Just returning all seven of Lestrade's old badges, then home. He couldn't stand it here, their were too many memories, but then again he couldn't stand it at 221b either, because everywhere he looked was the ghost of him.
"….own fault he ended up that way, always was a freak."
John stopped, knowing who it was just around the corner, and knowing who they were talking about he leant against the wall of Lestrade's office to listen.
"Better he kill himself than anyone else, he probably committed most the crimes we solved, and messing up my forensics was a way to get away with it."
"I wonder how many people he actually killed, then to frame someone else"
"He was both a psychopath and a socio path"
"Well I'm glad he's finally gone. I bet crime in London drops now the freak's not around, I swear…"
Hands balled into tight fists, eyes clenched shut John tried keep his composure, but he couldn't do it. Natural born instinct to defend what was right kicked in. How can he stand and watch the world ridicule an honest man, a man who's helped so many. A man who saved his life. He wished for one more time that this was just a horribly vivid dream before bursting around the corner with fire in his eyes and determination in his step. He would make them see, he would make them all see, that Sherlock Holmes was real.
Brain over-ridden with adrenaline he didn't even think about his actions until Anderson was on the floor with a bloody, broken nose after a surprisingly powerful punch.
"Sherlock was not a freak" John shouted loud enough so everyone in the office could hear "he was not a socio path, or a psychopath" with each word he got quieter, his voice that tiny bit more shaky. "Sherlock was a good man, he was a genius, why would you say he's a fake?" the fire in the soldiers eye left, replaced with the grief of a man mourning his best friend. "Why would you? You saw it, you saw him" his legs gave way as he slid down the wall he had been leaning on to break down. "And now he's dead." Burying his head in his pulled up knees, you could see him shake as he cried for the man who saved him to come back. The only sound in the office was of his quiet sobs and slight hiccups as he tried to get his breathing back under control whilst everybody watched unsure of what to do or say.
For three years John lived without his detective, and for three years he mourned an alive man. Someday's were great, he would live a normal day with work and shopping, bit of TV when he got home, maybe even a quick catch up with Mrs Hudson or one of the neighbours. Other days not so great. Every dark haired man, every police siren, every long black coat, every person, every thing, somehow reminded him of what he lost. Them days were the worse, he'd never felt more alone. Sometimes he'd carry on his day just to cry when he got home, other times he couldn't even pull himself out of bed in the morning, because what was the point? John would just lie there, perfectly still, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it ever would get better or was this what the world was. Just a bunch of depressed people hiding their feelings because no one actually cares, in the end your just one person on a planet of billions of people, living life the way they're told to because that's society. Does it actually get better or is that just a myth people have created to make life seem worth it? He hated it.
Until one day, he came back. John was in a restaurant waiting for his date when in he came. He didn't even notice until the dead man sat in his dates seat and claimed he was sorry. After convincing John he was not hallucinating there was a lot of raised voices, being kicked out the restaurant a nice black eye for Sherlock, and tears between the two but they eventually got through it, even though John's unbreakable trust in his old friend had been a little damaged he still welcomed him back with open arms and a firm promise that if he ever attempted something like that again John would kill him himself. Then that was it. They settled into their old routine of living at 221b like the past three years had never happened.
Walking into Scotland Yard for the first time after three years dead was eventful though. Everyone just watched with their wide mouths open, looking like they'd just seen a ghost as the duo strolled through the corridors to Greg's office to say hi, until they bumped into Anderson and Sally anyway.
"I see your wife finally found out and left then"
"…"
"And Sally's been scrubbing your floors alot recently, knees are looking a little sore, have you made it official yet?"
"You're meant to be dead!"
"Nose is looking a little crooked, whoever did that has a nice right hook. Ahh wait it was John, your eyes really do give you away you know."
"YOU'RE MEANT TO BE DEAD" Anderson repeated for the second time like a stuck record before passing out which just caused John who had been laughing the whole time to laugh even more as Sally tried to make sure he was okay.
John found he had a lot less bad days with Sherlock, in fact after a month his bad days stopped completely. His reason to smile was back, and he realised,
There are alot of depressed people in the world, who go through life everyday, but they don't live under a myth of everything getting better, as it's not a myth. For lot's of people it will get better, it's just about clinging onto the positive things in life that make you smile, and not letting the negative drag you down. Seeing Sherlock alive was definitely a positive aspect of his life.