"Come in John," said Ms. Hudson, beckoning the doctor up the stairs.

John stood at the bottom of the staircase. "Just a minute, Ms. Hudson."

"Of course dear, take your time."

"Thank you," John said. Ms. Hudson went into the flat and closed the door, and John Watson stood with his back to the wall just like he had after he and Sherlock had chased that cab.

"You invaded Afghanistan," He laughed, the same way he had when he heard Sherlock tell him the joke that night, and then he ran his hand along the wall searching for Sherlock, but the man wasn't there.

"No…" John whispered, "I don't cry."

His eyes stung, but it must have been the dust or maybe the smell of cigarettes that still hung in the air from Sherlock. He was a solider. Soldiers don't cry, right?

"God no. Sherlock is still out there somewhere. He can't be dead. Just, don't let him be dead," and John found himself crumpled on the floor, staring a long crack trailing the ceiling. He stared up the stairs and stood himself back up, feeling drunk and like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare. He wasn't coming here to clean out the flat. That's not something you do for someone you still think is alive. But he is dead John, you saw him jump yourself. Flames were licking he's eyes like they had when bombs blew up and the inescapable heat surrounded him. He wouldn't cool them with that salty water though. It would hurt far too much, much more then fire ever would. Concentrating on his breathing instead of the lack of another breathing person next to him, he ran up the stairs, imagining he was Lestrade and Anderson on a drugs bust. Yes, he was here on a drugs bust, not to clean out his best mate's flat, his best mate who jumped off a building and ended his life, taking the adventure of John's life with him. He opened the dark forest green door, so much like the tree that hung over Sherlock's grave on rainy days, and faced the mess Sherlock had left him and Ms. Hudson to clean up.

"John, would you mind taking the kitchen? I don't want to stumble across anything…"

"Any human body parts? Yeah, I'll do the kitchen," John barely looked at the front room and turned into the kitchen, staring at the bottles of unlabeled fluids and scientific equipment. Of course, Sherlock kept and never labeled anything because he didn't need to, but did it ever cross his mind that maybe John needed the labels? No, of course it wouldn't. Sherlock couldn't waste his time on boring things like labeling and organizing chemicals when he knew which was which. Everything was labeled in his mind.

"I've got boxes and a can, if those will help," said Ms. Hudson.

"Yes, thank you very much," and John considered where to start. He thought he might start by throwing away all the trash, but he quickly realized there was no trash. He then thought he should get all the most important things out of the way first, but it all seemed equally unimportant now that Sherlock wasn't going to use any of it anymore. By lunch, John had the tea out of the cabinet, sitting in a box next to him. The rest was no use. He might as well give it all to Molly, just like it was. He didn't want to clean out any bottle or beaker, because it might be useful in some way. And he couldn't find it in himself to admit defeat. He didn't give up, and he didn't lose battles, especially with himself. He wouldn't let himself admit Sherlock was dead.

"I'll go and get some lunch from up in my flat. You don't mind ham do... oh dear John," said Ms. Hudson looking at the nothing that John had accomplished.

"I'll take it, Ms. Hudson."

"I'm sorry dear, you'll what?"

"I'll take the flat. I'm moving back into 221B."

"Are you sure you can pay the rent?"

"What'll it be? I'm not Sherlock, so you don't have to give me the discount you gave-"

"I'll make it 130 pounds."

"Ms. Hudson, are you sure?"

"Yes John. Just, don't expect me to be your housekeeper."

John smiled, "I wouldn't dream of it."

"I'll still get your sandwich though, you'll be needing that. Oh, and I'll get that face off the wall for you, and maybe-"

"It's all fine, Ms. Hudson. Just, don't worry about it. This flat is just fine the way it is."

"You won't be using the bedroom upstairs anymore, then?"

"No, Ms. Hudson. I moved out of there a while ago."

"Alright then. I'll let you be, Doctor Watson."

"Thank you, Ms. Hudson. Thank you so much."