A/N: Obviously I don't own these boys. And I have obviously changed the letter from 'The Final Problem' to fit the story. Cheers guys.
After The Fall
John stood outside the door of the apartment he lived in. Used to live in. It had been months since he had even considered visiting. All of the memories and moments he had shared, they just laid there in a room or two, gathering dust. He remembered talking to Mrs Hudson about it. She was considerate, understanding. She knew that John was having issues with the place. She had promised that she would not rent out their apartment until John was ready.
The key felt cold in his hand. The hesitation was taking control of his emotions and doubt flooded him. Endless questions filled his mind, making the doubts stronger and more persistent. The phone in his pocket buzzed, breaking John out of his current distress. Breathing heavily, he pulled out his phone and looked at it. He didn't read the text. John decided to examine his phone, the presence of the apartment controlling his entire body. He noticed where his keys had scratched it, adding to the older marks left by Harry. Shaking his head, he turned it over to examine the bottom of the phone, where the charger went in. He finally saw what he was talking about on that fateful day. It seemed a lifetime ago. The phone buzzed again, and John knew he couldn't ignore it. He read the first one. It was from Lestrade. Almost against his will, John hoped it was good news.
Nothing new. Case almost dead. Sorry. -Lestrade
His heart sank even further. The case would become a cold one, and the feelings inside him would fester unimaginably. It was strange, he had never realised how deeply he cared, how deeply he loved the other man, until the other man was no longer around to suggest at it. Sighing, John looked at the other text. What he saw did not help his emotions at all.
New e-mail received: S. Holmes. Read now?
It was at that point that John broke down. His hands shook and his legs gave way. He turned his back against the door and tried to support himself on it. He hated feeling this way. He hated feeling anything at all. The only thought in his mind was 'It wasn't meant to be like this.' Whether it applied to his feelings, or the death of his friend, John knew that this was not the way he thought his life was going to turn out like. He thought he'd marry someone nice, survive a war, have children, enjoy old age after working in a clinic for a few years and die happy. What happened was he barely survived a war, met someone that was hard to describe, then fell in love with said someone, and lost him. It was enough to break John Watson. He tried to control himself, and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn't easy, but John needed control; he needed to keep a level head, especially now. He tucked his phone away into his pocket, and tried to put the key into the lock of the door. His hands were still trembling, so it took him a couple of attempts to calm himself down and turn the key.
The dusty air greeted John and he coughed, overwhelmed by it. It was exactly as he had left it. However, he did notice that Mrs. Hudson had cleared out the decaying body parts and all of the perishable foods. He made a note to thank her for that later on. He cast his eyes around the living room, a thousand memories playing before his eyes. His face involuntarily smiled, and John felt more at ease in the lonely room. Something glinting in the afternoon sun caught his attention and distracted John from his memories. He stared at the object, trying to see if it was of any importance. Then he realised it was a laptop. He couldn't tell from where he was standing who it used to belong to. He had left everything that he used to own back at this apartment, mostly, and his laptop was no exception. Remembering the e-mail, and caught up in emotions, John walked over to the laptop and knelt down to pick it up. Luckily, it was his. John wasn't sure if he could handle using his old flatmate's one. Hoping for a little bit of good luck, John sat down on the floor, and pulled the laptop to rest on his lap. He turned it on, and breathed out happily when it turned on, and alerted him that it was almost at full charge. He connected to the internet and waited patiently as his e-mails loaded. The message he received on his phone flashed again.
New e-mail received: S. Holmes. Read now?
Closing his eyes to prepare himself, John clicked yes. He counted to three, and opened his eyes. He read the e-mail quickly, then started again, and took every word in slowly.
John, Moriarty has allowed me to type this to you, and he's waiting for me so we can discuss what questions still need an answer. I've gotten useful information from him, which I've sent attached to this e-mail. The high opinion I formed of him has certainly been confirmed. I am sure that I will free London of his presence, but it comes at a cost, and especially to you. I have mentioned before that my career had exceeded its use, and there was no possible way to continue. If I can admit, I knew the letter was a hoax, and I let you answer the errand, so that I may deal with Moriarty. Tell Lestrade that all the information on the rest of his men are in an e-mail sent to his other account. He'll understand. Tell Mycroft to continue to pay the rent, and give Mrs. Hudson my good wishes. I sent this e-mail on a delay, so that you might have recovered from my death. Lead a good life John. And I'm sorry. -Sherlock
The tears had started to flow, but John didn't even realise. The gravity of the e-mail was pressing down on him.
False letter.
Moriarty's gang.
Good life.
Sorry.
