"How are you feeling today?"

There was a silence as a pair of tired, bloodshot eyes stared into space. Lines drew out from them, the man's face saggy and expressionless.

"John, it's been three months. You need to regain some sense of normality." The woman paused, moving to try and gain eye contact with John. "I know it's hard, but you have to try."

John blinked, squinting for a moment then turning towards the therapist. "Normality?" he snapped "He was–" He swallowed, trying hard to resist the tears that he could feel prickling in his eyes. "Being around him was my life. That was normality for me. There is nothing else." His voice wavered, the last word going up slightly in pitch. He put a hand to his face, massaging his temples. He took slow deep breaths, a few of them shaking as a tear dropped from his lashes. He wiped it away, standing up. "I can't." Another tear dropped and ran down the side of his nose. "It's too soon."

John turned and walked stiffly out the room. The therapist sighed, writing up her notes as the door closed.

The next morning was gloomy. Clouds filled the sky, threatening to start raining any minute.

Mrs Hudson knocked lightly on the door. "John? I've made you a cup of tea." There was no reply.

John sat on the edge of his bed, his hands by his sides, his fingers limply tapping the covers. Waves of goose bumps rippled through his body. He'd had another dream, only this one was different. He'd seen him again, but not how he usually saw him. He was not on the pavement; he was not covered in blood or limp. He was alive. His face was so vivid and bright. He smiled at John, opening his mouth as if he was about to speak.

Then John had woken up.
All morning he'd been thinking about what he saw. It had been so long since he'd seen Sherlock like this. He kept closing his eyes to try and make him come back, but every time he almost saw him he was gone again.
His eyes were closed when Mrs Hudson entered the room. She placed the tea by his bedside and sat down on the bed beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. This startled John. He shouted angrily, "God-dammit Mrs Hudson!"

She stood up, "Well there's no need to be like that!" she cried, hurriedly leaving the room.

John looked up towards the window. It had started raining. He stood up and wandered towards the window to gaze out of it. Across the street he made out a dark figure standing in an alleyway. It shuffled, looking left and right. Another figure moved towards the first and began shoving them. The first fought back and seemed to succeed. John's heart skipped a beat and he wondered for a moment if it was him. He watched the action unfold further. The first man stepped out towards the street. John moved closer towards the window squinting to make out a face. His hopes dropped when he finally made out a face. Not the face he was looking for. The man walked down the street and turned the corner out of sight.

John sunk back towards his bed and rested his head on the pillow. It was cold and harsh against his soft tear-stained skin. As he closed his eyes he drifted away into a dream state.

John found himself in a musty old pub. He did not immediately recognise it, but yet it felt familiar somehow. He scanned the room for that one face he was looking for. The back of a curly haired head caught his eye. He held his breath calling out his name. The man turned. It was him. He seemed somewhat distraught to see John as stood up and walked towards him. John's heart beat faster, his palms sweating and his breaths deep. He gazed into the eyes of the man facing him. The man's frown left his face and he smiled for a while. His lips parted and he spoke just one word; believe.

John woke up abruptly, sweat dripping from his temples. There was a loud noise of banging coming from downstairs. John heard the front door open and slam. Then Mrs. Hudson screamed. John dashed down stairs, almost slipping on the way. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped open as he stared aghast for a moment. He managed to utter a single word. It felt sharp as it left his lips, what with his brain still trying to process what he saw before him.
"Sherlock?"