It was Christmas Eve at 221B Baker Street. The year before, John and Sherlock had a bit of a party with Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade and Jeanette. It was clear Mrs. Hudson was hoping for it to happen again, so John went ahead with it. It wasn't difficult to plan and Mary had helped him pick out a tree and decorations. So here he was, sitting in his armchair staring longingly at the empty one opposite it. He couldn't help but dwell on the fact that while he was surrounded by his seven closest friends, he was spending Christmas without his best friend.
It had been six months. Everyone was saying that it would get better, easier, he would move on. He was trying, but without Sherlock everything just seemed black, empty. Mary and Greg helped of course, but it wasn't always enough.
A strong hand clapped down on his shoulder. "Hey mate, this is really great. Nearly as good as last years." Greg said, pulling a chair next to John's. "Everyone's getting along well. Especially Sally and Laura, which is a relief. Sally could use a friend like Laura, she's not got many girl friends."
"Really? That is overwhelmingly surprising." John said with a laugh. He looked to the two girls, planning for coffee after boxing day and smiled. Greg was right, Sally really did only talk to him and Greg.
John and Sally's friendship was unexpected and unbelievable to some after what she did to Sherlock. But one day, two months after it, he and Greg were looking over Sherlock case files when Sally walked in and asked to speak to John alone. Once Greg had closed the door, John demanded to know what she doing here, why she thought she could just come and talk to him. He yelled and screamed until tears were streaming down both of their face until John fell into a chair and broke into sobs. About 20 seconds passed before her arms were wrapped tightly around him, her hands rubbing his back. 15 minutes later, Greg returned to find the two laughing loudly at the other impression of the face Sherlock had always made when he was talking to Anderson. A month later the trio proved Sherlock's innocence and went for drink every Saturday.
John looked around the room again. Mary and Mrs. Hudson were about their favourite teas, and Molly and Mike Stamford were in the kitchen "talking".
"You know, he would've hated this."
"No," John shook his head, smiling sadly. "No, he would've pretended to hate and sulked by the window playing Carols on the violin." His gaze moved the the violin, still on its stand by the window.
"Yeah, supposed he would've. At least this year is better, relationship-wise. Finally ended things with my wife, met Laura. Owe it all to him, the git. You met Mary in grief counselling too, didn't you?"
"Yeah, she lost her dad a few months back. Glad you met Laura, she's brilliant, really."
"She is, isn't she. So, are you and Mary..I mean, I've seen you guys together when the four of us go for drinks."
"No, not us. We're friends, just friends. I mean she's great, but I'm..I mean, I'm not.." John looked down into his drink and felt his friend's stare burning through him.
"You realise shouting that you're not gay isn't gonna work with this one, right?" He joked lightly, smiling when John let out a soft chuckle.
"Yeah, it worked so well the first time, I figured I'd try again. But no, me and Mary, we're friends. Good friends, but nothing more. I couldn't Not after him." John said, finishing his drink.
"So that's it then, you and Sherlock, you were together?"
"You know, Greg, I don't know what we were, but he was my best friend. He was more than that, he was like half of me. Half of me that was ripped away." John put his head in his hands and Greg put a hand on his back.
"It's okay to not be okay, John. Its been hard without him, for you more than anyone."
"Would have changed it? Up until that day, would you have changed anything?"
"No. Not even for a second." Greg's answer was instant. They continued to talk and drink and reminisce, until an hour later, Big Ben went off, signalling that it was now Christmas Day.
While Molly and Mike, and Greg and Laura shared kissed under the mistletoe, John's phone went off. He was expecting it to just be Harry, but it was a blocked number instead.
Merry Christmas, John.
In a run down part of Russia, Sherlock Holmes threw the now useless phone into what could be called a fireplace. He hated it here and he hated what he was doing; but when he thought of John and the fact that John was safe because he was there, he knew he wouldn't change things. Not even for a second.
Not going anywhere with this, it just sort of popped into my head. Hope you liked it!