Sherlock looked at John from the other side of the grave yard, unsure of whether he should go and tell him that he's okay, he's alive. Anything to take that horrible, awful, look of sadness on his face. Surely he would understand…right? For once Sherlock wasn't quite sure what would happen, he couldn't quite deduce what John's reaction might be. Instead of confronting him, Sherlock walked off to where he would remain in isolation for three years.
1 year later
"Sherlock!" John yells to no one as he shoots up out of his fretful slumber. His eyes scan the room for any sign that maybe it was all just a dream, or even the sitance sound of a violin to calm his fears, but nothing came. Just silence filled his ears. John's heart wretched at the emptiness of the flat, and hiself. Before he could continue to think, his hand shot to his beside table grabbing one of the small pills that contained a heavy dose of tranquilizer to calm his mind. And he sank back into his emotionless, dreamless, void again.
2 Years later
John walked down the street the opposite direction of Baker Street. Sherlock had asked him to get some more milk. Another expirement had emptied the previous jug. John's mind was still reeling. Earlier when he left, he had informed Mrs. Hudson that he was going to get milk for Sherlock. She just gave him the saddest look and went into a room sobbing. John figured it must be a woman thing, seeing as how he didn't understand them much. Sherlock had come back to him a few months ago. Sherlock didn't do anymore cases now, but John was okay with that. Just as long as he had Sherlock back.
One Month Later
John sat down in the living room of the empty flat. His moment of realization came with agonizing pain. He had tried to hug Sherlock, and he vaporized. John now knew that his imagination had been playing tricks on him yet again.
1 Year Later
John finished packing up the first box of Sherlock's things in the bedroom. Mrs. Hudson had opposed the idea, thinking that John couldn't handle it. Surprisingly he had handled it much better than anyone though he would. Just to be safe Mrs. Hudson had Lestrade come over to supervise. Just to be sure that John wouldn't attempt to jump out of the window.
"You know, you don't have to do this yet John, I could even have Donovan or Anderson do it." Lestrade looked a him from the door way, sipping his tea. John just looked up at him with tired eyes. Eyes that had been tired ever since the day that Sherlock fell. Eyes that couldn't sustain any life for even just a moment.
John shakes his head. "No, it had to be done. His things can't stay where he isn't. It's wrong." He says picking up the box sitting it on the bed. Walking over to Lestrade he smiles. "He wouldn't want me to mourn too long ya know?" John said.
Two days later
John was looking at Lestrade who was finishing up the fourth box. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone come into the flat, assuming it might be Anderson he didn't even turn his head from where he sat.
"John?" A deep familiar voice called from the doorway. John looked this time. Sherlock stood there, dark and beautiful as ever. "I thought I was done imagining since I saw you earlier" John says quietly. Knowing it's only another figment of his imagination.
Lestrade comes into the living room and stops dead in his tracks gaping at what should be a space of air, yet it's actually occupied. "S-sherlock?" His mouth stays agape and his eyes wide. John just looks at Lestrade his heart pounding.
"You can see him too?"