Chapter Text
THE PERSONAL BLOG OF DR. JOHN H. WATSON (PRIVATE)
Out with a bang. - 17th JUNE - 2:21 p.m.
I suppose that isn’t very funny.
Well. He wasn’t the first of my friends to go that way. I’ve never got used to seeing empty coffins put in the ground. You'd think it would be better. It really isn't, though.
Ella thought it would help to start this up again.
It's been quiet, since. I wish I had something to report, but no news of Moriarty or Moran.
Just in case, though. I won't give them the satisfaction. So I've moved it. And password-protected it, for what that's worth (funny to think passwords might actually mean something again).
I don't know why I'm bothering to write this as, if you're reading it, you already know. But I promised I'd write something.
There it is, then.
The flat is still a mess. - 21st JUNE - 8:03 p.m.
I’d just set a match to it, if I weren’t sure the resulting chemical cloud would wipe out two-thirds of NW1.
Maybe I’ll do it anyway. - 21st JUNE - 10:52 p.m.
It was a joke, Harry. - 22nd JUNE - 12:04 a.m.
I wouldn’t do that to Mrs. Hudson.
And stop calling when you’ve been drinking. I’ll just hang up on you again.
I’m serious, Harry - 22nd JUNE - 12:38 a.m.
Turning the ringer off on my mobile now.
Something actually happened to me. - 14th JULY - 10:13 a.m.
I got sacked.
Three days ago now, I suppose it was. This bloody hangover.
Can’t say I blame Sarah. I stopped going in weeks ago.
What good is a doctor who can’t even
Better than nothing - 1st OCTOBER - 8:11 p.m.
I was finally able to do some cleaning.
Well. Not cleaning, but I moved the skull. It’s stupid, I know, but it felt too much like he was looking at me.
That’s morbid.
And idiotic. I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Thank you, Mycroft - 29th JANUARY - 11:38 a.m.
(Yes, I know you’re reading this. I won’t bother changing the password.)
I went to tell Mrs. Hudson I wouldn’t be renewing the lease, and it seems the flat has been paid up. I assume that’s your hand in.
I’ll repay you when I’ve got more than just my pension coming in.
no subject - 4th MAY - 11:41 p.m.
Thanks for the pint, Greg. It was good to see you.
Hard to believe it’s been a year.
no subject - 4th MAY - 11:44 p.m.
Hard to believe it’s ONLY been a year.
No subject. - 6th JANUARY - 1:38 p.m.
I really need to get this place cleaned up.
It looks like a bomb went off in here.
Thanks again, Mycroft. - 27th JANUARY - 8:01 a.m.
You don’t have to keep doing this. I've already decided I need to leave London. I appreciate the thought, but I have a position lined up at a small surgery in Cornwall, and I think a change of scene might do me some good.
Yes, I DID notice the phones ringing all the way to the shops.
Not a joke. - 27th JANUARY - 10:48 a.m.
I meant what I said, Mycroft. I'm going.
Though I do appreciate the offer to keep the flat available, I don't see why it's so important to you. Still, it'll be a nice break for Mrs. Hudson, rent with no tenants to clean up after. Goodness knows she's earned it, after what we put her through.
Now stop doing that with the cameras, you creepy bastard.
There we go. - 2nd February - 2:01 a.m.
There we are, then. That's the lot. Everything of his boxed in his room. Mine's ready to go in the moving van tomorrow.
The flat feels so bloody empty. Because it IS. It shouldn't keep catching me by surprise.
Two years - 4th MAY - 1:17 a.m.
The new job is going well. It's quiet. Quiet is good sometimes.
Sometimes.
This is pointless - 13th FEBRUARY - 11:41 p.m.
I forgot this even existed, that's how little I've had to say. It's too bloody quiet around here.
I’m through.
Sorry, Ella, if you're still reading. I tried.
DAMMIT, HARRY - 13th FEBRUARY - 11:59 p.m.
No, I'm not about to "do something stupid." Just shutting down the blog. Bloody hell.
Everything.
Is.
Fine.
Really. I'm fine. Fine, and turning off my mobile for the night.
It was just past 2 p.m. on the afternoon of 30th March when Lestrade’s number appeared on John’s mobile screen.
Lestrade didn’t even return John’s greeting. “I have news. Do you have time to hear it?”
John peeked out toward the surgery’s waiting room. “If this is about what I think it’s about, Inspector,” he said, “I’ll make time.”
He listened to Lestrade take a long breath on the other end of the line. “Moriarty’s resurfaced. Moran, too. In Switzerland, of all places.”
John huffed a laugh down his nose. “Switzerland?”
“Yeah. We got the report two days ago, and were just able to confirm it this morning. They’ve been linked directly to a string of petty crime—just small-time stuff, really—and there are hints that they might have been involved in larger-scale activities within the last few months. We’re still investigating, but I thought you might. Ah. I knew you’d want to know.”
“Yes,” John said. “Thank you.”
Even after three years, the mention of those names sent a hot spike of rage up the back of neck. He glanced, from old habit, at his hand. It was steady.
“We’re way outside our jurisdiction on this, of course,” Lestrade continued, “so it’ll take some time before we can do anything concrete, but… what are you doing this weekend? Fancy a trip to London?”
John smiled into the phone. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you won’t be able to stop me.”
When he spoke, John could hear the answering smile in Greg’s voice. “Good. It’ll be nice to have you around again. We’ve…. well. It’ll be good to see you again, mate.”
When John pressed the button to disconnect the call, he slipped his mobile into his pocket. It weight was reassuring, and he found himself reaching for it again and again during the rest of his afternoon appointments, just tapping his fingers to it. A reminder. A lifeline.
It wouldn’t be the same, of course, he knew it wouldn’t. But the promise of the game again, of closure, after so long.
He had, after all, missed it.
At half five John bid farewell to his last patient of the day, packed up his things, and set out for home.
He didn’t get there.