Hey fanfiction! This is my first story and I hope it goes over well. For every chapter I will have a question in my disclaimer and my readers should try to answer it. This chapters question is: In the second episode of Sherlock; The Blind Banker, what does the newspaper read after he solved the crime? Answer this question for a sneak preview of my next chapter as well as my new fan fiction. PLEASE R and R!

I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, but I do own this plot.

John's POV

I have lived through death before. I was a soldier in a war, I saw men falling around me, and I didn't shed a tear. Then why is it, now after the death of just one man, can I not stop the tears flowing down from my eyes. They all tell me to move on and forget him, forget the life we had together. But, I know I can't let his memories go. The flat looks the same, I could not bear to move anything that smelled like him, that looked like him, or that even remotely reminded me of who he was. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson try to get me to move past the life I had before, but I fear moving on means letting him go, and I will never let the memories of Sherlock die.

I hear the door open and the sound of footsteps climbing the staircase, I can tell it's Greg, he comes over to the flat every day at 5pm, like clockwork. I wonder if he feels guilty, or if he feels betrayed. I can't explain how I feel about Sherlock, to be honest, I could not even face how I felt when he was alive.

"Evening John, how are you doing tonight?"

I know it's not a real question, it's the same one he asks every time he comes in, it seems rehearsed at this point. So, I choose to reply with my rehearsed answer, like always.

"Fine, just a little tired." Tired is an understatement, I have not slept in weeks, all I see when I close my eyes is that damn coat collar and his beautiful cheekbones.

"Look John, I know that it has been a hard couple of months for you, I feel the same way, I want to talk to you outside of this flat. I want to go out for drinks like we used to, please, I know you need someone on your side right now."

I look up at him shocked, this has never been part of our script, he usually just nods and says "I understand, let me know if there is anything I can do to help you get on with your life." When did the rules of this game change? However, I do need to talk about Sherlock, and I figure Greg is better than Mycroft or some therapist in an office.

"Sure Greg, meet you at Cloggart's Pub tonight at 8pm?"

I can see he is taken aback, clearly he was expecting to be turned down, he takes some time before replying.

"O-of course, that sounds wonderful, I'll meet you there, see you soon."

With that he is walking out of the flat, and I am back alone wallowing in my grief and sorrow. I force my self out of my chair and walk towards the open window letting in the cool midday breeze of central London. Staring out of the window I can't help but realize that the words Mycroft spoke to me upon my meeting with Sherlock where more true than even he realized. "Most people come to this city and all they see is lights and trees and other people, when you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield." I chuckle softly to myself, and look back out the window. Even though I am trying my hardest I can no longer see the battlefield that is hidden in the ground of London.

Walking up to my room I open the door and lay down on my bed, smelling the dust and mold scent that has clearly taken over my old room. It's understandable, I have not set foot in my old room since the fall. Most of my stuff is in Sherlocks old room, seeing as how I have taken that room as mine now. The only thing I keep in my rooms is my secret supply. I walk over to the desk and pull out a silver key on a gold keychain. I reach under my bed and pull out a lockbox. Inserting the key and opening the box, I remove the contents and walk over towards my bathroom. Heroine. It started a week after the fall, when Molly suggested I take up my time with a hobby, something that brings me joy, relaxes me. The heroine became my hobby, and I cannot live without it.

Inserting the needle into the veins on my wrist I sigh as the calm feeling washes over my body. It feels good, and I finally understood how Sherlock must have felt when everyone was telling him to quit. The only person I would quit for at this point would be Sherlock.

Taking out the needle I begin to walk towards the pub down the street.

-Time Jump , At the pub-

The moment I walk through the doors I realizes this is a bad idea. There are too many people and I don't think that drinking will make them go away. Just as I am about to leave I see Greg wave me over to a table, not wanting to seem like I was running away I walk over and sit down.

"Evening John, I am glad you finally came out of the flat, I know how hard this step must have been for you."

"Yes well, sometimes I think that hiding away in the flat for the rest of my life sounds like a good idea, but then I remember that my life went on before Sherlock walked into it, and it should go on after he leaves."

I don't know where those words came from, did I really feel this way about my life, was it worth nothing to me until Sherlock met me in the Lab?

"J-john I wanted to tell you I am truly sorry for what I did and how I turned on you." I understand where is he going with this and I really do not want to go there right now with him. "I knew that Sherlock was not guilty, he could never do something like that to children, I know he sometimes looked and acted like a machine, but no matter what anyone says or does, there is nothing that can convince me he was heartless. I should have stuck up for his dignity and his rights as a person who I trusted. John, I don't think I can live with myself if I know you blame his death on me."

Yep I was right, not the conversation I want to be having at a bar, I don't wanna be having the conversation at all. However, when I look at his face I see the exact problem I have had for the past couple of months, not having closure. I don't believe that Greg was responsible for his death, I think that is was something he came up with in his own head, and decided to try it out, almost like one big science experiment.

"Listen Greg, I don't blame you for his suicide, that is why they call them suicides, because it is the victims choice. Sherlock clearly did not want to be part of the population any more and there is nothing we could have done to change his mind. Remember what he said, "You can't kill an idea, not once it has made a home up here." Try and remember that next time you feel the need to blame yourself."

I take a sip of my beer when suddenly Greg's face lights up and he smiles, I am suddenly wondering what he has just found out.

"You loved him as more than a friend and a flatmate didn't you?"

I almost chocked on my beer. LOVED SHERLOCK HOLEMS. That is the most ridiculous think I have ever heard..Unless it's true? Sherlock never showed any interest in women, and even though he never showed interest in men either does not me he is not gay... What am I thinking? I am straight and I always will be, besides it does not matter in this case. Sherlock is never coming to carry me off into the sunset.

"No, Sherlock was a lot of things to me, but I never loved him in that way, I will admit I did depend on his mind and thought process, but I did not love his as a lover or a boyfriend, he just would not match what I was looking for."

"...You realize you just admitted your gay right John?"

I double back from shock, was that what I just did? Did I just say that Sherlock Holmes was not my "type!" Does that mean I have a type? While I was pondering the subject I turned my face to the door and saw a face I though I would never have to see again.

CLIFFHANGER! DUH DUH DUH!

R and R please!