Grief

He hated it this feeling inside of him, he'd never felt like this before, not once in his whole life and he wasn't exactly young anymore.
He missed it more than the army once he'd come home, he missed it more than his old friends who were no longer living, he missed it more than he ever missed an ex after a break up, he missed it more than anything he'd ever missed before, before now he never knew you could miss something so incredibly much.
He missed it's curly dark hair which was so thick and beautiful, he missed its pale complexion, he missed its stunning grey eyes, he missed the way it could tell so much about someone without even knowing them, he missed the way it was so arrogant, he missed how it was hardly ever wrong, he missed its mood swings and the way he could tell immediately how it felt, he missed the way it dressed, he missed its sense of humor, he missed the times he had done the strangest things with it, he missed running about for it, he missed how it made him feel, he missed how he had never trusted anything so much as it, he missed so much about it even the times when so many people wrongly assumed they were a couple, even the times when it went off in a huff about the simplest things, he missed how it got so bored so easily, he missed the thrill in its eyes.
He missed all of it- his Sherlock Holmes.

John Watson had been Sherlock Holmes' one true friend; Sherlock Holmes had been John Watson's closest friend in the world.

John had always felt so great with Sherlock, nothing felt weird when he was around, on the first day John and Sherlock had met they got on as if they had known each other all their lives, it all just felt so natural, before John knew it he was being taken on Sherlock's cases and was quickly replacing the skull as Sherlock's best friend, after a few days John had already killed and risked his own life for Sherlock but he never felt pressured into anything and was having the most fun he'd ever had. John felt as though he owed Sherlock so much he had picked John up when he had nothing left, when most of his friends were dead and gone, when John was so bored and lonely, when John couldn't escape the nightmares left by the war, when John was in so much pain that he thought each breath could have very been his last, the times when he wished it had, Sherlock had given him so much and set him free from a life of constant torture and John had not had the chance to just say thank you.

Sherlock had been dead a month now but John had still not come to terms with the fact he would never see him again, never be able to tell him how he really felt which had only become apparent to John since just before Sherlock's tragic death, there were signs before of course. It had all happened so quickly yet John could remember every single bit about it, finding Sherlock standing on top of a substantially high building, receiving the phone call from Sherlock who was standing above him telling him not to move a muscle, Sherlock said everything was a lie that he'd made cases on purpose, that he'd invented James Moriarty who was actually an actor to show off and get attention, that he had researched John before they had met and had found out everything about him to impress him, that he was a psychopath. John could hear the tears in his voice as he told him that this was his suicide note. And then he jumped. John had run as fast as his legs would take him being knocked over by a bike in the way. They all held him back, the people who had gathered and John screamed at them as their hands had pushed him away. "He's my friend" but it was too late nobody, not even the most unique man in the world could live after such a fall.

John frequently played this over and over in his mind he didn't want to believe that the things Sherlock had said to him were true in those last few moments but Sherlock had said them, and how could John argue with that.

He kept expecting to see Sherlock's tall figure come round the corner, he knew he wouldn't but it still ate away at him.

John visited Sherlock's grave every morning at exactly 9am and every night at exactly 9pm, he had no idea why he did so but he just wanted it to be precise and part of his routine, he lit a candle for him every night, apart from that he never left the flat. He didn't even leave it for groceries, Mrs Hudson took up doing everything that meant John didn't have to even though just a few weeks ago she had insisted she was not Sherlock and John's house keeper but their landlady. John however did now not require half as much groceries as before because not only had Sherlock gone but John's appetite had drastically decreased since Sherlock's departure.

John missed so much about Sherlock that he hadn't even noticed, this included Sherlock's strong, fresh and musky smell, John missed it so much that he had resorted to sleeping in Sherlock's bed as it still smelt like him and helped John to not have such harsh nightmares as it made him forget that Sherlock had gone. He would never admit to anyone though that he was sleeping there or that secretly he wished Sherlock was in there with him.

