Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Eleven

Dr John Watson had been to war. He had witnessed people die. He had tried desperately to protect his men, watched as innocent people were caught in the devastation. He had been traumatised by the sounds of explosions, the gargling of blood in the throats of injured soldiers, the fear he would never make it home again. Dr John Watson had been to war, yet he had never felt so destroyed, so numb and so hollow as he did in the two years since Sherlock Holmes died.

He turned the key in the lock hearing the familiar clink. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, taking a deep, slow breath before turning around and walking along the hallway to the bottom of the stairs. His most treasured memories lingered in that stairway, so intense they almost echoed with Sherlock's voice, their conversations. He glanced at them, taking another breath, as Mrs Hudson opened her door and stepped out, her face twisting in confusion.

John opened the door to 221B slowly; the breeze causing the dust to lift from every surface and swirl around the air, like the glitter inside a snow globe. He looked around the room. Nothing had changed. It was like stepping into a piece of earth where time had stood still.

Mrs Hudson stepped past John towards the windows. "I couldn't face letting it out," she began as she opened the curtains, coughing as the dust caught in her throat. "He never let me dust it."

"Oh, I know," John replied with an almost smile, just visible under his newly grown moustache.

"So why now? What changed your mind?"

"Well, I've... got some news."

Mrs Hudson stopped what she was doing and looked over at John with a sympathetic frown. "Oh god, is it serious?"

"What? No. No, I'm not ill. I've erm, I'm... moving on."

"You're emigrating."

John closed his eyes, holding the growing frustration back. "Nope. Er no, I've uh, I've met someone."

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson clapped her hands together and smiled. "Aw lovely."

"Yeah, we're getting married," John smiled. "Well I'm going to ask anyway."

"So soon after Sherlock."

"Well yes?"

"What's his name?" Mrs Hudson asked.

John sighed. "It's a woman."

"A woman!?"

"Yes of course it's a woman."

"You really have moved on haven't you–"

"Mrs Hudson, how many times? Sherlock was not my boyfriend."

"Live and let live, that's my motto–"

"Listen to me," John began, pointing his finger at her, "I am not gay!"

III

Her dark, wavy hair was shorter now. To her shoulders; easier to manage. She tucked it behind her ears as she leant down to her laptop to click to the next slide. She stepped out from behind her desk, pointing to the slide which was now projected onto the large board.

"So as you can see from this chart here, contrary to popular belief and stigma, ninety percent of violent crimes and homicides are committed by those without mental illness. Can anyone tell me how this fact may affect our approach to rehabilitation?"

A few tentative hands raised around the lecture theatre. Margaux blew an escaped strand of hair out of her face before stepping forward and pointing to one of her students.