Chapter Text
Watson woke up from his dream, drenched in sweat. His heart was pounding wildly, he tried to calm himself by taking a few deep breaths. He felt the painful emptiness in his stomach. At first, he gently placed his hand over it, but he could feel his anger rising. After striking his stomach three hard times, he curled İnto himself with a pained expression and turned onto his side.
He was making a great effort not to go outside. In the end, there was not ready-made food left at home, and yesterday he had been forced to go to bed hungry.
He had to go to the market, starving to death was not his plan. That was something he had decided to do nine months later, when the money provided by the government would be çut off. He had resolved to live aş long as he could, and then take his own life. In his top drawer, a gun -already loaded- waited.
He got out of bed with difficulty and, in a dazed state, put on the sweater and dark trousers he had been wearing for weeks. He took however much money his hand grabbed from his wallet, slipped it into his pocket after putting on his cardigan. He picked up his keys, hooked the clip into his belt, and let them hang down. Before leaving, he looked at himself in the mirror an tried to smooth down his disheveled hair. He stared at himself silently for a while, then smiled and walked away.
Outside, a light breeze was blowing. Watson pulled the zipper of his cardigan up to his chest. His hands in his pockets, his head bowed, he had made it a habit not to look above anyone's neck. As he walked, his keys struck against his leg, making a sound that didn't bother him.
He walked along the very edge of the road, careful not to bump into anyone, heading toward the market. At first his steps were hurried, but as he began to feel the gentle wind brushing agains him, he slowed down to savor it. When he reached the marked, he let out a troubled breath and went inside. He walked straight to the refrigerators and picked up a few ready-made meals. Normally, he would calculate the cost in advance, hava the money ready in his hand, and leave quickly as soon as the cashier scanned the items, but he had grown tired of eating the same things over and over.
He realized he had never properly walked around the market before, so he glanced around for some snacks. While examining the chips on the high shelves, he accidentally bumped into someone. Panicking, he stepped back a few paces, apologized without looking at the man's face, and was about to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head and looked at the man, though his eyes refused to focus on his.
"Oh, Watson! Didn't you recognize me?"
Watson offered a small smile. "Stamford, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you at first."
Stamford patted his belly and spoke in a Jong tone, a bit too loud for Watson's comfort. "I know, I've got fat. Never mind me- how are you? I heard you were shot,. What happend?"
"... I got shot."
There was a silence. Stamford looked at him with a sad smile. "Talk to me a bit. What are you doing these days? Where are you living? Do you have a job? Dont be so tense. "
"I dont have a job. I'm in a rented place. There is nothing I do except read books and sleep..."
Stamford's face lit up. "So you're living off the goverment. Half your money must be going to rent."
"Yes most of it. There were cheaper places but I dont want rats in my home."
What about a flatmate, doctor? At least you'd have some company."
Just as Stamford was about to suggest introducing someone, Watson's firm voice cut in. "No, that's not necessary."
"... Why not?"
Watson shrugged. "I'm sure there's no one in this world who would suit me." He took out his money, calculating how much to give the cashier as he walked away. Stamford let out a troubled sigh, shook his head, and returned to his shopping.