My Conductor of Light

Meeting Murderers

I run back to the warehouse through the dense London fog after leaving the note on the back of my violin for John. He would find it eventually. I pause quickly to catch my breath.

I had escaped with, I'm slightly ashamed to say, Lestrade's help. He saw that my tube prison's lid, or lack thereof, would help me to escape. I pulled myself up and out and ran. Well, it was more falling and tripping than running. 3 years of being in a tube caused me to be rather out of shape and my muscles were remarkably weak.

After I left, I wandered outside to the best of my ability and made my way to 221 B. As I arrived, John walked past.

I stared and deduced my vertically challenged friend. He has gotten a cold recently, spilled a fizzy on his lap, adopted a dog, but no longer has it, (I'm guessing Mrs. Hudson had a hand in getting rid of it), and had recently attained new girlfriend.

"My ?&!$ leg!" he cursed. I smiled. His temper has seemed to get worse along with his limp.

His limp had returned, I mused, the impulsive smile brought on by his presence fading. He must have really missed me to cause it to act up again...

I almost called out to and embraced him, the only and best friend I ever had. No, I would wait until he arrived at the warehouse.

Then I stand and stride quickly away, my coat flapping in the wind, and pull my scarf tighter around my neck.

I come to the street the warehouse is located on. How to get in without arising attention? I wonder. Maybe I should wait for John?

I didn't have long to wait. A bedraggled looking John runs around the corner. I knew he would come!

"Sherlock is alive! Oh my-" he was talking to himself. I grab his arm and clap a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, John! Don't be an idiot!" I hiss through my teeth.

"Bloody idiot! Who are y-y-you... wait-Sherlock? What are- but- what...?"

"SHUT UP!" I whisper. "Just... oh, John..." I remove my hands.

"Sher- Sher-" his voice gives out. He leans in as if to hug me and then suddenly-

"YOU BLOODY- I CAN'T EVEN- WHAT IS YOUR- I HATE YOU!" He punches me in the face repeatedly. "YOU JUST LEFT! 'WHO CARES ABOUT JOHN? HE'S JUST AN IDIOT!' ISN'T THAT RIGHT?!"

I reel back. "John, no! You don't understand-"

"I- UNDERSTAND- BLOODY- WELL- THANKS," He replies, punctuating every word with a blow to my face. "AT- LEAST- AS- MUCH- AS- I- WANT- TO- ANYWAY,"

I refuse to fight back. "John, I didn't leave. I... I... I died." I told him the story that Molly told me, and of her murder. John stopped attacking me.

"No. No, no no no. You didn't die, this isn't happening, Mrs. Hudson just undercooked something and I'm imagining all of this." he turns to leave and I grab his arm. We make eye contact and he sighs.

"John, I don't understand either. But you have to trust me. Please, John. Please. Trust me like I have always trusted you."

"Always?"

"Always."

He embraces me quickly and then stands there awkwardly for a minute.

"Okaaay, what now?" he asks. "Oh, and I'm sorry for... that. Earlier."

"Apology accepted. And now, my dear Watson, we come up with a plan."