"It wasn't as if he had stopped writing entirely. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was just that most of what he wrote ended up thrown into the fireplace at home. What was the sense in keeping something that was sub-par?"

"He only ever referred to it as an experiment, and it was true that he seemed to treat the gardens with a scientific detachment rather than anything resembling proper care. He would often let plants go without water just to see how long they could survive; others he would drown. There were some that he cared for with devotion, but which plants received this care changed mostly with

"I have long since established that I am not where I once was. So would you be so kind as to enlighten me? What year is it?" "It's 2014." "Say that again." "2014?" The man's smile widened. "Oh, and here I was worried that it would be a dull evening."

"People always think of a sunrise as a timed event that you can pinpoint to the second, when the reality is that it is a slow progression from darkness to light."

The boy gave him no greeting. He only continued to stare silently at the road ahead of them. John shifted in his seat, growing uncomfortable in the silence. "Sherlock, huh?" The boy nodded. "That's an odd name." "John, was it? That's rather pedestrian."

"But some things needed to stay secret. Or at least, that was what he told himself every time he lost his nerve."

"Maybe bravery is just a kind word for stupidity."

"You. It's always you. John Watson, you keep me right."