“Actually, do you know what, ignore me.”
John. John Watson. He just killed a man to save me from myself. Who does that? God.
Look at him: he’s not like an ordinary man. He just shot someone and he’s perfectly fine. Not a hair out of place. He’s just standing there with those nerves of steel, those steady hands, he’s playing innocent, standing on the other side of the tape like he’s uninvolved. He thinks I won’t figure it out, he thinks I won’t know. He’s not ashamed of it or proud of himself; he just did what he thought was right. He didn’t even do it to impress me; he’s not trying to make a point, he’s not demonstrating his usefulness to me. He’s not going to hold it over my head, either. Is he. He found his way here just to protect me. Gratis. As if that’s completely natural.
Natural for him, maybe. Yes. Completely natural for him. My hidden jewel: John Watson. How could I have been so blind?
I would be dead by now without him. I chose the wrong pill. I was wrong twice tonight. A true failure of an evening, by all accounts: two massive failures of observation, more if you count the details. It doesn’t matter: we’re both still here. Second chance: I’m paying attention to you now, John Watson. I see it all in you now.
He came after me, even after I told him I was married to my work. Even after I left him and ran off on my own, twice. I wonder if there’s a way to revisit that conversation, hmm. Not really an area in which I have any real expertise. Is that what he wants? How does one go about doing that?
I thought he was ordinary. I didn’t know what I was dealing with. Unfair! He was hiding in plain sight. He thinks of himself as ordinary, so he appears to be ordinary. To the naked eye, at least. But he’s not. Most definitely not. His hands aren’t even shaking, not even now. Look at that.
Oh, I’m keeping him.
Perfect.