The words become disjointed in John's mind, making new facts and creating new fantasies. Closing the laptop, John pulled himself up as much as he could, and cried. He felt embarrassed; a grown man, a survivor of war, a doctor, crying over an e-mail, sent in the past and received now. Another memory played in John's mind. It was after their first case together, and Sherlock had been draped in the orange blanket by the paramedics. He remembered the consulting detective telling him the story and showing him the photo he had been Bluetoothed by Anderson. That's what John needed now. An orange blanket. For the shock. Wiping his hands over face, John stopped crying and looked around. He couldn't carry on like this. He couldn't carry on living in memories. He needed to collect his things, and move out. He needed to move on. It was hard to accept that fact, but John was determined to do this. Holding onto the table next to him for support, John stood up, and dusted himself off. Picking the laptop up, he looked around for the charger. He didn't have any luck, and decided to buy a universal charger from the electronics store later. Having one last look around the room, John smiled. He'd be back, once more, to collect his things, but he'd be back.
He closed the door behind him, and tried to focus on walking to Mrs. Hudson's door, instead of the onslaught of emotions starting to bubble up again. He knocked patiently at the door of 221A, and smiled widely when Mrs. Hudson opened the door. She looked shocked to see him, but she welcomed John in all the same. As he walked through the hallways of her apartment, he could see that she hadn't changed much ion the month's that had followed Reichenbach. He pushed everything aside, only wanting to discuss business and finally enjoy a cup of tea. Mrs. Hudson smiled at John and they sat down, tea set out on the table between them and light conversation flowing. Mrs. Hudson looked over John. She could see that John was healthy, but she saw that Sherlock's death had affected him badly. She had been there before, a long time in her past, but she understood what it was like to lose someone that you loved. The tear stains down John's face were the most heartbreaking thing she saw in him however. It was heartbreaking to see a grown man cry over anything. She smiled softly and John stopped talking. His head tilted left in curiosity.
"What's the smile for Mrs. Hudson?" Her smile grew a little bit wider.
"No reason at all dear. Now, you said you had something you wished to discuss with me?" John nodded and placed his cup of tea down.
"The apartment. 221B. I don't... I don't think I'll be back." He sighed, not sure on how to continue. Mrs. Hudson leant over and patted his knee.
"I understand dear. I'll tidy up Sherlock's things after you're done with yours."
"Thank you. It was so kind of you to leave it for this long. I can tell Mycroft to stop paying rent, if you want to leave it ready for new inhabitants.." Mrs. Hudson patted his knee again.
"That's okay John. I don't think I'm quite ready for anybody new. I think I'd just like to leave it empty, if I couldn't have you two boys there. I'll talk to Mr. Mycroft about it later. Don't you worry about it." She smiled at John, and John felt touched by her sentiment.
They finished their tea and John stood up, making sure he had his laptop with him. He thanked his landlady again, and with a kiss on her cheek, he walked out of the doors for what he hoped to be one of the last times. So caught up on his thoughts and emotions, John failed to see where he was going and bumped into someone who happened to be passing. He heard the sound of shopping bags falling and a milk bottle opening and spilling everywhere. A tiny part of him was grateful that he hadn't dropped his laptop. Placing it on the step behind him, he bent down and helped to pick up the fallen groceries. Standing up with an assortment of food items in his arms, John was looking at a flustered woman, who happened to have a joyful smile on her face.
"God, I'm so sorry. I really am. Um, I.. er.." John stuttered, unsure of what to say next. He shifted uncomfortably and the woman laughed.
"It's not a problem. I should have looked where I was going too. It's not that big of a deal. I'm Mary, by the way. Mary Morstan. What an interesting way to meet you," she laughed again and John laughed along with her. His thoughts were racing a thousand miles a minute. Maybe, just maybe, he could find some sort of happiness again. This woman seemed to be infectious with her laugh, and she was very easy on the eyes. He wasn't going to forget about Sherlock. Ever. But maybe he needed someone in his life to help him cope.
"I'm John Watson. And the pleasure is all mine. Please, can I make this up to you in some way? Perhaps, dinner?" John felt like it was too rushed and too much, too soon. But he felt like he needed a distraction. He felt like Mary was someone he could care for, and help him move on. The conflicting emotions added to the pit of anxiousness while he was waiting for her response. Mary's face broke into a large grin.
"I'd like that very much Mr. Watson. Here's my number, so you can call me about details."
With that, she handed him a business card, gave him a wide smile and walked off, leaving half her shopping with the doctor. John blinked a couple of times and stepped backwards, sitting down on the step and narrowly avoiding his laptop. He sighed for what seemed the hundredth time that day, and closed his eyes to take in everything that had just occurred.
From across the street, a tall man leaned across the brick wall and watched John Watson deal with his emotions. Finally, John collected his laptop, shuffled the groceries and start off down the street into a new life and another chance at love. Sherlock wiped the single tear that fallen as he watched John interact with the woman. He knew that he had done this to himself, and he felt, no, he knew, that he deserved it. John deserved someone better than himself. And all Sherlock really wanted was for his friend to be happy. He continued to watch until John turned the corner of Baker Street and disappear. A small smile played on Sherlock's face.
"Goodbye John Watson," he whispered into the London air. Sighing deeply, Sherlock turned, his coat swishing behind him and he stalked off into the night. He still had a case to solve.