He started noticing how he felt about Sherlock after John had been plastered in explosives by Moriarty at the pool where the school boy Carl Powers had died some 20 years before because of the sick being that Moriarty was. The incident had almost resulted on the death all three of Sherlock, Moriarty and John but all had John cared about was getting Sherlock out alive, not himself. Once Moriarty had left and the incident had been and gone John tried convincing himself that the only reason he had felt this way was because Sherlock was the best friend he'd ever had. However some while later Sherlock and John had been summoned to Buckingham palace on a case involving Irene Adler and when John had turned up Sherlock was only in his bed sheet, John had felt such an urge to grab hold of Sherlock right there and then not even caring of the environment that surrounded him but before he had the chance Sherlock's brother Mycroft had appeared. After this John tried to convince himself he did not want Sherlock in any sexual manner mostly because he was bothered of what his old colleagues from the army would have to say, this did not work for long though as Irene Adler appeared on the scene and John couldn't help but be jealous of the way Sherlock had seemed to be consumed by her. After this case had ended and Irene was pronounced dead everything had gone back to normal and now John had tried to tell himself that Sherlock would not be the least bit interested in him. But then came their case in Baskerville involving the gigantic hound which there had turned out not to be at all where Sherlock had told John he was his only friend and that he was amazing after a row they had had the night before, this made all of the feelings even clearer to John and he was now almost certain that although he had never felt this way about any woman let alone a man that he was falling in love, if he had not done so already, for Sherlock. John didn't want to admit it though; he was worried of Sherlock turning him down and everybody else's view on the matter of homosexuality. But now John wished he had told him, for who knows if telling him would have stopped the jump and the death that resulted from it.

It's too late nowhe thought to himself, drawing himself back to reality; Sherlock was gone and was never coming back.

John didn't talk to anyone about how he had felt and how he still felt. He went to see his psychologist weekly but just didn't know the right words to say. John also saw Mycroft every Tuesday and Thursday for a few hours but tried to get Mycroft to talk for most of it, partially because John enjoyed finding out more about Sherlock's childhood. John thought of the first time he had met Mycroft and how so much had changed since then, Mycroft could sense straight away that John was happy while in danger which meant John was happy around Sherlock, when Mycroft told John this he had thought that he was Sherlock's arch enemy, he never would have thought that a few months down the line he'd be classing Mycroft as one of his few friends, Mycroft was always worried about Sherlock when he had been alive and now Sherlock was gone it was left to John to worry as of the weight had been shifted from Mycroft's shoulders. Apart from the psychologist, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson, John had no contact with the outside world, that was until exactly a month after the death.

John had only slept for around an hour the previous night but that was one of the most haunting of sleeps he'd had since Sherlock's death. He had seen Sherlock on top of the building once again but this time instead of doing as Sherlock had told him too and staying there he ran up to him. John told Sherlock not to jump or John's life would be ruined. Sherlock stared at John "That is exactly why I am jumping." He laughed. "Who'd want you in their life?" Then he jumped to his death.

John woke up from his nightmare with a start, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. "It was just a nightmare, that wasn't how it ended." John reassured himself, breathing in the steady timed breaths he had been taught after he was shot in the shoulder while in Afghanistan. It made him think back to the time when he'd first met Sherlock and he had immediately known that John had been in the army, the first thing Sherlock said to John was "Afghanistan or Iraq?" the memory sent a shiver down John's back. God he missed that man so much.

John struggled out of bed cursing at himself for not sleeping in Sherlock's, the nightmares were so much less painful when he could smell Sherlock, although the scent was fading quickly now and John had no idea what he'd do without it. He stumbled into the main room glancing at the smiley face Sherlock had put on the wall and had shot so many times when he was bored, John could still feel his ears ringing from the last time but this just made him feel worse. John scooped his laptop up, he chuckled as he remembered how when Sherlock was alive they'd shared it, well Sherlock had stolen it many times and always managed to guess the passwords although John changed them all the time, John purposefully made the passwords quite obvious as he enjoyed watching Sherlock work them out in a split second and loved to see the moment of challenge within Sherlock's mind. Everything reminded John of Sherlock and even though the memories just enforced what had happened he was glad that he still had them, he was dreading the day where he'd start forgetting them, start forgetting the one and only Sherlock Holmes. He logged on his laptop which currently had the password of L106A1 after John's model if gun. He logged onto his blog thinking about posting a little message about Sherlock as a memorial of the death which was exactly a month to this day. When the blog came up he found a post from an anonymous blogger "All Sherlock Holmes was a lying psychopathic freak." Anger rushed through John's veins and he felt as if he might explode, he grabbed his laptop and without thinking threw it forcefully against the yellow smiley face on the wall. He hated it when people insulted Sherlock and knew exactly who had posted that comment. It was Sargent Sally Donovan, she'd made her feelings known on the first case John and Sherlock had worked together on, telling John that one day they'd be standing around a body and Sherlock would have been the one who had put it there, after all he was a psychopath and psychopaths get bored, she told John to stay away from Sherlock and of course John didn't obey, how could he stay away from a man that already made him feel so alive, dangerous and happy after only knowing him a day? Ultimately Donovan had in a way caused Sherlock's death as she had suggested that Sherlock had something to do with the kidnapping of two young children as the young girl was terrified of Sherlock. John knew this had nothing to do with Sherlock but Donovan kept on pushing further. John got into Sherlock's bed and cocooned himself in Sherlock's bed sheets wondering if things would have been different now if he'd of admitted his strong affection when he'd had the chance.

