Who:John Watson and Greg Lestrade What:Finding a new arrival. When:Backdated to said arrival. Where:The city Warnings:TBA
John realized he'd been a shut in for several days. He knew seeing the sunlight was a good thing to experience every now and again, so it was about time he got out of the flat. He'd been brooding, and quite honestly was tired of it. So he changed clothes and left. Toby needed to be walked anyway, and he'd been relying on Rose a bit too much the last few days. He really had been a giant prat at her too, so it was time to try to get himself together. For that to happen though, he needed air and space. Picking up his dogs leash, the excited and energetic pitt practically bowled him over right infront of the door at the jingling of keys and leashes that hung near the doorway. It was sort of funny, he knew his counterpart from the stories had a dog, and now so did he. He honestly hadn't even planned it. He just wasn't the sort that could have left the puppy on it's own. He still had some sort of instinct to care for others left even after everything that had happened. Even after saying out loud on several occasions that he did not.
Sherlock used to call him a conductor of light, the humanity in the equation. John didn't feel like it these days. He wanted little more than to be able to shut it all off, feel nothing. But try as he might he was not able. It was frustrating beyond reason. The air was annoyingly warm. Despite having said he was used to it from travel, he still didn't particularly like it. Toby wandered on ahead and explored various things as dogs often did. Barking at the occasional passing critter or even nothing at all. John watched him idly. How nice it must have been to be a dog. Very few thoughts but wake up, eat, walk, car ride, sleep, walk. After the hell the seal had put him through he figured if he were to ever die again he might like to come back as a dog. In his flat. That damn spoiled mutt had the run of the house and very little discipline. He really had a charmed life.
Passing by the graveyard, John looked in. Sherlock's headstone was there. John couldn't bring himself to go in. He couldn't bring himself to chat with the other Sherlocks, or Joan, or any of them lately either. It just hurt too much. He knew they were there, and the fact that Sherlock hadn't barged in on him meant quite a bit. He knew how difficult it was for the man not to just go with his whims. John walked with a slight limp, damn leg acting up again and no cane in sight. He headed toward the city where he stood for a moment outside a coffee shop and let Toby get a drink or ten of water that they left out on the street for dogs. He looked up at the sky and watched the clouds pass by.