"John."
His name. He'd heard it countless times from within the abyss his mind had settled into since…It. Once upon a time ago, he could say it for what it was. But as time passed, what it was simply became It. He was not stupid. He knew that It should not have been so traumatizing, so crippling that even a year after, he still stared at empty walls.
"John."
His name again. Before It, he'd never heard it echo in such a way that made everything feel empty. This time the name was enough to pull him from his tainted thoughts, and he acknowledged the person across from him.
"John…I know it was hard for you," the speaker paused, hesitating before saying softly, " It was hard for all of us."
John nodded numbly. He never could seem to break through the surface of emotions anymore, only lightly scratching at the bottom. Everything he felt seemed paled, disconnected. He recognized the fire in his companion's eyes light, "It's been a year. You need to get better! You need to…" her voice faded, "you need to come back to the land of the living. You can't follow him, you can't leave us too."
John met her eyes and the sincerity in them seemed to draw him back closer than ever to the happiness, the friendship and camaraderie he'd once felt. "Molly, I'm sorry." He swallowed, "I just…"
His throat seemed to close, his eyes starting to prick and burn. "I don't mean to offend you, or Mrs. Hudson, or Greg…but I lost everything I had left. He…He was my best friend…the best friend I've ever had." He swallowed, "Without him I never would have met any of you, never would've gotten better…"
John had looked away from Molly, staring at her neck, the wall, the table; anywhere but her eyes. He couldn't let her see just how broken and pitiful John Watson was. She was blinking away the wetness in her eyes, swallowing back her own tears.
"I…" She stopped as if her words refused to let themselves be spoken. "Sherlock wouldn't have wanted you to be like this."
The words cut through John like icy blades, making him flinch and his fingers curl and uncurl reflexively. Each cut loosened his throat, and the only expression of ferocity he'd shown in months peeked through. "Don't you think I know that?"
Don't you think I know how pitiful and stupid I am?
Don't you think I know I'm not what he thought I could be?
Don't you think I know?
With every hatred filled thought he became angrier and angrier, as if all the emotions his mind had smothered in the past year were demanding to be felt all at once. "Don't you think I know he'd like me better with a bullet in my brain?!" John blurted.
He froze.
Molly's eyes widened.
"John…" Her voice was soft and stunned. She could see the truth written plainly across his face now, how it was not Sherlock who wished John was dead, but John himself. Her mind ran across all those times they'd seen him staring into nothing, his eyes far away, void of emotion.
His face was crumpling, deflating in on itself. He had nothing left. Molly began to cry, ignoring the strange looks the two were attracting from the other patrons of the restaurant they'd met in. She rose from her chair, and pulled John out of his and into a hug.
In the next few moments, the doctor did something so very out of character, so heartbreaking, that Molly started crying the tiniest bit harder and hugged him all the more tighter. John leaned into her, unable to support himself, pressing his face into her shoulder. His voice broke as he whispered the quietly, brokenly, to Molly,
"Make It go away…please make It go away."