Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

27. Breaking the Ice

You would be surprised at how difficult it was to decide to look up flights back to America. I'd procrastinated for reasons I couldn't understand. I blamed being lazy as the reason, but I knew it was deeper than that—I just wasn't in the mood to waste my time and energy on finding the cause.

There was also another issue: money. How was I going to pay for a ride home? I was pretty sure seats weren't cheap, unless I was looking in all the wrong places. That was plausible; I never dug too deep for anything.

I sat on my usual perch, seeing the sun set on the walls. I blew out air through my nostrils. I snatched my journal, looking at my last—and only—entry. I remembered that day well, because it hadn't been so long ago. Two weeks ago, if you wanted to be precise.

I was tempted to rip out the page and crumble it, but I decided to let it live. I tapped the pen on my chin for a full minute before I started writing.

Dear Journal,

I wonder how different life would be if I hadn't given into peer pressure. I wonder if, instead of writing this, I would be back home in Maryland. I wonder if I would have found someone by this time and got over my fear of dating.

Speaking of choices, this is only the second time I've written in you. I should have written more, I had so much frustration in the past two weeks. Silence doesn't bode well with me, it drives me insane.

I feel like I haven't crawled out of the post-Fall pit just yet, but I haven't fallen deeper. I've stayed in the same place, sort of. I guess John has too. I wouldn't know where his head is at, being that we aren't talking right now.

I am an idiot. The day I save John's life, and I let slip Sherlock's theory. He instantly denies it and basically calls me stupid for believing the theory. He never flat-out said that I was dumb, but I knew that's what he had been getting at.

I've been in London for so long that I almost forget what Maryland looks like and what Amanda and the girls look like. The sad part is, I can go on Facebook and stare at their photos online, but I don't.

Amanda isn't sure she believes the theory either. I'd told her not long after the incident happened. I'm glad I've got a good friend who listens.

Though I'm pissed with John, I haven't stopped keeping an eye on him. Just because things are...what's the word I'm looking for?...tense between us doesn't mean that I'll stop caring about him. He and I have gone through so much together.

We both are strong, considering we're still here. I think I'm stronger than him right now, and that's sad considering he was an army doctor and has seen things I can't begin to imagine. Well, I have seen dead bodies, and I'm sure he's seen plenty of those in his lifetime.

In a way, this is liberating, but also tiring. My eyes feel strained because I'm so concentrated on writing, and I don't blink that much. My hand is also hurting once again. I think I'll eventually build immunity to the pain that comes with writing. I know I used to have it; I had it when in school.

I wonder how Mrs. Hudson is doing. I should probably call her sometime and check in. I know she's alright; she's a tough woman. I see such strength in her tiny frame that the thought makes me laugh. I'll miss her when I leave for home...whenever that is.

I was about to write more, but John's footsteps distracted me, pulling me out of my train of thought. I grimaced, clamping the journal shut. I curled into a tight ball, wishing I was wrapped up in a blanket. I watched John as he went into the small kitchen, where I had a clear view of him. He'd been out a lot more often than he had been since The Fall initially happened. I could thank my big mouth for that one.