Despite how warm the winter day was supposed to be, John couldn't help but find it cold. Terribly cold. That's all the world was anymore. There was no light, no warmth...nothing to guide him through rough times. There was just darkness. Bleak and never ending darkness. He tucked his head downwards, shielding himself against the wind...and the people. He didn't want to see the people. Them running about doing their usual mundane things, shopping, chatting, having a cup of tea...it was like nothing had changed. The world still remained the same...and that just wasn't right. It wasn't fair. How could they go on, how did they continue without a care in the world when the most brilliant man to ever walk this earth had just jumped off a building? When his only friend had just committed suicide?
John found himself looking upwards at the sky above him, stars just beginning to dot it. How did the earth continue it's orbit around the sun, remaining on it's axis as if nothing had changed? Why didn't that brilliant ball of gas the sun burn out completely. It would be a lot easier if it did...if the world just stopped permanently. Because John didn't want to know life went on without him. That other people were able to cope when he so much just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. They were able to go on with their meaningless activities...why couldn't John? The answer was simple. Because when you walked with Sherlock Holmes, you saw the world in a new light. he changed everything about the way you thought of things. He made you observe every single dew drop, made you look through every single person that passed you on the street. The whole world around you was suddenly intensified. It was like putting on glasses, John guessed. Changing the way you saw things from blurry to crystalline clear.
He slipped his clenched fists into his pockets, feeling the solid object that was in one of them. The thing he never left home without: his gun. There was no denying that John Watson wanted to die. What was the point in living anymore? Without Sherlock...he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no real purpose in existing. The world...it wouldn't miss him. Doctor John Watson was just another face in the crowd. Nobody remembered him, so how on Earth would they forget him? Perhaps Harriet...but she would move on. They weren't that close. All the others, they didn't give a damn whether he lived or died. The world wouldn't miss him, maybe they'd even appreciate him for cutting back the world's over population issue. What if he were to just shoot himself right now? End it all...the pain and suffering. He wouldn't have to feel anything anymore. Maybe if there was such a thing as Heaven and Hell and angels, maybe he would be able to reunite with his one friend. They could live together again and bicker like an old married couple for eternity. Things could be normal again.
A body collided with his own, forcing the doctor to stumble as he walked. His blood shot eyes snapped upwards, looking at the face of the stranger who he had bumped into so carelessly. He looked to be in his mid twenties, a smoker, judging by the state of his fingernails. His breath smelled heavily of spearmint gum, a drinking habit that his girlfriend wasn't supposed to know about maybe?
"Sorry, man I wasn't..." The younger man's hazel eyes twinkled in recognition at who he had bumped into. "Hey, I know you! Big fan of your blog, really!" The boy extended his hand, but John merely looked at with confusion and repulsion. The other one blinked hard before dropping the hand back to his side, only now cluing in as to why the older man might not want to discuss his blog. "Listen, I heard about what happened to your partner, Sherlock. It's a shame what he did to you...lying and all of that and then jumping off the roof...if you ever need-" The sound of his voice was cut off by John roughly pushing past him.
"Hey!" He heard the kid call out "You are Doctor Watson, aren't you?"
At this, John turned and finally acknowledge his fans presence. His eyes brimmed with oncoming angry tears that he would never let fall.
"You're wrong" He said, just loudly enough for the other to hear.
"I'm nobody" And with those words said, John slipped back into the crowd of people and kept his head down low once more, flipping the collar of his jacket up as Sherlock always used to.
It was all to easy to disappear into the swarm of people, leaving the poor young man confused as to what had just occurred. John was gentle and forgiving, he was warmhearted and compassionate. He was the heart to Sherlock's brain. But this heart...it had broken. It had broken far beyond repair. There was no way of fixing it. The doctor couldn't even heal himself. The only cure was Sherlock, to raise him back from the dead and let him walk with him once more. That wasn't going to happen. Not in his lifetime at least. He couldn't get back the thing he had lost...it was gone. Forever out of his reach.
When he had reached his destination, John swung the door of the pub open. He had never been one for drinking, not after what he saw harry go through. But this...well...this was different. Drinking took the pain of Sherlock away, it erased his death from his memories...it brought him to a utopian world where he could be at peace. "Back again, John?" The bartender questioned, wiping his hands off with a cloth as John Watson took a seat on one of the barstools. Without hesitation, he slid a glass of cold liquid towards the customer that he had just greeted.
Curiously, John raised a pale eyebrow and sniffed the clear drink. Water? The bartender leaned against the counter, eyes locking onto John's bloodshot one's. "Some fellow told me to give you a glass every time you took a drink, left a handy tip for it too. He's right over...hey..." John's eyes followed the fat finger of the bartender but found nothing in the direction he was pointing. "He was there a second ago" He muttered before straightening himself up. "I'll have a scotch.." the doctor muttered absentmindedly to the one who was serving him, not truly paying attention to him. His eyes were still fixed at the table the bartender had pointed at. For one breathtaking moment, he thought he saw a flash of those unique and brilliant eyes he knew to be Sherlocks. John blinked, rubbing at his eyes furiously before looking at the exact same spot again and finding nothing was there. "Make that two..."