A/N: written for OtakuFangirlCrazyArtist in my foresnics class.
It was dark and cold outside... but he would have preferred to be out there. He knew that Sherlock would have preferred to be running around and tracking down criminals. The glass of brandy in John Watson's hand was shaking slightly. It had started again after the pool incident. The incident John hated to think about. It made his throat tighten and he found he had to focus more on his breathing.
He was a doctor, and he knew very well that he shouldn't be drinking alcohol in his condition, but he had spent the day reading in his flat. The book hadn't had any corrections in it. It was one that Mrs. Hudson had gotten John in the hopes of cheering him up and giving him something to do now that he [John] could no longer work.
John drained the glass. Every time he thought of Sherlock, he thought of the look he'd been given before Sherlock shot the bomb. He hated remembering it. He hated knowing that Sherlock probably knew what was going to happen. He hated that he was now in a wheelchair even more.
But, most of all, John hated the fact that Sherlock was never, ever coming back.