Well... I'm baaaaack :) Hope you enjoy this one too... Wrote it at two in the morning, No Idea what it'll be like. Apologies in advance
John first attempts suicide six months after Sherlock's death.
There was no great epiphany, no great realisation, there was just too much. Too much of the too muchness. Just too much broken, too much feeling, too much void in his chest. If he goes away so does the broken, so does the feeling and so does the void. It can all just go away and for once, John can be somewhere, anywhere, that isn't Sherlock. Somewhere that doesn't scream the dead detective's name. He'd like that.
So, calmly, he takes far too much medicine, and the world fades away from John Watson.
He wakes up in hospital with a headache, tubes in his arms and Mycroft Holmes sitting by the window.
Mycroft jumps to his feet and tells him he shouldn't have done what he did. Mycroft tells John that he is an idiot and that Sherlock would never have wanted him dead. Not ever. Sherlock Holmes would not have ever wanted John Watson dead, and neither does Mycroft, Mycroft will protect him, for John's sake. For Sherlock's...
John doesn't say anything, his throat hurts – he assumes he vomited up the poison – he uses this as excuse not to talk. He's not thinking too much either, he uses the drugs as an excuse for this too. John's none too fond of either talking or thinking these days. Hurts too much, and he doesn't mean the acid feeling in his throat or the pounding in his head. He's tried to walk, to walk without breaking, he's tried so hard... He's discovered that learning to walk is harder the second time round, especially once you've realised that it's possible, just sometimes, with a special someone, for you to fly.
John doesn't fly anymore. John doesn't even walk. John just stares, and, for a long while, Mycroft stares back.
One hour later, Mycroft Holmes shudders, collapses into a chair, and cries.
John Watson just stares, wishing away the broken.