March 24, 2012

January 15th, 2012

Jim’s dead.

Really and truly irrevocably dead.

Fuck.

I knew this would happen. He told me it might come to this. I thought I could be strong. I thought it would be okay.

It’s not.

I convinced myself it would be. But then I got up to that roof and there he was. Lying there on the cold cement with that red, red blood spread around his head like a halo. I guess Sherlock got to see him in that crown. I honestly thought I was going to be okay until I saw his eyes. His fucking eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes that were always so vital, so alive, so Jim…. They were so dull and lifeless. Void of any spark of life. They were everything Jim never was. Boring. Dull. Dead.

I’m glad no one was there to see me. I didn’t even realize who was making those awful, agonized sounds for the longest time. Before I realized I was the one making them. And then I was holding him in my arms and crying and all I could think about was ‘his clothes are going to be stained. He’s not going to like that. Blood is so hard to get out.’ It didn’t make any sense, did it? Because he can’t be mad. He’s dead.

Fuck. I can’t even see what I’m writing. I don’t even know how I still have enough water left in my body for tears. I’ve cried a fucking river already. Not to mention I’m getting blood all over the keys. How the hell do you clean blood off of computer keys?

I have no idea WHY I’m writing this. I know that piece of shit detective’s little pet writes a blog about what goes on in his boring little life. So I decided I would try it. See if it helps, which I doubt it will.

And maybe because I want him to see this. Because I don’t believe for one second that he’s really dead. I have no idea where he is, but he’s not dead. I could kill Watson and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson like I was told to do if he didn’t die, but I don’t think I will. It will be more painful for him to suffer through watching his friends live on and forget him than to see them dead. If I deserve to suffer, then so does he. So does John Watson. So does every last pathetic person in this rotten world.

So for now, I’m sinking down to that doctor’s level and trying this out. Who knows. Maybe that damn bastard will see it. And yeah, who knows, it might even help.

We’ll see.

This is Day One.

-Sebastian Moran