'Ello my friends

Here we are. In a very depressing one-shot for Sherlock. There is no implied JohnLock but do what you will .-.

I feel depressed today. Do you feel depressed today? No? Oh well, I dunno, maybe it's just a teenage hormonal thing.

Anyway, enjoy this short one-shot of a prompt I received sometime in my lifetime.

Pain.

Loss.

Grief.

Regret.

They didn't even start to explain what John was truly feeling or thinking.

He had come to work quite optimistic. He had come back from a short vacation to make up the cut honeymoon with Mary. Their relationship needed a little patching up and a little time in the sun and off the rain helped. The days back had been hectic to make sure everything was prepared for Mary's pregnancy, which constantly gnawed John's mind. Work was a blur and he could barely remember what he had diagnosed each patient.

So he definitely did not remember calling his best friend in the four week time period.

That day he was to begin his new position in the long-term section of St. Bart's Hospital. He had in fact planned to chat with Molly or Lestrade and catch up with the times, no doubt Sherlock being on a case or something. He would not want to be distracted.

The day was wonderful, honestly. Mary had been feeling their daughter, ultrasonics confirmed, kick and he had left with good intentions. It wasn't raining, lo and behold, and he had greeted many acquaintances on the way to his new ward.

"Hello Dr. Watson," the attendant at the desk greeted him politely, "you will be taking care of three patients. Their information is in these three files," she handed him three files, one thinner than the other two, "your first patient is an amnesia victim. Poor sod. Middle of a horrible explosion, took a couple days to find him, he was completely delusional going about his best friend. The government covered up most of the accident. He'll be the third door to the hallway on your left 313. Have a good day Dr. Watson."

After he thanked her, he set off to meet his new patient. He stopped at door 313 and knocked. When he got no answer, he opened the door, preparing himself. He did not prepare himself for what he saw.

Shock.

Fear.

Horror.

"Sherlock?" he gasped.

The tall man with disheveled hair and apparent stubble looked up from the bed he was sitting on. Melancholy and very, very confused.

Dull. Muddled. Small.

This did not compute with John's reasoning of the arrogant sod. Error. Error. Error.

"Yes?" the man said warily,

"And who are you?"

Despair.

Yeah. So... Watchya think? Did you like? Did you hate? Please R I love reviews, it makes my low self-esteem inch higher and higher. Thanks :)

~Firelily