Cosmic Love
[JohnLock]
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or the characters in the series. BBC owns all of it.
The lyrics are owned by Florence + The Machines
A falling star fell from your heart
And landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them
And now it's left me blind
It had been almost a year since the fall from St Bartholomew's Hospital. John had spent most of the year trying to cope with the fact that his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, was never coming back to their flat at 221B Baker Street. For many months, the doctor had paid many visits to his therapist who had found this to be a shock; since John had not bothered to come to any more appointments since the day he first met the consulting detective. She certainly found that since the time she last saw her patient, John had gone from psychosomatic to depressed in the matter of a year's time since he'd known Sherlock. Surely, this high-functioning sociopath had made John feel better and miraculously cured his psychosomatic limp, causing John to stop seeing the therapist. But as soon as Sherlock was out of the picture, the army doctor had gone into a downward spiral. She tried referring him to other forms of coping like talking to friends, blogging like he did before but John felt he couldn't bare to do any of those things because it reminded him of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes.
"John, if there's something that you would have wanted to say to him, you can say it now." The blond sat in his chair across from his therapist and quietly shook his head. "No, I can't." He croaked. "I just can't." Taking a deep breath, he got up from his chair and bid the therapist good day before grabbing his coat and leaving the office.
Heading back to the flat on 221B Baker Street, John's thoughts were somewhere else as he wondered home. Anything that the doctor did, did not help him cope what so ever. Talking to Greg, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft did nothing for him. Anything he did brought back the association of his deceased friend. This made it very difficult for people to help John through this rough year.
In some way, John felt a bit of denial. He didn't want to believe that Sherlock was really gone. The doctor had theorized several scenarios that could have taken place; he even went about texting the dead friends phone. He always did this, but he didn't know why. Perhaps he thought if he texted Sherlock, by some miracle, the detective would text him back a reply. Of course, this never happened, but it was worth a shot.
Standing in front of 221B, John pulled out his phone and started creating a text.
Went to my therapist today… It wasn't very helpful though. –JW
Send
For a year, John had sent a text message to his friend without a single reply to him. "Always have to have the last word, eh?" John murmured before shoving his phone back into his pocket and entering into the flat and heading into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and sitting down on the couch to watch telly. This had pretty much become his daily routine for the past year. Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was worried for the army doctor and did everything she could to help him through such a hard time, but as an old woman, she could only do so much for John.
After a few hours passed in the flat, John got up from the couch and made his way back out the door, grabbing his coat, keys and phone. This was around the time that he would be heading to Angelo's for a few drinks to forget his sorrows in a few pints of beer. He knew this was not a very healthy habit, but at least he wasn't drinking 24-7 and causing Mrs. Hudson to fret.
Entering into the pub, John headed into a booth by himself looking over the menu before a waiter came over to ask for his order. John ordered his usual first pint of the evening before the waiter nodded and left him alone for the time being to get his first drink. Taking a deep breath, he looked out the window in his booth and dazed off remembering the first night Sherlock and himself had their first steak out at Angelo's for The Study in Pink. It was the first time he realized he did not need his cane anymore because he found something to keep his mind off of it… It was a new adventure for him with Sherlock. "Sherlock…" He murmured to himself softly watching the raindrops coming down and hitting the window in his booth. Looking back, the waiter had brought over his first drink as well as some peanuts to compliment the drink. Grabbing the beer, the doctor took his first gulp before looking back out the window at the rain.
Before John knew it, he was on his third beer of the evening. Peanuts were nearly gone with shells scattered on the table from the doctor carelessly tossing the shells away. His phone sat on the table in case he got a phone call or text message from someone. He didn't know who would bother texting him at this time, but it was always a habit he had with his phone. He took another gulp of his beer before his phone suddenly vibrated on the table. John set his pint down and looked down to see his phone lighting up. Picking it up, He flipped it open and nearly spit out his beer he had not finished swallowing.
"How's the beer, John?"-SH
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart