Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing

As always a heartfelt thank you to everyone who alerted, favd, read and followed my story so far. Love to talk to all of you and your input inspires me and helps me write!

Special thanks to Koneko Zero, Feej, Zacha, Erindors, Ysad, SusanneHolmes, Prothoe, Amelia Greene, October25, Eldar-Melda and Impractical Beekeeping!

I couldn´t resist to include one of my favourite ACD quotes - probably you spot it?

Thank you, Impractical Beekeeping, for your turn on John Watson inspired me to this "note".
And thanks to Zacha and his persistant villains!

This is the end of "The Plan" - the sequel is "The Movement of Bees". See you there, if you like!

Reviews could get you a rooftop!


Leaving a Note


John. Is that you?

Did I hear you talking to me, urging me to wake up? I don´t think it was you. You are certain that I am dead. Or probably you aren´t. Didn´t I tell you that it was all a trick, a magic trick? Did you listen? You are a far more competent listener than observer.

Do you listen now?

I failed, John, due to a recognizable scar on my arm and my own stupidity. One second of negligence was all it took, caused by the strain of pursuing the web for all these months, of not being allowed being me. In the end, I failed, John. All I accomplished was to find the head of the web, Moran, only to allow him to find me.

I´m back on drugs, John, with a vengeance. Moran is thorough. He studies me, delighting in the fact that he no longer needs to force me to inject. He started with cocaine but has proceeded to hand me something stronger. I don´t care what.

The time without the drugs is the real torture, not the short minutes of the high. They are my only freedom. Whatever Moran´s people are doing to me in this timespan, it doesn´t affect me. I feel so much more alive in these moments than in the desolate hours of crashing and I welcome the high.

Recently, I dreamed of a cottage, near the sea. It was summer and a swarm of bees had settled in a nearby tree. We were sitting on the lawn, talking. In fact, I was talking. You were listening. The sun was setting and I knew it would stay like this forever, the peacefulness of the place and our friendship being the constant in a cruel and dangerous universe.

In another dream we were flying over London, hand in hand. We were hovering high above the city, gently removing roofs, peeping in at the life beneath. What we saw was indefinitely stranger than fiction and much more poetic.

What troubles me is that Moran knows. His smug smile tells me he is aware that I´ve surrendered. He attempts to prolong my torture and has taken a preference to advancing me without a hypodermic or in withholding my dose for just some minutes more, ordering me to beg, gloating in the agony he causes.

Even when he finally complies to my hoarse pleading – and I have learned to plead, John, for the pain of having failed so badly and of my injuries will only be dimmed by the drug – I don´t fool myself into hoping he will grant me mercy. Moran wants me dead. I will not escape his grasp.

John, I deeply regret that I will never be able to tell you in person what happened and why I did what I did.

I regret my lies. I regret my absence from your live. I regret never to be able to see you smile again.

I failed you.

Please forgive me.

Goodbye, John.