|John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-04-13 12:55:00
|Entry tags:||john watson, river tam|
Who:John Watson and OPEN
What:Nightmares realized and drinks had.
When:Today early morning
Where:the complex kitchen
"This is my note. People do that before they.." John couldn't sleep. Sleep was not a thing that was going to happen after he realized what was happening. How could he sleep? All he could do was remember his best friends suicide. The Reichenbach. The final problem. It played over and over in his head like a broken record, until he couldn't take it anymore. Laying in bed with his eyes wide open was ridiculous, he got up and picked up his unnecessary psycho semantic cane. Since arrival he couldn't shake that lack of action feeling. The feeling that he should have done more for Sherlock, and if he had his best friend might have been alive. His name might have been clear. Rummaging through their bare cabinets as he'd yet to go shopping, he pulled a bottle of scotch and a shot glass and left their flat.
He needed to clear his mind and he couldn't do it looking at Sherlock sleeping there after having been drugged. Too many memories. Ones he'd sooner forget. Taking his scotch down to the kitchen early in the morning he sank into a chair and poured himself a shot. Sherlock was alive here, but when he went home, if he went home he would be dead. John saw it happen, saw the body of his best friend covered in blood and broken on the sidewalk. Fake Genius. Fake indeed. Something had happened on that roof, John was mostly sure of it. Taking a shot of scotch he winced as it burned down his throat and poured another.
His cane rested by his side against the table where he sat alone in the dimly it room. Richard Brook was Moriarty. Moriarty had cost him the life of his companion. He deserved more then a sniper's quick shot. He deserved to be tortured for what he'd put him through. "One more miracle.." He found himself muttering as he threw back another and stared forward at the caramel colored liquid. This time would be different, had to be if John were to survive emotionally. Losing Sherlock twice was not an option. He couldn't do it. He had a chance at one more miracle, a chance to stop Moriarty. Now that he'd figured out what was going on maybe a chance to save Sherlock, history would not repeat if he could help it.
A third shot hadn't phased him. Rihard Brook, Richard Brook Richard Brook ran through his mind. Every hero needed a villain. What was Moriarty's next move? John had lived through the Reichenbach once, if it was anything like it had been at home, his next move was going to be at Sherlock and John refused to stand idly by this time. This time it would go differently.
Fourth shot. He lowered his head into his hands and his brows furrowed. It was too much too soon.