John had heard a knock on the door and called to Mrs Hudson, she was out so John left it. The knocking didn't stop however so after half an hour John climbed out of Sherlock's bed and pulled on his dressing gown, John had also taken to wearing Sherlock's clothing in the past few weeks although he would only wear them around the house so he didn't dirty them.

He went downstairs to answer the door. He was surprised to see Mary from the bereavement group Mrs Hudson had forced John to go to once, but now didn't bother after the way John was afterwards, he'd spent the rest of that week lying in Sherlock's bed or at the grave and didn't speak to Mrs Hudson for the whole time, it was only because John had needed groceries that they'd started talking again, their conversations were still a bit bleak even now. Mary was standing there with a bunch of flowers, Mary had lost her 12 year old sister to cancer on the day before John had lost Sherlock, to John the two hardly compared as Mary usually only ever saw her sister once a year as Mary usually lived in Australia but had come back to London when her sister was diagnosed three months ago, Mary was honestly the worst thing he needed on a day like today. Usually Mary would have been just John's type, she was small and dark haired and would have made a great model, but John didn't feel like that about anyone anymore. He took the flowers but didn't say a word, had hardly spoken to anyone in the past month and wasn't going to start speaking now. "I'm so sorry; this has been a bad month for both of us." Mary said bringing John back to reality, a slight sadness to her voice that made John genuinely think she was sorry even though she had never met Sherlock. John nodded but still did not let a sound out. "I'm going back to Oz next week I wondered if you fancied joining me?" Mary asked, this had not been expected at all. John thought of the future that he could have with Mary in Australia, he could have children and a new life, and he could forget Sherlock had ever existed, but he would not be happy and he knew he would never forget. He would rather have a life with Sherlock even if it was with just his memories. "No." he said blankly. Mary looked disappointed but not as if she wasn't expecting John's answer. She was about to head off but seemed to change her mind at the last moment leaning in the doorframe and pecking John on the lips, John felt nothing but could sense that Mary did. "Call me." Mary told John "If you ever need anything I'm always on the end of my phone." She sighed turning around and heading down the street. John didn't point out that he didn't have her number but knew that he wouldn't call Mary even if he did and knew that she didn't expect him to. After seeing her John did not feel any better but much much worse. He turned into the hall of 221B Baker street and managed to slam the door before breaking down.

He stayed there screaming for what seemed like forever before Mrs Hudson arrived back with the groceries. She had seen John crying plenty recently but this was worse than he had ever been, he was curled into a ball screaming Sherlock's name tears flooding his face. Mrs Hudson had always assumed there was something between John and Sherlock the moment they started sharing the flat, although they did not know each other at all then. She had always secretly hoped to stumble upon them together one day, that day did never come. Mrs Hudson dropped her shopping and ran over to John scooping him up and holding onto him for dear life. "John, everything will be alright I promise." she whispered in John's ear. John shook his head "No it won't, I need him!" John cried using his remaining breath, everything went black.

John woke with a start to find himself in his own bed, Mrs Hudson must have guided him there after he had passed out although he wondered how her very fragile small frame would have managed to support his weight. He didn't have to wonder for long though, seeing as he could hear Mycroft's voice even over the ringing of his ears. "Well I knew he missed him, but I didn't realize he had missed him this much, their relationship was a funny sort of thing was it not?" Mycroft bellowed. Even John knew that he and Sherlock had had a strange kind of relationship to the outside world but to them it seemed totally natural, just thinking about it settled John a little until he remembered it was what they had had not what they did have, now it was just a man and a gravestone.

John stood and slowly steadied himself he felt hung over and even though John's alcohol consumption had probably doubled in the past month he knew it was not alcohol that was making him feel this way.
He walked into the living room to find Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and DI Lestrade inside, now that was not expected! Lestrade came to Sherlock when help was needed on cases that the police couldn't solve therefore making Sherlock the world's only consulting detective. John hadn't seen Lestrade since the death day and even then it wasn't for very long. John thought back to the first time he'd met Lestrade when he had asked Lestrade why he came to Sherlock for help Lestrade had told him it was because Sherlock was a great man and had said that if they were very, very lucky he may one day be a good one, Sherlock had always been a good man in John's eyes.

