He loved him. And he loved him back. The two of them together, forever. Or at least that's what he had thought. When Sherlock jumped, John realized that Sherlock went to the place that he couldn't follow. He watched him, falling, his arms pinwheeling and his favorite coat flapping behind him. He ran to his partner's fallen body. He tried to get to him, to make sure that he wasn't really dead. That damn cycler hit him and slowed him down. And then people held him back, so he couldn't get a good look. But he saw the coat, the height, the hair, and the bloody cheekbones. He knew it was Sherlock. He knew. But at the same time he wasn't sure, John wrote off his unsureness as denial. He knew he was dead and wasn't coming back. He watched them bury him. He had the coat Sherlock never left home without and the hat that Sherlock hated so much. He had the detective's beloved violin in it's case and only took it out to pluck a string when he wanted to hear it and imagine what the brilliant man would be writing now, assuming the case they would be working on pushed the detective to play. He left Sherlock's chem set untouched and on the table, exactly the way it was when Sherlock left the flat for the final time sans the liver he was working on. John had actually left the liver alone until it started to stink up the place. He had Sherlock's scarf under his pillow. Sometimes at night, after waking from a nightmare and watching Sherlock fall to his death, he would pull it out and clutch it to his chest and try to find any lingering scent of the detective. Some nights, John would go into Sherlock's room and ball himself up in Sherlock's closet with the coat draped around him. He had fallen back into his old life before Sherlock. He got a job as a doctor at a local practice. He went through the motions of life, but wasn't really living.
Mycroft dropped by every now and then. Just to see how he was doing. Sometimes he brought Lestrade with him. The two were now together after they spent a great deal of time around each other making sure that John wasn't going to completely destroy himself with Sherlock gone. John was happy for them, but wished that it didn't take Sherlock's death to bring them together. They worried about him and John knew it. He would keep on going and try to pick up the pieces of his life. He would try to move past the event and get on with it, but at the same time, he knew that no matter how hard he tried, he would always hope that Sherlock would come home and whine about being bored.
Well, that was different from what I usually write. Literally just sat down, started typing and got this. I have plans for a two or three shot Sherlock fic that will definatly be happier. Thanks for reading and please REVIEW!