don't do interviews." I hope she knew there was something a lot worse that I wanted to say to her, but I decided to try and remain polite for as long as possible.

Riley took a step forward. "This isn't an interview."

I took a step back. "What is it then?"

"I just wanted to know how you were," Riley explained, "I felt a bit sorry for you after our last encounter, especially when I heard after what Sherlock Holmes did to himself, and the fact he had lied to you all along-"

"Shut up," I snapped before I could stop myself, I could feel my face beginning to burn with fury. How dare she even think that Sherlock had been lying to me for all the time I knew him, that he lied to everybody, that he was nothing but a fraud...

"You still believe in him?" The corner of Riley's mouth twitched, as if she found the idea amusing. "John, can't you see that it's obvious? He couldn't live with his own guilt, and that was why he killed himself-"

I began backing away from her a little further. Every word she said sent a bullet into my chest. Sherlock Holmes was my best friend, I trusted him with my life, there is no way he could have simply 'pretended' to be a detective. I hated these thoughts that she was putting into my head, it made me think of the last words he said to me down the phone...

"It's not true!" I yelled. I didn't mean to shout, but I was getting so angry with this journalist. How dare she say such horrible things about a man who saved so many lives?

Riley took another step forward, her face quizzical, as if she couldn't make sense of why I was getting so angry with her. "But John, I understand it must be hard for you, losing a friend, but the only way you can begin to move on is to accept the truth about him."

"Understand?" Understand? You will never understand what it's like to lose someone who turned your life into an adventure, you will never know what it is like hearing your own friend tell you that he was a liar, and then stare down into his empty, dead eyes...I thought to myself as I glared at I couldn't bring myself to say any of those things, I was too much of a coward, so instead I simply told her, with my voice as calm as possible; "no, you will never understand the truth about my friend."

And before Kitty Riley could say any more of her cold, bitter words, I turned around and ran away from the bridge. I ran away from that horrible, lying journalist and away from the thought that Sherlock was a fraud. I didn't look back, I just ran all the way to 221B Baker Street. When I reached home I leaned against the door at took a deep sigh.

I felt like a complete coward, running away like that. But that's all I wanted to do, run away from the truth.

*I must admit I have no idea if Regents Park has a bridge, so just go with the flow :)