Desparate Attempts at Love and Rude Kidnappings

Hi guys! This is a kind of sequel to "love by blog entry and rude interruptions." I had some requests for post-reichenbach, so here we are! I'm not sure how long this will be yet,but it will be longer then its predecessor. Hope you guys like it. Feed back is always appreciated and if you like it, than vote comment etc. :) Enjoy

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Third Person POV

John sat at the small corner table absent-mindedly stirring his, now cold, tea. The cafe was moderately busy , yet no one seemed to notice the sullen man in the corner. John's shoulders were slumped and his face set into a kind of permanent grimace that hid his pain and depression.

John Watson had been upset from the start by his best friend, and lover's, death. But today he was more depressed then normal. For today was the 2 year anniversary of, as the newspapers titled it, the reichenbach fall. The "suicide" of the genius consulting detective had hit the tabloids with a bang. They stated lies that blatantly said that the great Sherlock Holmes was a fake. Sherlock wanted him to believe those things too, but he didn't. He refused to. So, being a former army officer, John put up his façade, resumed his normal working hours, as well as doing far too much overtime, went about life like before and people assumed he was fine. Sherlock Holmes was a fake after all, was he not?

What people didn't know, was that Dr.John Watson was crumbling on the inside. His once stable emotional barriers, were demolished and his mind was in turmoil. He hadn't resorted to alcohol,drugs,or cigarettes though. All those things reminded him too much of Sherlock. He visibly winced at the thought of his true love. He missed him so much. The grief so heavy that he had something similar to a migraine all the time. Instead of resorting to the Holmes' former habits, Watson had gone to the gym. Pushing himself to the edge of his limits, just to put off the memories for a while. John now had the body of an army doctor back, but instead of displaying it proudly, as he had then, he didn't even acknowledge the fact that his body had improved. All his problems were in his head and, hell, he knew it too.

He had taken the day off from the clinic, so he wouldn't break down in front of his colleagues, who believed he was fine. When John woke up this morning, he had cried. Not loudly, but with streams and streams of silent tears trickling down his face, manifesting his grief into insignificant drops of salt water. It had been the first time Watson cried since the week after Sherlock's death. Even when he went to the grave of his dead best friend, he used words and symbols to represent his sadness. Whenever he had gone to the headstone, John had brought 2 roses each time. One yellow and one red. Yellow, representing friendship, and red, representing love. He knew for a fact that Sherlock would've understood. His tears were well deserved in their origin though. John Hamish Watson had had the life he had wanted forever. It was exciting, danger ridden, and happy. Then, the rug had been violently ripped from under him by a certain James Moriarty. Although, "Jim" was dead now so there was nothing to worry about. At least, John hoped he was dead. You never knew with that bastard. Secretly, John still prayed that Sherlock Holmes was alive out there. Even if he wasn't with him, that he was at least ok? A small part of him still dreamed of an abrupt homecoming in the classic style that Sherlock possessed. However, John had no more time to mull over his thoughts because a stranger had taken the seat across the table.




Moriarty's POV

I entered the local cafe. I was here on a mission, so I put on my "mask of normal civilian." I wore a pair of looser jeans,t-shirt, white trainers, and baseball cap that shadowed my face. I walked up to the counter and ordered a small black coffee and payed. All the while I was searching for my interest. My eyes found him, as I stirred a minute amount of milk into the dark steaming liquid. Perfect. He sat at a 2 person corner table, that most people wouldn't have noticed unless it was pointed out to them. I suspected. that he didn't want to be noticed,so that was the exact purpose of it. Huh, John Hamish Watson knew how to hide in plain sight quite well, he would have made a decent assassin.