Two Hours
and
Eleven Minutes
In two hours and eleven minutes, it will be the third anniversary.
Picking up his phone from the table, John quickly shoved it in his pocket and headed towards the door. He always had it with him just in case he might call, but a part of John knew that he would never ring. He was gone, gone for good. He took it out of his pocket, and set a timer, putting it on to sound in exactly two hours and eleven minutes.
"Going out, John?" Mrs Hudson said, sticking her head out of her door.
"Just a walk." He said back, and headed out onto the busy London streets.
"John, it'll be okay, dear." Mrs Hudson called out as she followed him onto the street, reading him like a book.
"It's been three years, Mrs Hudson. He's not coming back." He said flatly and walked away.
You ok?
His phone vibrated in his coat. Molly.
Fine, never better.
He replied, and regretted it as soon as he'd hit send. Molly was sweet, he hadn't meant to hurt her.
Just checking.
She text back, and John felt like a terrible person once again.
I know. Sorry.
He replied, and put his phone back into his pocket, taking a left at the next intersection.
He'd taken this path many times before, but only ever with Sherlock.
"Hello, Angelo." He said, stepping into the familiar restaurant.
"John! It's been too long, my friend. What can I get you?" He exclaimed, showing John to a table set for two.
"Tirimasu'd be great, thanks." He said, smiling at Angelo.
"Expecting anyone?" Angelo said hopefully, expecting John would have a date by now.
"Just me." He said flatly, as Angelo nipped off into the kitchen.
After a while, a waitress came out carrying John's Tirimasu.
"Thanks." John told her, and she just looked at him sadly and nodded. Angelo must've remembered. He took a hesitant spoonful of the desert, and an explosion of chocolate, cheese and liquor reminded him why they'd loved it in the first place. It was cool and refreshing and it reminded him of Sherlock, and he'd eaten the lot within minutes.
"Anything else, John?" Angelo said, noticing John's empty dish.
"I'll be off, Angelo. Brilliant as always." He replied, and tipped him an overly generous amount. Angelo refused, but John forced him to take it anyway.
"G'bye, John." Angelo said, waving him off.
John pulled his coat around him more tightly, as the cold wind assaulted his senses. John barely noticed the rain, continuing to walk anyway. He didn't feel it anyway.
All good, mate?
Lestrade this time.
All good.
He replied. He didn't understand how anyone could ask that question on a day like today.
Stay stong.
Came the DI's response.
Eventually John found himself at Russell Square Gardens. He sat down on a bench, and realised that it was the very bench he'd found Mike Stamford sitting in on the day he met Sherlock. He watched people pass, old ladies, couples holding hands, children and their parents.
"John!" He heard Mike's voice from up ahead of him.
"Hello Mike." He said with a slight wave.
"How're things?" He asked cautiously.
"Fine, Mike. All fine." He said, "Wish I could stop and chat, but I have to be somewhere."
"Ah I see. Let's get a drink sometime, you and I."
"I'll call you soon, Mike." John said, and kept walking.
The building's facade was once white, but over time had dulled to a shade of grey, it was after all, the oldest original building in London. He stood in front of it for a few moments, taking in his surroundings. He opened the large swinging doors, and headed upstairs, flashing his security pass multiple times on the way up to the rooftop.
"You alright, sir?" Someone asked him as he walked up the stairs.
"Just fine, thankyou." He'd said, and kept walking.
He stood on the rooftop, and looked out over London. You could practically see everything from up there.
John glanced behind him, and took a step out onto the wide ledge.
He looked down, and the familiar sound of a violin greeted him.
Two hours and eleven minutes had passed.
He took a step and fell with such grace, opening his arms out to death and falling without fear, and the world was silent once again.