Death of a Consulting Detective

Strength To Go On

October 20, 2013

I haven't slept or eaten much in the past few days. Working as a consulting detective again has distracted me so much that my daily nightmares have nearly gone away. I only seem to get them once or twice every week. All of my dreams end with the confession that he jumped for me; he did everything for me. No one else knows about the end though. I never tell anyone about Sherlock's confession because it won't mean anything to them. Of course I'm sure Ms. Hudson would be fully convinced that Sherlock and I were actually gay rather than assuming that we are like she always does.

Greg Lestrade comes over nearly every day now to help me with the Adam and Eve murder case. It's nice having him around to keep me from sitting in silence by the damned violin. He also keeps Ms. Hudson downstairs for most of the time because he knows she would not approve of us picking up where Sherlock left off. She's already nagged me a few times to quit smoking all the cigarettes Lestrade brings me when he visits.

~

I had fallen asleep on the couch for a few hours when Lestrade burst through the door. I damned near fell off the bloody couch to grab my pistol from the desk drawer.

"Mornin' Watson!" he shouted without acknowledging the terror he just inflicted upon me.

Despite my temporary anger at the interruption I noticed how happy Greg was for the first time in a long while. He wore a large smile upon his aged face and smelled of fresh coffee. Greg seemed like normal again with his sarcasm present in every sentence. His hands were wrapped around the middle of two disposable coffee cups from the café down the street and after I saw them, almost all of my fury disappeared.

Now he looked genuinely concerned about me, I'll admit that, but there was absolutely no evidence of his intentions to help me or ask what was wrong. All he tried to do was hand me one of the cups as I put my gun back in its original position.

"Hurry up and get ready! We have another crime scene to visit! Same as the first two." He yelled in an attempt to wake me up when, in reality, was a task only completed by coffee.

The only thing that caught the slightest bit of my attention was the new crime scene he spoke of. Another person was dead and we are no closer to solving this case. There isn't even a name of a suspect we could go interview. Forgive me for my excitement over another life being grabbed away by our killer, but there is hope that this new crime scene would contain a hint as to where we can find him.

There was no time to waste in eating a proper breakfast before leaving. My coat wasn't even fully on as I stepped into the cool October air of London. After about fifteen minutes of driving in silence while Lestrade went through one and a half cigarettes, I decided to look out the window. When Sherlock was still around I would often find myself looking at him; the way he processed the world was so fascinating to me I could not tear my eyes away. Except he is gone now, therefore leaving me with nothing to look at but the world I watched him process. The buildings appeared to rush by the window. The bright sky was a nice contrast to the grayness of the large structures passing by. The people would either walk briskly down the sidewalk or cherish the children walking beside them. London would consider this a beautiful day for the season of autumn.

It really is strange how the beauty of the world could be so misleading. If a normal individual looked outside right now they would never be able to guess that someone just died in the second it took them to breathe in the crisp air. I guess if the sky told us that someone died by hiding its beauty we would always see dull black and white. It was a stunning day when Sherlock died...
Greg saw my face and offered me a cigarette. First one of the day.

~

When I first caught a glimpse of the gruesome sight lying in the alleyway I could understand Lestrade's change in character. The police were running tests on some kind of weapon; most likely the knife used to "draw" the names on the bodies. Hopefully the criminal was stupid enough to forget his gloves at home. If I could get a name, one bloody name, I swear to God I'll be the happiest fucking man in all of Britain. Well, until I fall asleep that is.
Lestrade and I walked towards the body and he told everyone to piss off. Once the alleyway was empty I crouched down, with the magnifying glass in hand, to inspect the corpse. I removed the blanket that was draped over it and the person looked so familiar. My face lost all of its color; my stomach lurched. My hands would not keep a firm grasp on the magnifying glass so it fell to the ground by the victim's hair.