Summary: "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. Was he losing… Losing his mind?" Set after The Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock/John
Beta reader: SapphireElric
The violin.
I never had a problem like this before. It had always been easy for me - to start a new blog.
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The day was grey and cold, but there was no rain. It was just an ugly day, one of many the Londoners had to face. John was already used to that. In Afghanistan the days were always sunny and dry, so he even found something relaxing in the weather back home. Usually. Not today.
He couldn't think about rain today. The one thing that almost always made him feel warm inside and made him feel at home. Today he could think only about how much he didn't feel at home, even if he was exactly there. In his and… In his flat at 221b Baker street.
The flat wasn't familiar and warm and didn't radiate life like it used to. Actually it frightened John lately. The last few weeks he was back living in his own room and moving around his own kitchen or just sitting in his living room and watching telly, he felt uncomfortable.
He was afraid he might feel this way and that was the reason behind his long stays at Stamford's and Harry's and even that one-week with Lestrade in his hotel room. Obviously his wife in the end left him for that P.E. teacher.
When he started sensing he had overstayed his welcome he just packed his few sweaters and jeans and moved to somewhere else. Not home, no. He couldn't come back here so early and a part of him still felt like he wasn't ready to continue living here. But he run out of friends to stay with and he didn't want to rent a hotel room, so with heavy heart he returned.
Feeling uncomfortable wouldn't even be the right word. Just everything in here reminded him of… his best friend.
Every time he heard floorboards creak he turned hoping to see Sherlock standing behind him, every time he felt a slight breeze pass him his heart jumped, thinking Sherlock was moving around the flat bored again. And at nights he swore he could hear that one sound, it's hard to explain what, but that one sound reminded him so much of when Sherlock would be sitting in his chair moving restless. But every time when he checked the living room or turned around he was met with disappointment.
Now sitting by his kitchen table and hearing the water boil in the kettle again he remembered what Sherlock once said. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side". Was he losing? …Possibly his mind?
He was even afraid to stand up; terrified he would mistake a sound or smell to be Sherlock. He couldn't possibly take it any more.
So the water stopped boiling and slowly cooled from hot, to warm and finally to cold. Until John found all his courage to stand up and boil it again. And it again stopped boiling and slowly cooled from hot, to warm, to cold.
He had already forgotten how many times he had boiled the same water when he heard the doorbell ring; quiet voices downstairs and then finally soft steps on the stairs.
He already knew who was coming, after all he had invited Molly here today, and as promised she came. Around 6-ish, after her work.
Now she and Mrs Hudson were standing by the flat's door with boxes in hands looking at him with sad eyes. He was already sick of people pitying him.
"You're just in time. I just put on the kettle." John rose from his seat. And true to his words he did recently put it on. Again.
"Um… Hi, John." Molly smiled shyly and took two unsure steps forward. She crossed her hands at the wrists and then uncrossed them and cleared her throat.
After what happened with Sherlock, it seemed she couldn't quite talk with John anymore. She was always nervous and avoided eye contact. The ex-army doctor understood it very well. It was probably very hard for her to look at him and not think about their friend.
But despite that, she still offered her help and reminded him that she will always be there to help in any way she could. They hadn't talked much, because now they didn't meet each other so often, but maybe that was even better. She reminded him so much of Sherlock. Not that it changed anything because he thought about him all the time.
"Hi," He greeted her, stepping closer and shaking her hand. She still couldn't look at him. "Do you want some tea or coffee?"
"No, no thank you, I… uhm… already had too many cups today." She answered picking up the cardboard boxes from the floor where she left them.
The room fall silent as John thought about what those boxes meant and about what they were about to do. But it needed to be done; he repeated it in his head over and over again, just like the last few days. If he won't do it today then he will never do it and he will never forget. Or at least that was what his therapist had said last week's session. According to her it was time to move on.
"So…" Mrs Hudson begun, "we can start with his room then and slowly move to the living room. What do you think John?"
The doctor looked up at the two women a bit startled. But soon understood they were talking to him and simply nodded. Mrs Hudson might know better, after all she had life experience.
Without any words all three of them moved to the bedroom right behind the kitchen. John let Molly and his landlady go in first and then took a big breath to make himself step over that threshold too.
It wasn't like he hadn't been there since the funeral, but it still was very hard.
For a moment they all stood by the bed confused as to what they should do now. The bed was well made and nothing was out of its place, out of Sherlock's system. But John knew for sure that everything as tidy and clean as it looked was still in the exact place as his friend had left it.
He allowed his eyes to slide over the room, looking for something, not sure what. Just taking in everything for the last time.
"I can deal with his wardrobe and Molly, sweetie, you can take his dresser drawer." John heard Mrs Hudson's voice but didn't pay it any attention. He didn't move away from his spot as Molly put one of the boxes on Sherlock's bed and Mrs Hudson opened the closet in the corner.
Only as Molly opened the first drawer and came face to face with Sherlock's socks did John blinked and returned to reality. The young woman was about to start putting the pieces of clothing in the box when John stopped her. For some reason he believed that he should do it. It looked like Molly understood. She moved to help Mrs Hudson and left the doctor alone.
Slowly and carefully John placed the socks in the box in the exact order as they had been in the drawer. Then he opened the next one and put all of his friend's underwear in the box too. Then came some of his undershirts and to John's surprise he even found two ties. The memory of Sherlock saying he didn't wear ties flitted across his memory briefly, but John was too tired to even begin to understand why Sherlock would own two ties when he didn't wear them.
As he finished the last drawer Molly and Mrs Hudson had already finished the rest of the room and were taking off the Mendeleev periodical system from the wall. They put it on top of the boxes and suddenly John didn't feel like he was in his friend's room. Even if it hadn't changed much.
