John's always liked the rain. Not so much when he's caught in it, but times like now, when he's sitting in his apartment with a cup of tea, watching it piss down with rain.

The sky isn't too dark, surprisingly, and there isn't anyone on the streets, unsurprisingly.

It's almost like the rain is washing away all the grime of London, nature's way of soft resetting the city. All the whores and murderers hiding under cover, waiting for the Earth's tears to cease and for the glorious sun to come out and cast it's light over the world once again.

Because, even though light illuminates the dark and seems to cast away all the boogeymen, it also casts false security like a siren song. In the dark, the hair on the back of your neck stands on end and adrenaline pumps through your system and you know you're in deep shit. The light though? You think you're safe in the light, you think you can see all the nasties before they get you, but you're always wrong.