The Witness (closed starter)
@spiderseesall
John Watson hadn’t been back from Afghanistan long. Long enough to realize that finding a flatmate was impossible, of course; long enough to have been sleeping on the street for a few months or so. He wasn’t quite desperate enough to call Harry, not yet, but another week spent embarrassed by his disgusting clothes and he’d get there. Difficult to keep things clean when you’re wearing all you own.
In the meanwhile, though, John tried to keep his spirits up and keep himself fed; he was taking the long way back from the soup kitchen, far away from the pitying looks there. John Watson was a soldier and a proud man; he didn’t appreciate being looked at like scum. So he wound his way through the near-empty parking garage at a leisurely pace, trying to forget the looks, when he heard the BANG of a gun, and something falling to the ground.
John ran towards the sound. It was instinct; he was a soldier, after all. He ran to the next floor up, stopping short at what he saw. A dark-haired small man, lowering a gun, standing over a very recently dead body. John’s eyes widened; he had to get away from here, had to call the police...he started to back away slowly, and then winced as his foot clanged against something metal. Something loud. He turned and began to run.