Day Six
On Friday I promised you something very important and here it is.
Thank you.
I went to work for my first day and almost tripped over my own feet on the way out. I saw the posters. You have no idea how much it means to me that there are people in this world that still believe in Sherlock Holmes. He was a great man, and I am sure that if he had lived a little longer he would have proved himself to be a good one.
Some of you may have been disappointed with the importance of that message. To those people I say, without a doubt, that that was the most important moment of the life that I have come to think of as "post-Sherlock".
An update in the life of John Watson:
I saw Mycroft today. I have no idea why. We chit-chatted. I have no idea what that was all about. Asked me about my life and what was going on in it, most of which he could have found out by reading my blog. I will never understand that man. Sometimes he reminds me of his brother, sometimes he reminds me of a statue, nothing changes on his face, but you could swear there were a million different things going on in his head.
Well, I'd better sign off, I have to pick up Patricia for our first date.
Comments:
I thought you were dating Sophia. What happened? – Lestrade
We went on a short holiday and it didn't go well. –JW
Sorry mate. –Lestrade
Who's Mycroft? – I3 deerstalkers
That is the question. –JW
Don't be ridiculous John. Statues don't think.
Seriously, who is this? –JW
If you don't tell me I'll block you from the site –JW
You don't know how.
I'LL FIND OUT! – JW
Unlikely.
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John stared frustrated at the screen. There was something familiar about the way they spoke. Then it hit him, it had to be Mycroft. He's the only one arrogant enough to keep commenting, but private enough that he refused to sign his name. John reflected on how alike and different the two Holmes brothers were. He felt the familiar ache in his chest. It was getting easier to manage, but sometimes he would see or do something and it felt like he was being torn in half. Still, it was getting better. A few deep breaths and he could act like everything was okay.
8 hours earlier…
As John and Mycroft carried out their awkward conversation, grey eyes locked onto John from the other side of the two-way mirror. Fingers tapped against the glass lightly. They wouldn't stop fidgeting, it was their reaction against the brain's forced inaction. It had taken a lot of convincing to have his brother bring John here. He looked awful, his brown eyes had circled underneath them, and he was using his cane again. The owner of the tapping fingers laid his head down on the desk, listening to the slow conversation on the other side of the glass and careful not to put pressure on the stitches in his scalp.