John sighed loudly as he entered the flat, putting the groceries on the floor. The stupid machine in the check-out line hadn't been working to his favour again, so it took him ten minutes longer to get home than he expected it to be originally. This wasn't great if you were trying to catch something at 7:25, which was now just seven minutes away.

So as quickly as he could, John proceeded to get a bag of popcorn from the cabinet and put it in the microwave, taking it out again when he was done. He also grabbed a bottle of scotch (it was tiring being a doctor, after all), and, groaning as he put his cane to the side of the couch, sat down.

He yelled abuse at the remote for a while, as it was lost in the depths of the sofa, but soon found it. It was 7:24 now. A race against the clock. With fancy finger work, John pushed the buttons for the channel he wanted and sat back in victory as the Doctor Who theme blasted through the telly. He hummed the theme tune quietly, as to not disturb the people down below whom he had moved in with.

To John it seemed like he had always been a Doctor Who fan. He remembered when he was seven years old and had watched Tom Baker for the first time dancing across the screen with that silly multi-coloured scarf. He remembered the first time he'd seen the Master, the first time he'd seen a regeneration, and the first time he'd witnessed the Daleks (yes, he had hidden behind the couch). Though his interest in the show had dropped a bit when he entered secondary school, he always managed to know what was going on in the Who universe. And the man couldn't deny that when he heard the show had been cancelled, though it was heading towards a decline in all fairness, he may have been quite sullen for a while.

He was stationed in Afghanistan when he'd heard of the new reboot of the series, but it wasn't until he'd left the war that he'd ever had a chance to actually watch any of it. It was hard to get used to at first, as it it was different in a lot of ways than the Doctor Who he grew up with- but it soon grew on him. It helped him sleep too, ironically, if it was one of those days where he could remember nothing but the screams of the battlefield. His therapist even started joking about how she should just tell her clients to start watching the show.

But then everything changed, what with Sherlock and his crazy adventures, and John stopped keeping up-to-date with Doctor Who. However, after recent events… he had taken to watching it again. He watched some episode every Saturday night, even when the show wasn't actually on. His therapist had recommended he have routines. And god knows he needed routines.

While humming along, John couldn't help but notice that the title sequence was even darker than usual. Sure, of course he knew the Ponds were leaving, but did the opening credits need to be dark? Swallowing some popcorn, the man just hoped it would start off happy.

Thankfully, it did. John smiled as the TARDIS trio lounged about New York, obviously happy and no troubles in their way. Soon though, things took a turn for the worst and he started to curse Rory as he was sent back in time by the Weeping Angel as well- and then breathing a sigh of relief as he ended up with River.

The rest of the episode went on at a breakneck speed that John could only just barely understand. The Doctor and Amy figuring out they needed to go back to the 1930s to find Rory because of the book that supposedly River had written. A crazy man who collected Weeping Angels and hired a private investigator who's team threw Rory down in the basement with baby Weeping Angel cherubs. River getting trapped by an Angel, and having to break her wrist to get out of it, and the Doctor sweetly healing it for her with his regeneration energy. John's heart actually wrenching as the Time Lord saw the last chapter of River's book- Amelia's Last Farewell. And lots of fixed points. Lots and lots of fixed points.

Then came Winter Quay. John found himself yelling at Rory again (was going up in a mysterious lift really the best idea?) and afterwards mildly freaking out that Rory had found a room much like the private investigator, Grayle, had at the beginning of the episode- where he saw his older self die. He hoped that wouldn't happen to Rory too.

However, there was no such luck this time. The man could hardly believe that an older Rory was on the screen before him, holding his hand out for Amy to touch him one last time. He felt so empty that he just kept silently smiling as Rory and Amy interacted after that scene- it couldn't get worse from here, could it? Not when there seemed no escape from the Weeping Angels?

Oh, how wrong he was.

Amy and Rory ended up on a rooftop. John hated them being there. He really tried to not think of rooftops. Nothing of that day. Nothing of Sherlock, or that last phone call… It took all of his energy to put that in the back of his mind and enjoy the show for what it was worth. The Statue of Liberty scared John out of his wits as well.

And then Rory got up on the edge, and John couldn't help but remember another man stand that same sort of way, as if the only way out was to fall. That it would be beneficial for everyone. But John knew it wouldn't be. Especially for himself.

Now Amy was with him on the ledge as well. They were going to fall together. To hopefully break the paradox, not knowing if they would live or die. Doing so just because of their love for each other. And John wondered if he would have done the same. If he hadn't been fooled by the ruse that Mrs Hudson had been shot, if he had been with Sherlock up on the roof too. Would he have jumped with him, just because he didn't want to deal with the pain of what he would feel afterwards? Would he have been able to persuade Sherlock that suicide wasn't the answer, that he wasn't really a fake, that it was all really just media hype and Moriarty's cunning?

Maybe the worst thing was is that he didn't know.

The couple had to jump as well, if it hadn't been heart-breaking already. Just thinking about that man falling… John tried to keep from all-out whimpering, as he didn't want any rumours going around about him around the building. And he was not going to cry because of some stupid sci-fi show. He was not. But the Doctor's cries of anguish weren't helping him at all.

But it worked after all, and nobody died. The paradox was broken, and everybody was back in New York, in the present day, safe. John smiled amidst the tiny tears that had formed on his face and took another handful of popcorn. Maybe Rory and Amy were just going to leave the Doctor because they were tired of running away or not being noticed, like maybe Martha or Sarah Jane in his younger years.

He should have known better.

Rory, stupid-face Rory, had to be stupid again and turn around to look at his grave. Gravestones. Yet another thing John didn't like. And then Amy, too! And River, telling her own mother to go, to not leave Rory alone. The Doctor crying out for her to just come along with him again. It all ending, with the names on the gravestone, much like John had looked at his. At least Amy got a choice. At least she got to live with the one she loved. And still, the Doctor was moaning. Didn't he realise that all the mourning in the world would never bring them back? It never brought Sherlock back to him, and he doubted that even a thousand year old Time Lord could manage to cheat death either.

The afterword panged at his heartstrings too. But at the very most, the Doctor got to know that Amy and Rory lived a blessed life. And besides, it wouldn't be the last he'd see of Amy, coming to visit her as a child to give her hope, to help her wait, to be patient. If only someone could do that for him.

"This is the story of Amelia Pond. And this is how it ends."

His eyes watering and sobs threatening to wreck his body, John turned the telly off, slowly sitting himself back up and hobbling towards his bedroom, hoping to sleep and forget all he had seen. He knew Doctor Who wouldn't be helping him sleep tonight. Not with remembering recent events. Not with thinking of Sherlock.

He hoped his therapist took walk-ins.

Too tired to write a full-fledged afterword, but just saying that this was inspired by a post on Tumblr, and its my first time ever writing Sherlock characters, so sorry if they're a bit OOC!

And apologies to whoever I made cry.