John H. Watson (johnhamish) wrote in riftcity_logs, @ 2012-04-21 21:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | * complete, character: john watson, character: shawn spencer, place: cardiff, post: character intro, post: closed, post: open |
Who: John Watson (Open if you'd like, but primarily establishing arrival)
Where: Cardiff Central station
When: 4/20, morning
What: Arriving in Wales
Warning: None
He knew everyone thought he'd gone mad. He'd been urged to go back to his therapist, well-meaning friends had attempted to convince him it had all been a fraud, and most of all, he'd been admonished and cajoled to move on.
It hadn't been all that long, and everyone wanted him to forget about Sherlock Holmes.
John had technically said his goodbyes. He'd been a pallbearer at Sherlock's funeral. He'd gone out a few times to see the grave. He'd even tried to get everything off of his chest at Sherlock's gravestone. Nothing had really worked. He still couldn't believe that his friend was dead. He kept hoping that he'd come walking back through their door, smug about having fooled everyone, and tutting John for not being more observant. As though he hadn't begged Lestrade to let him see the crime scene photos, staring at them until they were burned into his memory while he searched for any clue that none of this was real.
And then he'd gotten the photograph.
Just a link. An anonymous comment on his blog with a link to a picture and the word Cardiff. The picture wasn't even very clear, but John was willing to grasp at straws. The hair, the height, the build, the poise... All of it could very well have been Sherlock. And he couldn't rest until he knew for sure that it wasn't.
He'd taken a leave of absence, but he knew it wasn't guaranteed that he'd have a job when he came back. Everyone had tried to talk him out of it; those he'd had to tell had told the people he hadn't wanted to know, and he'd gotten calls from Mycroft, Lestrade, and his therapist while he was packing. He'd still boarded the train. A few hours later, he was in Cardiff.
And he had no bloody idea what he was going to do next.