Grief
John stood in complete silence. He didn't know how to move anymore. He clutched his hand to the chest as if he could keep the warmth Sherlock's hand left on his. His hand. The last thing John could touch until they dragged his body away from him. He still felt the nothingness on his fingertips. The lack of pulse he noticed, when he tried to feel it. People stood around, tried to talk to him. It all was just a blur. Somebody put a blanket around him but he almost didn't recognize. He felt cold and the doctor part of him knew he was in shock and he needed to rest, but the human half couldn't do anything else than to stare at the puddle of blood next to his feet. Suddenly a hand wrapped around his. A warm hand slightly pressing his fingers. Slowly John looked up and looked at a familiar face: Molly. She looked sad, but seemed very self-composed. She pulled him back, away from the point HE had landed. „I don't... stay with him...please.", he protested almost inaudible. „Shh. It's alright, you can't help him if you freeze here.", Molly soothed him while still dragging him away. John could neither comprehend why she would say such things, nor did he want to think about it. He didn't want to think anything that included a thought of HIM being alive because it raised hope. Hope that his friend would magically be alive and run around the next corner just to tease him. Warily John looked up and around, then locked his eyes down to the ground as tears began to fill up in his eyes. He fought the tears and concentrated hard not to tumble. Molly held most of his weight, that he knew, but he just couldn't keep himself up alone. He was in a cab now, he suddenly realized. What happened? Did he fall asleep, did he pass out? John didn't know but he could still feel his heart throb and this sharp pain in his chest. He looked outside the window, but shut his eyes tightly just a moment after, because there were tears in them again. He didn't want to see any of these familiar places they visited together. John's head hurt and the hidden tears made him dizzy. He slipped a little bit to the front when the cab suddenly stopped. Anxious he opened one eye: Molly opened the door and took his hand again to help him get out. He stood there for what felt like an eternity until he could move again. She brought him here. Of all the places, from the hospital to Scotland Yard, it was 221B. He felt tears building up again. „Thank you Molly. I'm fine. The rest I can do alone. I have to do it alone.", he said with every authority that was left in him. He even managed to calm his face and keep himself composed while looking at her. „Okay. I'll just talk to Mrs. Hudson and then I'm gone.", she whispered as he turned towards the stairs. „And John?" He slowly turned around to look her in the eye. „I believe in Sherlock Holmes.", said Molly, opened the door to Mrs. Hudson's apartment and vanished out of sight.
John watched the steps and couldn't move again. He felt as if he was being dragged down, like he was crushed by knowing his friend would never ever climb these steps. The staircase seemed so big while he was so tiny and John felt himself shaking. He thought he had overcome such things after Afghanistan. But now his feelings crushed him and smashed his heart into little peaces. John hissed and set his left foot on the first step. He felt pressure building up in his chest and wanted to cry badly, but again he fought. 'You're a damned soldier, John. Come on, you had worse than this. Get your ass up there.", he thought and so he pushed himself up the stairs. On the top he hesitated shortly and then opened the door with a sigh. The inside of their apartment looked like the last time he had been here. He frowned as he thought about what he shouted at his friend. „You machine." and „Friends protect people." Yeah, what a friend he was. All those years in the army and he still had to stand there and watch his friends die. Again. John flinched as he passed their chairs in front of the fireplace. He then hurried to his bedroom and closed the door. He flung himself on his bed and stared towards the ceiling. His thoughts flew back to this building. This shitty building, which was high enough to kill his friend. Tears streamed down his face and now he let them loose. He cried for his friend, his roommate, this odd human being, that was Sherlock Holmes. 'Come back, be alive. Please, Sherlock. Don't leave me here alone, all by myself.', John prayed then exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Bombs, fire, cannonballs. Wild shouts and deathly noises. Silence. Then an earpiercing cry.
„SHERLOCK!"
John Watson woke with the name still on his lips. He had had a terrible nightmare, he has been in Afghanistan again. And all his friends had HIS face. And they all died. He just stood there and watched. Crying again, John stood up, slowly took his old cane and began to destroy everything he could reach.