All things left unsaid
"Mary? Who gave you this package?"
The sound of John Watson's voice echoed down the corridor as a figure dressed in extraordinary camouflage sprang up lightly from the armchair in the doctor's office. Chuckling to himself the figure pulled the cloth mask from over his face and shook out his dark hair. Sherlock had waited months for this opportunity, and he revelled in the fact that he could finally enact the next part of his plan.
"Oh Watson, did you learn nothing from me?"
"Did he look strange, Mary?"
"Who, John? What are you talking about ?"
Watson ran down the stairs, slid round the banister and ran to the door. Flinging the door open he called out into the street,
"Holmes? Holmes!" he looked around frantically, but to no avail. "Holmes, you bastard …"
He sighed and turned back, Mary greeted him at the door.
"We all miss him my dear, but he is gone, and maybe it's time we let things lie. It'll be for the best."
Watson knew he was dead, but still things weren't quite right. He couldn't just "let things lie" like Mary could, he had loved Holmes like a brother and missed him terribly. People say time heals all wounds but that dull pain in his chest just wasn't going away. He had thought that after a few months he would stop expecting him to turn up on his doorstep or, more characteristically, in some obscure area of his house. He missed the sound of his violin at three in the morning and all of his stupid experiments. That jungle in his bedroom and all those ridiculous costumes … the costumes … but of course…
"How could I have been so stupid!"
He sprinted upstairs and into his study. Unsurprisingly it was empty. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, the curtains fluttered lightly. He shook his head.
"I never opened that window"
Oh Holmes …
Dusting himself off Sherlock smiled wryly, Other than the not so elegant clamber down from the window ledge everything had gone smoothly. He was going to enjoy toying with Watson. He would leave him a few clues, and then, just maybe, he would let him know for sure. Well, where's the fun in making it easy?