"Why are you here?" John asked. "To pay rent." Mycroft replied with a small look of hesitation. Mycroft had decided that he would pay the rent for the flat a week after Sherlock had gone but did not allow John to have any say in the matter. This relived John somewhat as he wasn't going to leave that flat for the world and he was glad that he would not need to work to stay there, besides Mycroft and Sherlock's parents were substantially rich. It was Lestrade being there that shocked John the most, he turned to ask him the same question. Lestrade spoke before John had even opened his mouth. "It is exactly one month today that Sherlock was taken from us and I wanted to check up on you, heard you aren't in the best of ways from her." Lestrade signaled at Mrs Hudson who gave a small nod. John disliked people taking about him without consulting him but this didn't really bother him as it was rather pleasant to see Lestrade.

John glanced at the clock which read 8:05am. "I must get dressed, I need to go to the graveyard." John murmured mostly to himself. "We're coming too." Lestrade ordered. There was little fight left in John so he did not protest. Just a few weeks ago Lestrade had thought that Sherlock was a psychopath but he was still his friend no matter what, although Sherlock did not see him as a friend seeing as he only had had one which tuned out to be John. John showered and dressed in under five minutes barely feeling the water hit his skin. He put on a shirt of Sherlock's mostly because it was a month anniversary and the shirt had the Sherlock smell that John craved for, he placed one of his own jumpers over the top in case there was a chill in the air and quite frankly he didn't need Mycroft asking why he was wearing his dead brothers shirt or didn't want any of the inquisitive looks Lestrade was famous for giving.

They arrived at the grave at 8.55am, John had cursed throughout the car journey thinking that they'd be late, but luckily they weren't. Mrs Hudson had thrown away Mary's flowers so this was not a problem that confronted John and they had brought some more on the way, much more tasteful ones, white lilies, sweet and crisp. It was so painful a month in knowing he wasn't coming back but John had to face this harsh reality and having Mycroft, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson there did ease the pain a little, but then after half an hour they decided to leave John there to have some private time. John always enjoyed this time alone as it let him think of Sherlock in his own space, today was different he didn't know why he was doing it but as soon as Mycroft's umbrella had disappeared along with the rest of Mycroft and closely followed by Lestrade and Mrs H words started flowing from his mouth.

"Sherlock, this month has probably been the hardest month I've ever, ever lived, it's even harder than Afghanistan and well that was hard, but that was before you brushed me off my feet and showed me what real adventure was, the thrill of the chase is not what I miss the most, but the chaser, the consulting detective, you Sherlock. I should have told you how I would have died willingly if it meant you would have got away from Moriarty at the pool, luckily I didn't have to but I still should have said it, I should have told you how so many people told me you were dangerous the first time we met yet I didn't care, I should have told you how sexy you were in Buckingham Palace in just your bed sheet and how I had wished to just be in there with your body heat against mine, I should have admitted how jealous I was of Irene Adler wishing I was her even if it meant doing horrible things with others just for you, I should have told you when you said I was your one friend in Baskerville that I wanted to be so much more, I should have told you it all when you were standing there on top of that building, but I didn't. I should have told you that I'd never even liked a woman this much before, and I always had considered myself heterosexual as before you there was no man on the world who I was attracted to, I was so worried that you would reject me and that the world would reject us, but it would have been worth it for you to be here with me, I'm bored Sherlock, life's boring without you, maybe I should take up shooting walls in my free time?" John joked swallowing some tears as he had a flashback of Sherlock shooting the smiley face on their wall at 221B Baker Street. "So what do I do now Sherlock? Everyone is expecting me to be okay, but without you I'm broken into a million shards, everyone is expecting me to carry on as if it's all fine and that this is how it's meant to be, they keep thinking I'll just pick up another woman with their feeble little brains, Mary even came round today and gave me flowers she thinks I want her? How could I want her? How could I want anyone except you? You who made my heart beet so fast it felt like a butterfly flapping it's wings rapidly, you who sent shivers down my spine, you who gave me Goosebumps every time you smiled, you who made me feel like I was the only other person on the world, you who made me feel as if I was worth something, you who made me feel so so much more that I'm scared I'll forget it all, that's the worst thing, the forgetting, I'll start to forget you and therefore will forget myself. What do I do Sherlock? What on earth do I fucking do?" He shouted that last question and would have felt really bad for swearing in a graveyard, that was if he had not had the answer straight away.

"Nothing, don't do anything John." and again his heart was beating so fast in his chest, a shiver rushed down his spine, life was coming back into his drawn figure. He turned slowly wanting to cherish this moment for the rest of his life. And sure enough right behind him there he was.

His Sherlock Holmes.