AN: Thank you to Mrs. P for pointing out my errors. I have corrected the two that I have found. As always, I own nothing, though I wish I owned Sherlock and John(heh heh) because then maybe there'd be more JOHNLOCK :D Actually the show would be horrible if I were the writer so heh… no.
But seriously thank you all my lovely reviewers, your willingness to spend time reading my fics makes me want to give you cake. And pie. And that delicious brownie cake my sister made yesterday.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
It had taken a few days for those words to sink in.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
The first time that John had thought those words in that order (day three), he didn't move from his bed for six hours after waking up. He only got up because he couldn't stand the smell of just-woken-up-human that was covering everything. He shuffled in his pajamas down the steps to the living room, where he entered the kitchen and made himself some tea. He nearly dropped the kettle when he realized that he'd hadn't made enough for two.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
Five days after, John made himself look half decent and made his way to his therapist's.
He sat in silence for about an hour, then left.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
Sherlock's funeral, where Molly kept shooting him pitying looks and even Mycroft looked a little shaken. He stayed behind and thought he saw a flash of blue in the forest, but when he turned, it was gone.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
Four months in, the hallucinations started. He'd see Sherlock everywhere, and it got to the point where he refused to leave the flat unless he really had to, because he didn't want to deal with the disappointment yet again.
He didn't have a job anymore, nobody wants a doctor whose hands shake. Especially if said doctor openly admits to supporting a criminal.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
Christmas after the Fall was hard. He kept thinking he heard Sherlock playing the violin, and Mrs. Hudson kept try to convince him to eat. For him, Christmas Eve involved lots of alcohol, and Christmas day a hangover.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
One year after the Fall, John decided to pull his life together. He stayed in 221B, but started the process of moving some of Sherlock's things into storage, to be dealt with later. He kept the skull (having someone to talk to who didn't pity him was useful. the sanity of talking to a dead human body part was questionable, but John had never felt particularly normal), and a few other odds and ends, but everything else was put into one of those innumerable rentable storage units.
On the way home from work one day (Sarah had pitied him, and given him back the job when he asked) he spray painted "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" in the same yellow as the smiley face on the wall of St. Bart's.
Sherlock Holmes is dead.
A year and a half after the Fall, the "I believe in Sherlock Holmes" movement has exploded all over the internet. His blog is full of comments full of theories and discussions, and a small group calling themselves the "fakers" are putting forward pretty convincing arguments for the idea that Sherlock is infact not dead, but off somewhere dismantling Moriarty's web.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Two years after the fall, John has started spending more time online, combing through various tips as to where Moriarty's operatives are. He decided that, on the off chance that the fakers are correct, he will help Sherlock as best he can. He's started a network of his own, one of vets and coppers, who are all doing their best to bring down their own corners of the net. Maybe if they can remove the cancer that is Moriarty, Sherlock will come home.
Sherlock Holmes is alive.
Three years to the day after Sherlock jumped of St. Bart's, John hears a knock on his door. Opening it, he finds a familiar face staring back at him. He'll be angry, eventually, but now he's just happy that Sherlock's alive. "Welcome home," he says, the first words he's said out loud in three years.