A.N.: This is my first fanfic, so sorry for any obvious errors I guess?
I'll update it as I write it.
Time had slowed down. The days were long, and the nights sleepless. When John Watson was able to fall into a deep slumber all he could hear was the thud and all he could see was the pale, bloody body. However much he tried he could never shake it back, bring it back, him back... His best friend, Sherlock Holmes, was hopelessly lost. And so John sat in his empty apartment by himself most of the time. He had tore himself away from Baker street, trying time and time again to unpack his belongings and start anew. Watson always ended up back at square one; head in his hands, not moving. Without knowing how, every week he would mumble his way through a therapy session trying to deal with the massive loss. How, he had wondered on endless occasions, how does the pain only get worse? Every week he asked and every week he felt more confused than the last. Months passed before Watson had the strength to go visit... him again. Was it progress? He didn't know anymore, he couldn't even bring himself to say his name. The pain was less noticeable on the outsides, to others. That had to be something, right?
Walking to the florist was a nightmare. John's legs felt like lead as he struggled down the road. He was determined, and everybody who knew John Watson would agree that once his mind was set there was no stopping him. At times he struggled to breath and considered turning back, but he never did. He took a shaky breath, finally opening the florist's door. "Good mornin'," a cheerful voice greeted from the counter. He walked up to the register silently after much searching. Nothing caught his eye, and as far as Watson knew he had no preference in flowers. "Your best bunch, please," John mumbled, digging money out of his pocket. The cashier handed him a bouquet of pink roses and white orchids. They were simple, but the two flowers contrasted extremely well together. Not unlike himself and- He took the flowers and briskly walked out, fighting back tears. All that was waiting for him was another painful walk. Watson clutched the flowers tightly and steadily made his way toward the cemetery.