Entry tags:

james watson, john druitt

Who: John Druitt and James Watson.
What: Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper walk out of a library.
Where: In and around the Grand Library.
When: Evening.
Rating: TBD.
Status: In progress.

He had forgotten this place, forgotten the time he had spent without the curse that had come with his ability. Somehow the months back home, lost in a haze of rage and drugs, seemed even crueller with the memory of what it had been like here. And now he was back, but that thing was still inside him, and with it the rage and that violence that tore at him every day. He'd been managing it, barely, but now with Helen's life slipping away by the moment, and little hope of saving her, it was getting harder and harder to keep control. He couldn't...no, he wouldn't let himself be mastered by this parasite. He was better than this. He could be better than this. He closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself against one of the bookshelves, just breathing.

The suits of armour were certainly taking their time, he mused, almost as if they were waiting for something. But what? The unspoken question was answered when he opened his eyes and saw someone he had never expected to see again. Even having been here before, having seen Ashley alive again, this shocked him. With Ashley, there had always been doubt. Even when he'd told Helen there was no chance, he'd wanted to believe that the lack of a body meant she was out there somewhere. He'd been there when James died, had watched it happen unable to do anything to stop it. Between this and recent events with Adam, he was getting more than his fill of dead men. He stared for a moment before working up the nerve to speak, his voice tired even as the words held his typical snark.

"Not that I'm complaining, old boy," he said, "but I expected the ghost of Christmas past to look a bit different. Perhaps like Helen, before she started colouring her hair."