Day Four
Things are going well. The press is starting to calm down. I got a job at St. Bart's. I had a great date with Sophia. Greg and I had a good time at the pub, and life seems to be getting slowly back to normal. There is one thing that I definitely want to bring up, and that is will people please stop following me? I was a soldier in Afghanistan and I notice when someone is trying to sneak up on me. I don't want to talk about Sherlock. I don't want to talk about Moriarty. I don't want to talk about the hat. I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE FALL. For once I just want to be John Watson, can any of you understand that?
Some people say that what is keeping me from moving on is the memories, but they're wrong. Every time things are going well, someone asks me something, or stares at me. Can you just stop, please? Things are getting better. Just stop.
I start work tomorrow. Pleas don't come see me unless you are truly sick. I am absolutely serious about this. Any reporters, fangirls, or whatever else will be thrown out by security.
Comments:
Congrats on the job, mate. –Lestrade
Thanks. - JW
See you tonight sweetie! – Sophia 3
See you at work – Molly H.
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The next day, John went to work in the place where his best friend had met his end. It was an oddly peaceful feeling, being there. The place kept him busy enough that he couldn't think of anything but his work. At the end of the day he was exhausted and ready to go home. He grabbed his cane, and headed out. He opened the door and came face- to – face with curly black hair, grey eyes, and sharp cheekbones. He let out a yelp and almost tripped. It was a poster, or rather a whole wall of posters. They all said the same things. I Believe In Sherlock Holmes stood next to Moriarty Was Real! Dead faces stood out against the dead gray of the wall. He took a steadying breath. He couldn't breathe and he could feel his heart in his throat. All of a sudden the sidewalk seemed to be covered in blood. He could see Sherlock's dead white face, crisscrossed with rivers of crimson. He called a taxi, which was a mistake. The seat next to him was empty. HE threw money at the driver and sought sanctuary in Baker Street. He fell onto the couch and curled up on himself, trying to make the world go away. He fell asleep like that, woken only by Mrs. Hudson bringing up "a bite to eat" that could feed an army. It was left untouched.