"Living room now?" Mrs Hudson spoke up but was silenced by Molly.
"Where is his coat?" And the room froze.
John was staring at her and she was staring back at him and he knew that if he would look at Mrs Hudson she would worriedly look from one to the other.
"The doctors from the St Bartholomew's hospital gave it back to you, right? Well… umh, that's what I heard." Molly's voice trailed off uncomfortably. She lowered her gaze and anxiously squeezed her hands together.
"Molly, if… John can keep the coat." The other woman said softly.
"No, you're right. I have it. I'll bring it down," He turned around and was halfway out of the room when Molly whispered that it's okay if he wants to keep it, but John didn't stop.
He walked up the steps to his room and snatched the heavy, dark coat from the only chair. For a moment he stopped and thought about all the times he saw Sherlock being all mysterious and pulling the collar up or about how the coat swung around his body as he ran through London's streets. But then the moment was gone and he walked back down forcing himself not to think about it anymore.
He found the boxes by the door and put the coat on top of them.
Mrs Hudson was already loading another box full of books from the shelves. And Molly was standing next to the grey, leather chair looking down on it. John came to stand next to her, but he looked out of the window instead.
"D-Do you want to keep anything? Or should I throw everything out?" Molly asked quietly, her voice trembling. The doctor could tell she was being careful of what she said, but he didn't need it. He won't break, like a piece of glass.
"No you can take everything, I don't need it. Throw it out, keep it, I don't care."
"Okay" And she picked up another box helping Mrs Hudson with her task.
At first she loaded some books of physiology or biology or other things John hadn't really cared about. Obviously they all were Sherlock's. Then she picked up the skull from the fireplace. She looked at it and put it in the box. But John cleared his throat.
"I'll keep that. And the microscope. Everything else you can take." He walked up to her and took the shiny and smooth skull from her. He put it on Sherlock's chair and then found the microscope and put it on the chair too.
Molly nodded and continued.
For a while John just stood there breathing deeply. He tried not to look at the books and other things disappearing in the boxes, but couldn't take is eyes off of it for too long. And when he did he stared at the yellow smiley face on the wall. It smiled right at him with the bullet holes in it.
He remembered that well. How Sherlock jumped around the room yelling he's bored and shooting at it. John also remembered how he thought he would never get used to the other man, and now he missed him so much.
The doctor spun around quickly and picked up the skull and microscope and put them safely in the box in Molly's hands. She looked up at him, but luckily didn't say anything.
If he doesn't do it now he will never do it and he will never forget, he repeated it again. And again. Until it started to sound like lies more then usual.
When it was all finished John remembered about Sherlock's coffee mug he had to look at every morning and about the other man's toothbrush and went to get them too. He came back with few shampoo bottles and the blue robe in his hands too. He wanted everything that might remind him of Sherlock gone. Now this was only his apartment.
"I guess that's it," Molly sighted taking the last boxes to the door.
"What about his violin?" Asked Mrs Hudson. Yes, there was Sherlock violin too. It needed to vanish.
John was the one who picked it up from the table by the window and put it in one of the opened boxes.
"Then that's all now." Molly sighed again. She looked tired and her eyes skimmed around the place. And it occurred only now that maybe this will be the last time John will see her here.
"I'll take them to your car," John offered. He wasn't much help to them as they packed it all and he wanted to do at last something.
"I'll help you," Molly opened the doors for him so he could make it through.
Box after box was loaded and soon the car was full. It felt easier and at the same time harder with every one he carried out of the house. He knew he had to say goodbye, but despite what others said, he didn't feel ready to do that, this didn't feel right. But here he was.
"You have to do it, or you will never forget," he whispered to himself as he put the last box in the car.
He looked over them and for a moment thought if Molly will really throw all of these things away. How can you just throw away someone's life? And it didn't matter if this someone was dead; it was still someone's life.
He rubbed at his eyes as he heard Molly coming up to him from behind. He straightened and closed the car's door turning to face the young woman.
Her shoulders were sagged and her eyes really sad, but for some reason John had the impression that she wasn't sad for Sherlock, but for him. He shook his head a bit clearing his mind. Sherlock meant so much to her and for a fact John knew, maybe he didn't notice all the things Sherlock could, but he noticed this. Molly loved the detective even if he never returned her feelings. It must be even harder on her then it was for him.
"This is the number of my friends, you k-know, the men who can take away the furniture. I-If you want to," Molly said in her usual unsure voice looking to her right than at him. She was holding a card in her hand that John took. He didn't know if he would use it, but knowing that he had it made him feel somehow at ease. He had a choice.
"Thank you, for everything,"
"Of course. Anytime, John," She leaned forward and wrapped her hands around his shoulders.
It was an awkward hug. Neither of them really wanting to hug the other, but doing it anyway. Maybe to be polite or seek comfort.
When Molly pulled away the doctor let out a slow breath through his nose. They stood there for a little while uncomfortable and feeling unfamiliar with a situation like this until John coughed a bit. He turned around, opened the car's doors and pulled out the violin. He looked up at Molly for confirmation and she nodded a bit.
John just needed something, anything from Sherlock. He couldn't just throw the last two years away along with his friend's stuff.
As Molly got into her little, dark red car and drove away John couldn't decide if he had done the right thing keeping the violin. From one side he wanted something that would resemble Sherlock, but from the other side he wanted to forget.
He turned around and took the few steps up to 221b Baker Street and closed the door after himself. Mrs Hudson was already waiting for him, offering tea and cookies, but he declined. She noticed the musical instrument in his hands, but didn't say anything and John didn't offer any explanations. He just walked up the stairs to his flat.