I do not own the tv series of Sherlock.
John looked out the window of the flat "It is snowing" commented to no one. John had left everything as it was after Sherlock's death. Sometimes talking to the empty flat as though he were to Sherlock. The flat's answers were never as witty or scalding as Sherlock's responses. And it was with that thought that John decided that he needed some fresh air. He gathered his coat, scarf (blue), gloves and hat, put them on and said to the empty flat as he left "I'll be back." On his way out Ms. Hudson stopped him "Oh, John are you going out?" John nodded his head. "Could you get some eggnog while you're out?" "Sure." John headed out. He walked along the streets. The snow falling, people hurrying, bells ringing. Wait, bells ringing? John looked around him. There was a man on the street corner dressed as Santa Claus. Was it that time of year already? Memories of last year's Christmas popped in his mind, Molly's hurt eyes, Sherlock's terrible but thought out presents. And John laughed, he laughed at all of Sherlock's starkness, at Molly's constant pinning over him, Lestrade's annoyance. John laughed for what seemed like an eternity.
But he slowly stopped, heartrending thoughts seeping in and destroying the memories. John looked down at his watch. It was late. He walked in to the nearest convent store; he went to the back to the freezer section. As he closed the freezer door he saw Sherlock's reflection on the glass. The eggnog slipped from his hand bursting on the floor and John whipped around. No one. There was no one. John looked down at the eggnog covered floor. "Shit." He silently cursed. He opened the freezer door for another. Going to pay for it he looked out the large front windows. He saw curly hair and an upturned collar. Sherlock. He took out the appropriate amount of money and threw it at the cashier and ran out. "HEY!" shouted the cashier behind him. John kept running.
He reached the man. Everything stopped. The snow fell steadily. "Sherlock." John said grabbing the man's arm and turning him around. Brown. His eyes where brown, he wasn't Sherlock. John stood in shock for a second. "Sorry, I thought you were a friend of mine. I am sincerely sorry." "It's alright, mate." He said with a faint Australian accent. The man walked away. John stood there letting the snow build on him. He felt tears in his eyes. He whipped at the offending drops and started toward the flat.