Sorry, I took a while updating. I was aiming for once a week but Circumstances arose and forced compelling insight, regarding discretion and valour( go captain Jack sparrow!) I tried to update as soon as possible.
Hope you enjoy, thanks for the reviews: Danibat, Mustangwoman, SQ (hrmmm it looks like 221b Baker IS the museum... I thought there was a seperate one...) and Sharmini. Please do keep the reviews coming, they make me write at every opportunity I have!
Sherlock's P.O.V.
How could I have let this happen?
My fingers sank into my hair as I covered my face with the palms of my hands.
Soft, bright spring sunlight, that seemed green with the fresh youth it reflected, flitted through the creamy curtains, highlighting the emptiness of the hotel room.
Walking across the room I noticed a piece of unusually thick paper resting on the pillow of my bed. Hoping for an explanation, a letter of blame, a dear John (hah, oh the irony) letter, I unfolded the Bohemian paper. It took but a single glance before I folded the note back into itself and sat down upon the end of the bed. I knew this piece of writing, I had heard it from John's mouth countless times. This note was a copy, meaning he still carried the note, and the feelings it represented, with him. He did not wish to rip it out of his life, John left this copy with me in the hope that perhaps I wouldn't forget them completely. John wanted me to have something of his to remember him by. I knew John, he would only do this if he thought I no longer cared for him, if he was removing himself to save himself the pain of the brake-up he undoubtedly foresaw. Oh my silly, idiot John. God this was all my fault.
Every time a case came along, I would run off like a young puppy, like a cheater to his mistress. I would leave and disappear for days on end. Leaving John to deal with work and mundaneties. The game was like a drug I couldn't resist, a new puzzle to solve. But eventually I would unravel the mystery and I would go back to the one riddle I would never unravel: Doctor John Watson. And he would take me back, without question or comment. Always letting me call it 'the Game' or 'work'. As if calling it by another name made it something different, stopped it being what it was: an affair.
But now I was done hurting my doctor. I would not try to find him, or try to get him back; because I knew when that sweet, seductive voice of a case called, I would go to it and leave John behind again.
Perhaps there had been more truth to my words than I realized when I told John I was married to my work, perhaps I was being unfaithful to my work, not to John. Either way I loved John (yes, fine I loved him, I'm not a sociopath, you happy now!) I loved John enough to leave him. What did they say? If you love something, let it go? I would let John have his life, I would let John be happy, even if it tore me apart.
Resigned to this, I walked onto the street; I did not notice the subtle fragrance coming off the flowers, or the smell of freshly fallen rain on the tarmac as I would have with John. I hailed a cab, yellow spray-paint in one hand, gun in the other, I told the driver to head for the woods; I needed to shoot something.
Sorry it is quite short, next will be longer and John's POV. A massive shoutout to bb1019 who, besides being a great writer, has put up with all my sooking.
lots of love and Very loudly NOT asking for reviews again ;)
xxxx BellaD