Rating: K
'The memories won't seem to let me go' John said to the psychiatrist, who seemed to be patronisingly nodding at him. 'Why can't you let him go John?' she asked tenderly.
'I don't know' John started to weep quietly, 'it's just so hard to forget someone who has been part of your life so…intimately' he turned away from her and sighed, stopped weeping and his face regained his stony resolve. He coughed 'anyway, the nightmares have stopped now' he lied, hoping she wouldn't notice the fear behind his eyes.
She looked at him, frowned and proceeded in a moderately up beat voice 'Well John, if that's true you seem to be getting better. I'm proud of your recovery from this ordeal. I'll see you next week, ok?' She rose and quietly left the room.
John sat there in silence thinking deeply about the man he once knew, his Sherlock. He sighed deeply rose from his arm-chair, made himself a cup of tea and sat at his computer, contemplating what he should write on his blog. After 10 minutes of staring at the screen, he slammed the laptop shut and shuffled away to his room, on his way he spared a longing glance at the room that used to belong to his best friend. He made his way up the stairs, changed and went to his bed. He lay there for what felt like hours, just reliving his fleeting moments with Sherlock, he glanced at the clock, '2am, I have a shift at the clinic tomorrow and I'm going to fall asleep - again' he softly chuckled at the memory of falling asleep on his first day at the clinic, his thoughts grew more morose at the fact that he wouldn't be able to pull all nighters on cases any more, he yawned and drifted off to Sherlock filled dreams.