Micah Castro Braden // Doctor Watson, I presume (acatalyst) wrote in bellumlogs,
The Morgue
After the incident with the lion and the wolf, Watson had returned to the one place he thought might contain information of value: The Medical Examiner's office. He'd noticed a lock on the drawer in the office he'd awoken in, and it stood to reason that there was information in that office.
The walk back across the city was balmy, but he was so taken with the elements of the city around him that he barely noticed the cold or the aching of his bones. This place was amazing. He wished he could return home and tell Holmes of everything he had seen, but he knew now that it would not happen that way. He would not see his Mary; he would not discuss these matters with his best friend. No. He would simply cease until this happened again. The realization was sobering, and it was a quiet, thoughtful man that walked into the office belonging to Micah Braden. Perhaps Aaron was better off, he thought, even though he knew that was not so. Still, it was the same, was it not? Effectively, they would all be dead for a month.
He slid behind the desk, his shoulder aching as he set aside his cane. The office was nondescript, and as he glanced down at the locked drawer he sighed. What was the point? In the end, he pulled out pen and paper, and he penned a note to Micah.
If there is a way out of this ordeal, please do find it. Signed, John Watson.
He'd just set the pen down when the sun rose over his shoulder. There was no pain and no fanfare. His cane disappeared, and he sat up straighter, and all of the memories of the night played over in his mind.
It was Micah who picked up the paper in front of him, and he read it.
Micah didn't return to the building for hours, and when he did he looked stress, tense and grim. In his bag, he had all the required items to preserve Aaron's body, and in his pocket, folded into a very small square, was Watson's note.