John sits quietly alone in Sherlock's room. He doesn't really know what he's supposed to do. Sherlock has been dead for a week, but things aren't getting any easier for John.
The funeral was five days ago, but John still finds it hard to accept his friend's death. He knows that he shouldn't feel like he's at fault but as much as he tries, John can't escape from the guilty feelings that he has placed on himself. He tries to think of another more likely motive, but fails to find one. This just compounds his anguish.
"How could he? I don't understand," he whispers.
John rises to his feet. The floorboards creak as he walks over to the window and he keeps his gaze downward. Sighing, he stares out the window of his friend's room and surveys the city. It's a beautiful day outside, but he doesn't notice. He's two absorbed in all of his thoughts to notice.
John longs for a second chance. Maybe if he'd stayed at Baker Street a little longer Sherlock wouldn't have done this. Maybe none of this would have ever happened. Maybe he could have prevented it. Could he have stopped Sherlock? John doesn't want to let himself think this way, but it's just really hard not to because of the guilt he feels.
He tries to take his mind off it and think about something else, but nothing feels normal anymore. The entire room even feels completely different. Before all of this happened, Sherlock's room was always a mess. Now, it is clean and organized because of the police investigations. The room was always dark, but now light streams in through the open windows.
John can't stand it. He violently slams the windows shut and slides closed the heavy curtains, completely shutting out the sunshine. The room is engulfed in darkness once again. John sinks back into Sherlock's dusty armchair. His mind swirls with the awful things he's had to deal with over the course of the week. Coming to terms with the fact that his partner killed himself (and that it might have been John's fault) is just too much. Especially considering all the painful drama that has taken place since the suicide.
Suddenly, John is surprised by a soft knock on the door. "Who is it?" he asks unenthusiastically.
"It's me," says a soft voice. Mary. The door opens and she walks in. She looks confused, and it's obvious that she's been crying
. "John," she says in a curious-sounding voice. He looks at her, turning away from the closed window. The far-away look in his eyes remains, and it is clear to Mary. "John!" she says suddenly. He snaps out of his daze.
"Yes?" he asks her apathetically. Mary continues, seeming unsure.
"There's a man downstairs that asked to see you. He seems nervous, or… I don't know," This catches John's attention and his eyes widen. Is it one of Sherlock's clients?
"Who? What does he want? Do you know him?" he inquires, sitting up straight.
"Well, no, I don't know him. And I don't think you know him either. He didn't tell me what was wrong, but he said it was urgent."
"Did he tell you his name? I might have met him before," John's apathy suddenly diminishes.
"No, he didn't, but I think you'd better go see him. He seems like he's in a hurry…"
John nods and he rises from his chair. "Mary," he starts. "Yes?" "Did the man ask for… Sherlock or for me?"
"He specifically asked to see you," she replies.
As he exits the room, John's mind is spinning. Why would a man who he didn't know come to see him? He had thought it might be one of Sherlock's former clients, but the man had asked for him by name. He descends the staircase with his fiancée.
As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, John sees a disheveled-looking, unfamiliar man. He has a rough, unshaven beard and he's wearing a worn tweed jacket with muddied brown trousers.
"Dr. Watson." John doesn't recognize the man's voice.
"Good morning, sir. Who are you?" questions John.
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, I'm just kinda, well, worried. I'm… I'm James Wilson. I found somethin' interesting this morning. And… I thought that you might, um, wanna see it."
"What exactly did you find, Mr. Wilson?" Wilson's vague language infuses John's curiosity with suspicion and he looks intently at the man.
"Well, Dr. Watson, I suppose that I shouldn't say I found somethin'. I found someone this morning." The man seems shaken as he says this.
"What do you mean you found 'someone'? Is it someone you know?" asks John.
"Well," replies Wilson, "I found a dead body. Behind a building. The person looked kind of familiar, sort of like I've seen 'em before, so I was worried. You probably think I'm crazy… "
John is curious. "No, no, Mr. Wilson, I don't think you're crazy. Have you gone to the police?"
"No, sir. I came to you first." Wilson responds.
"Why didn't you go to the police first?" Suspicion tinges his voice.
"I… Someone told me that you and Mr. Holmes are the best sleuths around, so I thought that you'd be happy to have a new… case, or whatever you call it. And…" Wilson avoids looking directly at John. He looks uncomfortable.
"And what, Mr. Wilson?"
Wilson sighs. "And I'm not really best friends with the police. I don't have a great history with 'em, so I wasn't exactly anxious to call them,"
John's curiosity seems to give him slight energy. "Did you touch anything at the scene, sir?"
"No. I was kinda startled, and as soon as I saw the body I was worried that someone would think that I did it, so I ran off, "
"Good," John responds quickly. "Well, then, Mr. Wilson," he says. "I suggest we head to the scene."
Wilson nods nervously. "Mary!" John calls loudly.
"Yes?" Mary answers as she descends the stairs.
"I'm going off to town to help out Mr. Wilson here. I'll see you later," Mary nods, and the two men leave.
As they get in a cab, John can't help but wonder why he's helping Wilson. He doesn't even know the man! But something about the whole case seems strange.
And John wants to find out why.