A month has passed since Sherlock left. Since Sherlock jumped from the roof of St Bart's and I haven't stepped in there since. I just can't bare it, I don't want to go in there and see him working at his desk, hear him telling me to get his phone from his coat pocket. God, I miss the bastard.
I haven't seen Molly around as much anymore, I don't know what's happened to her. Maybe she quit her job and moved away, I don't know. I should probably text her, get into contact with her somehow. Same with Greg, only I see him now and then. He pops round to make sure I'm okay, I have to tell him I am just so he leaves. I don't want to see anybody else but Mrs Hudson, and I really want to see Sherlock. I hope this is some kind of trick of his, that he hasn't really left me behind, on my own, alone in the dark.
I miss the cases, running around London behind him, running down the dark alleys and losing him. I miss saving him from bad cabbies, from psychotic men and from himself when he put his life at risk just because he wanted to protect me.
I don't know what to do with myself anymore.
John sighed as he typed into his blog, pressed save and then closed his laptop down. He put it to the side and stared at Sherlock's chair, imagining he was still there, still plucking the strings on his violin and staring through John into a distance that wasn't there. John pulled his legs up onto the chair and into his chest and held them close. He rested his head on his knees, wishing, hoping Sherlock would come back. His head pricked up slightly when he heard someone coming up the stairs.
"Sherlock?" He muttered and turned to the door to see it was Mrs Hudson, then sighed and returned himself to his previous position.
"No dear, it's not Sherlock. I know you miss him," She said, putting a plate of food down in front of John "But starving yourself isn't going to bring him back. You're a doctor, you know the health risks of doing this." She leaned down slightly and put her hands on John's shoulders, looking into his eyes "I am always here if you need to talk."
John looked at her, he saw affection in her eyes that he had always ignored, thinking it was just part of who she was as a person. "Thank you. I'm...really not hungry, I can't bring myself to eat without feeling sick." He sighed slightly and put his face into his legs and closed his eyes. "I just miss him Martha" He muttered, his voice shaking.
"I know you do dear, I miss him too," She said, now standing and walking over to the curtains, pulling them open "There, that's a little better" She said to herself and looked back over to John "Please try to eat dear, I'll come back to check on you later." She said, walking over to him, rubbing his shoulder and then going back downstairs.
John sighed and looked at the plate of food. He leaned over, put his feet on the floor and picked it up, staring down at it. Slowly, he started to eat. He hadn't eaten for nearly a week now and he wasn't sure how his body would respond to the sudden intake of food. After a while, he finished the food and sat in silence. He waited, waited for his stomach to turn and make him vomit, but it didn't happen. He got up and went into the kitchen to wash the plate when he recieved a text on his phone.
I'm not dead, John -SH
He growled slightly at the message, throwing his phone against the wall and breaking it, screaming as he did. The stress and sudden jerk of his body as he did this made his stomach cramp, causing him to grip the side and buckle over slightly. Mrs Hudson had ran upstairs as soon as she heard him scream and she was now looking at him.
"John, dear what's wrong?" She asked, rushing over to him and holding him up.
"Stomach...Hurts...going to be sick" He groaned, his eyes tightly shut, his teeth clenched together.
Mrs Hudson sighed a little before putting John's arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist and helped him into the bathroom. She stayed with him while he was sick, and cleaned him up afterwards "This is really getting to you, isn't it dear?" She asked as she wiped down his mouth and his chin, helping him to take his jumper off.
"I got a text," He muttered and lifted his arms up "From Sherlock's phone...But it can't have been him...Because he's dead and...and..." He stopped talking and sighed
"What did the text say? Are you sure it was his phone, because he did block his number quite a lot"
"The text said 'I'm not dead, John' and it had his initials at the end as well," He said, now standing up
"Go and get some rest dear, I'll phone Gregory and see if he'll come round to talk to you," She said, patting his back and taking him out of the bathroom, watching as he walked into Sherlock's room, sighing. "You should also phone your cousellor, see if you can book an appointment to see her. It'll do you some good"
He nodded "Thank you" he said, and closed the door behind him. He knew this wasn't his room, that it was Sherlock's, but he wanted to be in here, he wanted to be close to Sherlock again. He looked around, the cleanliness, the abandonment of the room made him slightly distressed. He walked over to Sherlock's bed, the cover still pushed to the end of the bed like it was on the day of the fall, the sheet still crumpled. He wiped his face, desperately trying to brush away the tears that were threatening to make an appearance. He laid on the bed, his skin against the cool sheets, the pillows that still smelled like the shampoo that Sherlock used. He pulled the cover over him, curling up and eventually falling asleep, crying as he did.
He slept for hours, only being awoken when Greg patted his arm. He rolled over and looked up, seeing Greg, frowning only slightly. "H-Hello...Why did you just wake me up?" He asked, yawning.
"I woke you up because you were crying...In your sleep" Greg replied
"Right...Sorry" John muttered, sitting up "Let me guess, you're here because Mrs Hudson called and you're worried"
Greg nodded "That's right. I'm also here because I want to see the message you got from Sherlock"
John swallowed slightly "Sh-She told you about that too? Gosh, Greg I'm sorry, I smashed my phone against the wall" He said, wiping his hand across his face
Greg sighed and helped John out of the bed, walking with him into the living room and sitting on the sofa, avoiding sitting on Sherlock's chair for John's sake. "It looks like you've done a little bit of cleaning to the flat"
"Yes, just a little. I don't really want to tidy, that'll mean moving on and I don't want to do that" He muttered and looked at Greg.
"I...Understand how you feel John, but you have to tidy, you can't live like this. Have you eaten today?"
"Y-yes...but I just brought it back up."
Greg and John spoke for many minutes before they both fell silent, staring at their surroundings. Greg couldn't handle being in the flat without Sherlock, constantly telling him to 'shut up' or dancing around when he had got a case, so he left. He left John, alone, again.