Common Sorrow
Summary: When Sherlock falls, the warmth of the local pub seems all too welcoming to John. Apparently, he isn't the only one.
Warnings: Beware of any americanisms, mentions of alcohol, minor swearing, and post-Reichenbach
It was a long time since he went to a pub by himself. It was a long time since he got to do anything by himself. Now that Sherlock was -
This was what he was reduced to. A broken soldier that couldn't admit it in his thoughts. He took another sip of his drink and breathed in once more.
'Sherlock Holmes is-'
"Tough day?"
John looked at the table beside him to see a complete stranger smiling at him.
"You could say that," John answered and leaned back into his chair.
"Ha. I know that look. I worn it far too many times today in fact. Fancy another drink? On me, of course," the stranger offered and called the waitress over with a lazy wave.
"Why not? It's not like I have anything to do," John replied and felt himself relax a bit. He took his drink without a second thought and thought about everything that happened yesterday.
"So what's on your mind then?" the stranger asked as he finished his drink, "A bloke like you shouldn't look all down like that. Doesn't suit ya."
John paused a moment before answering. Here he was about to tell a complete stranger his whole life story when he couldn't admit the fact in his head. It was crazy, but he had a feeling that this might be the last crazy thing he'll be doing in a long time. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, "My best friend just died recently."
The stranger was silent. John waited for a response, but didn't expect one. He waited for a bit before going to pay and leave when the stranger spoke again.
"That's tough. My friend just died as well. Well, I call him friend now. More like partners," he paused and added, "In a non-romantic way."
"I understand. People got us confused all of the time. Told them they were wrong. Never listened. He didn't really care all too much either," John commented and relaxed a bit more. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he felt quite comfortable spilling out his griefs to this man.
"Yeah. He almost was flaunting it. Annoyed the hell out of me," the stranger chuckled, "Almost shot him a couple of times too."
"Hopefully he didn't light the entire flat everytime he was bored."
"Ouch. Ever thought about leaving? The guy sounds like a monster of a friend."
"I came close to leaving a few times, but I never did. I ended up sleeping on my girlfriend's sofa the night and coming back to find the flat in a complete mess and him acting as if this was normal." John replied.
"How come? No offense, but you seem like a pretty ordinary man. If your friend is any bit as insane as mine, the smart thing would be leaving the second he did something that set you off."
"Oh, well, I was never bored." The words rolled off of John's tounge with a feel of familiarity. He immediately thought of Mycroft and how he felt during this entire ordeal.
"Is that right?" The stranger cracked a smile he hadn't seen for a long time. "I know the feeling."
It was strange. This was the first time he met someone that understood how living with a madman. It wasn't that he loved Sherlock that way or was under Stockholm syndrome. It was the adventure and uniqueness Sherlock lived and breathed. His idiosyncrasies drove John up a wall sometimes, but couldn't see Sherlock live any other way. It was an insane lifestyle, but John loved it.
"So what did your friend do? Store body parts in the fridge? Come home looking like he slaughtered a pig?"
"How about laughing over dead bodies? Or bringing in a corpse to dissect? At first, the entire thing creeped me out. I told him that either he leave, or attempt to be normal. The next day, he bought a tie and told me, 'Normal people wear ties, right?'" the stranger smiled at the memory.
"Really? Sounds like something-"
"John?"
At the sound of his name, John turned around to see Lestrade standing and walking towards him. The DI noticed the few bottles on his table and nodded.
"The autospy is done. He's with Molly, if you want to-" Lestrade started but didn't finish. John understood and stood up as best as he could with his limp.
"I'll be seeing you around then?" John asked.
"Yeah. Good luck with you. Don't be doing anything stupid."
John nodded and headed off feeling a bit better but unsure whether it was from talking or the alcohol.
Minutes after John left, the stranger left as well. He looked both ways before bringing out his phone.
"Hey, do you think you could bring a car over?"
"Of course Mr. Moran. Would you like to return home, or is there any other destination in mind?" a female voice asked over the phone.
"Nah. I'm just going home tonight. There's no need to rush with that Watson fellow," Moran replied.
"Of course Mr. Moran. You sound a bit better than last time. Did something happen?"
"A bit better eh? I guess you could say I found someone just like me," Moran smioed and waited for his ride to take him home.
A/N: I always thought that the only person who could understand how John could live with Sherlock would be Moran. And then this happened. This story is inspired by Drinking Buddies by Shirou Shinjin if anyone likes Rurouni Kenshin. Thanks for reading!