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He couldn’t decide if it was a relief or a curse that he’d been left completely, absolutely alone. He didn’t exactly regret the complete lack of torture, but that would at least have given him something to fight. You couldn’t fight darkness with your fists, and no matter how strong your will-power, it could be beaten down by the constant monotony of nothingness. Nobody needed John Watson any more. He could dwindle away here in the dark as well as in the flat, anyway. Because really, what difference did it make? There was nobody to miss him. Not even him.