Following the great fall, John is completely shattered. What he goes through before and after Sherlock's reappearance is dealt with, in the form of a poem.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the makers of Sherlock, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stevan Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I own none of it.
THE REICHENBACH FALL
Guzzling the tasteless cures to bruises that won't heal,
Dying every day, every hour, left to feel,
An undead corpse trotting under the gory lights of the day,
Mourning a fervent friendship that was lost on the way.
Shuddering at the ultimate truth of mortal lives,
Dragging along unforgettable memories that became archives,
In the graveyard rested the man who gave me a new life,
Freeing my famished self of the want for war and strife.
My heart and soul was of the acquaintance that was unreplaced,
But this minute as he stares at me i abhorrently grimace,
As i fail to feel the earth beneath my toes,
You dick, i shall make you pay for all my woes.
While happiness does precipitate to tears, was that all the trust that exists,
A hostage i became to his cause, not posing resists.
A mockery of my care was by letting me drown in gloom,
Out of all the people that count, i demand a little room.