Adventures in Wonderland (#Wattys2016)

Adventures in Wonderland

"Our friends define who we are as people, but it takes our best friends to change us into the people we want to be. Having a best friend is like owning the stars, it is both rare and impossible, but not so impossible that it doesn't ever happen. They are the people that smile when we smile, laugh when we laugh, cry and we cry, but most of all they will stop at nothing to teach us what is right."

-Anonymous

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Sometimes I think back to the days of my first adventures with my dearest friend John Watson. What if we hadn't met at all? Would things have gone differently? I know one thing is for sure, I would not have stayed alive as long as I have. John was my saving grace in every sense of the word. He was the soldier that fought for his life when he needed to, and the Doctor that came to the rescue when I needed it most. He was the human that brought out the more caring side of me and the man that fixed my heart. But most of all he was the friend that I've always needed. Sometimes I think back to our meeting ... what if that day was different? What if John had just walked away from me? What if I hadn't reacted the way I had, or said the things I said? Would he have reacted the same way he did ... or would he be living in his tiny little flat all by his lonesome struggling to survive? The possibilities of what could have resulted that day always flew across my mind rendering my weak and defenseless. In fact, sometimes even I can't believe it had happened the way it had. Sometimes I have to replay it in my mind, wondering why the hell John had ever agreed to come with me after all I put him through. I remember the meeting now ... the cold and dark feeling as I typed away on my computer, a brisk chill sweeping throughout the room. It had felt dangerous, as though an ominous presence were hiding in the room waiting to pounce on me and choke the very soul out of my body. I had no one to care for me, no one to love me or take me away from the sour rain cloud always dangling above me. In fact before John I had been depressed, and taking large amounts of cocaine. And as if that isn't enough I had lost my heart to the devil ages ago. The winged beast had sat there perched on my shoulder waiting, clawing at me and leaving scratches in my flawless skin until finally the loneliness and hate had bubbled up to the surface and consumed me. The devil had watched, laughing at my broken body as it sunk to the ground unable to defend itself and finally it went in for the kill. It turned the scratches into a gaping hole, chortling all the while as blood seeped out of my body. The crimson color staining my skin as it trickled down me, landing on the pristine floor. It had grabbed my heart that day so long ago, leaving me as a shell of the person I once was. I just didn't care anymore. I remember feeling as if I had nothing to live for. My life simply a never ending cycle of nothing. That is ... until that day. Until a loud creak from the door opening disrupted my work, and the one and only Mike Stamford entered the morgue with a stranger. A stranger that had become one of my most trusted and most brilliant of friends over the years. At that moment I had felt annoyed, as though this was simply meeting yet another boring human being. But what I didn't know was that this meeting would decide my future. Meeting John Watson set so many different things into place for me, and he had changed me into the person I am today. In fact meeting John had given me my best friend, and this my dear readers is how it all began.

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It was a cold, dark morning, nothing but a chill in the air and the brisk scent of danger spreading rapidly throughout the area. Today was nothing special, in fact it was just like any old day for me. Even the damp smell of the morgue was exactly the same. I sat in the same chair, in the same area, in the same building that I always sat at. Nothing different. Even my computer screen was lit up the same dismal white it always was as I typed away on it like always. I was bored out of my mind. After doing the same thing over and over again life just didn't have an appeal to me anymore. It was like I was a puppet on a string, as though I just went through the motions that the puppet master put me through, but not actually getting to do exactly what I wanted. Not getting to really feel live, and live the way I wanted to. I was always sitting here, always waiting for the day to end, always waiting for the killer of the day to be caught, and most definitely waiting for when I'd finally be able to go home and divulge into my mind palace without the rest of public judging me. I was a scientist, not a detective. I saved lives with formulas, and different chemicals, not opinions and silly little deductions. And just like any day, the computer was my notebook ... the place I logged every murder, and suicide, and serial killing galore. The place where I worked to find what family they had left, and what connections they had to the killer. Were they related? Married? Coworkers? This was where I figured it out, day in and day out using cold hard reason and fact. That's where I was right now, using my skills, checking my databases and logging my data, not stopping once to take a break. Or at least I was ... until the creak of the door signified that someone else had entered the morgue. I felt inclined to yell at whoever the hell felt the need to interrupt me, scold them for even thinking of walking into the room of a world renowned scientist ... but when I glanced up from my work, I saw none other than Mike Stamford, (a Doctor that taught a few of the students here at the hospital.) walk in with a short, blonde haired gentleman. I must admit I was irritated to say the least that they had walked in unannounced, but I mean they did after all have every right to be here like I did. So instead of yelling at them, I simply shrugged my shoulders and went back to my work, awaiting for the pair to leave on their own accord.They had to leave, I mean ... It was disrupting my work, and it was annoying the heck out of me. I hated meeting people, especially strangers. They were so normal ... too normal in fact. Yeah, no I didn't want to meet another stranger. Not here, and most certainly not now. But I knew better, and knowing how people worked I knew that for some reason I'd end up interacting with them. I was curious ... and besides I needed to borrow somebody's phone. Staying quiet wouldn't help either issue it seemed, so interacting in the conversation would be the only way to get what I wanted.