Chapter 1
It was only a couple hour into his shift and John Watson knew it would be a long day. The surgery's waiting room was filled with various patients. From a child with the common cold to a skate boarder with a severe case of road rash.
After seeing his...was it his fifteenth patient? In all the hustle and bustle the morning John had lost count. However, after seeing the last patient to the waiting room John asked Sarah to allow him a small break.
She smiled "Of course John."
"I won't be long. Just need to catch my breath." John chuckled and nodded his thanks before returning to his office.
With a long sigh John sat down his chair. He leaned forward burying his face into his hands. Sliding his hands to his temples; John glanced at the large calendar that laid across his desk. One hand fell to rest on the smooth surface.
His eyes fell to one date. How John loathed that date. The day he lost his best friend. The day Sherlock Holmes fell. The day everything fell a part.
The first few months after 'The Fall' were a bit of a blur. Only a few things stuck out in John's memory. Sherlock's funeral, which was held in a private location, was one. John returning to is psychiatrist. To which John regretted. The visiting Sherlock's grave for the first time with Mrs. Hudson.
"Don't be...dead. Would you do that for me? Just stop it. Stop this."
John returned to Sherlock's grave, alone, almost weekly for the first couple of months. The doctor found it more therapeutic then anything else. He was able to dispel his rage. Spending hours yelling at the headstone until his voice was hoarse, throat was raw and tear streaked his face. Then those visits dwindled from weekly to monthly then to sparse visits when John need time alone.
A buzz from inside John's desk drew the doctor from his thoughts. Leaning back slightly John pulled open the top left drawer of his desk.
"A text?" John tilted his head as he pulled the phone out. He wasn't use to receiving text messages. Since Sherlock died the only ones to text him on occasion were Mycroft or Greg. However, the number displayed was unfamiliar to the doctor. Curious John opened the message.
'Where are you?' The message read.
Shaking his head John chose to ignore the message and returned the phone to the drawer. Reaching to his side John gripped his cane and stood. Once he steadied himself John limped towards the door. The psychosomatic limp returned about six months after 'The Fall'. It was small at first, but the limp grew over the past year and a half to the point of John requiring his cane again.
When John reached his office door; he heard the faint buzzing of his phone from inside his desk. The doctor let out a frustrated sigh, the grip on his cane tightened. John returned to his desk and pulled out his phone.
"The same blasted number?" John shook his head.
The phone buzzed again in John's hand causing the doctor to jump. A second unread message from the unfamiliar number. Sighing John opened the messages.
'You forgot your umbrella again.'
'You always forget it.'
John's eyebrows furrowed. He turned to look out his window to see rain streaking the glass. Again John ignored the messages and stuffed the phone into his white coat pocket. A soft knock on the door sounded and Sarah walked in.
"Are you alright John?"
"Ah...yea. Just fine. Sorry if I took too long. Who's next?"
The rest of the morning carried in as usual; save for the constant buzzing of John's phone. At one point John was tempted to throw the annoyance out the window.
The doctor's lunch break could not have come sooner. John sat at his desk and glared at his phone. There were several unread messages from the unknown number.
'Why are you not responding?'
'Oh you're at work.'
'Must be busy there.'
'Any interesting patients today?'
The last text caught John off guard. The doctor continued to read.
'You always has interesting stories from work.'
'When are you coming home?'
'The flat is a great deal cleaner then I remember.'
'Glad you kept my "friend" on the mantle though.'
John's eyes widened and he stood from his chair. His phone dropped onto his desk with a loud clatter. John leaned forward placing his hands on his desk to steady himself.
"It can't be..." John's breathing was rapid as thoughts raced through his mind. "It can't be...it can't be..." he repeated.
Grabbing his cane John limped towards his office door and into the hall.
"What's wrong John?" Sarah had just stepped out of her office. She looked at John noticing the frantic look on his face.
"I'm sorry Sarah, b-but I need to go home."
"Is everything alright? You look pale."
"I'm fine, I just...something might have happened at Baker Street."
Sarah gasped "Of course John go. Don't worry about us here."
John nodded. "Thank you. I'll call you later okay."
Quickly returning to his office John retrieved his phone. A quick glance at it showed a new message.
'I'm bored.'
Stepping out of the surgery John swore under his breath; it was raining heavily. After several failed attempts of trying to hail a cab; John abandoned the idea and began to make his way towards Baker Street.
The walk home felt unusually long. Either it was the rain slowing him down or it was all in his head John thought. Seeing the street sign for Baker Street John's pace hastened. As he took the turn everything seemed to slow down.
The usually busy walkways of Baker Street were mostly vacant due to the rain. However, one figure stood near the center of the block. John stopped and stared at the figure. It was a tall man dressed in a long black coat; a large black umbrella concealed the man's face.
John slowly limped towards the man. The figure turned and walked towards the doctor and John froze. The doctor's eyes widened and he gasped.
"Sherlock..."
The consulting detective smirked as he walked towards John. Sherlock stopped a few feet away and tilted the large umbrella to cover the shorter man.
John just stared at Sherlock. The doctor's eye still wide with shock. John stepped forward; the cane cane in his hand slipping from his grip and clatter on the ground.
"It can't be...Sherlock?"
"Hello John." Sherlock's smirk grew as he noticed the tears streaming down John's face.
"You're...alive."
John stepped forward: his steps staggering without his cane. Sherlock grasped John's shoulder to steady him. John reached towards Sherlock and gripped the blue scarf that was tied around his neck.
"John I-"
The dark haired man was cut off by his short companion's fist.