"And your name Sir? I'll need you to sign here please."
The man tapped his foot impatiently. It was signatures all the time nowadays. He remembered the old days with a pain in his stomach. He felt a longing for his old life. The life he couldn't go back to. Not now. Not ever. He began to sign the paper that would see his new life beginning and sighed.
****
It had been three years since it happened and John still hadn't recovered. Deep down he knew that his pain would always be there as a constant reminder of his happy life. In the early days John contemplated suicide daily. It would be too easy. Just a few pills down his throat, a bullet in the head, or a piece of rope. He wouldn't need much to do it and he'd be happier in the end. He'd be with the man he loved. He'd be with Sherlock.
John didn't know why he kept himself alive though. He guessed it was because he knew Sherlock wouldn't want him to end his life like this. But he wasn't making the most of his life. He'd drink every night to numb the agonizing hole in his life and would wake up feeling worse than before. His drinking was almost as bad as his sister Harry's now even though he thought he'd never go down this route. He would get frequent calls from Lestrade to check up on him. He didn't quite know why Lestrade would phone him but it gave him some comfort. It reminded him that his old life was real. That Sherlock was real.
He still lived at Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson and she checked on him every day. She cooked him meals and cleaned his flat for him although he protested. In the early days she told him grief got better with time. It hadn't yet. He was still full of the empty feeling and the feeling of being alone in the world. He couldn't pass St Bart's without feeling sick let alone go in there. He still felt the desperate longing for one man. For Sherlock. Even his name was painful and people tried not to mention it near him but it didn't matter. It was the word he thought of every second whilst he was awake. The word he thought of whilst he was asleep.
Every night John had nightmares but they were different to his past nightmares. What used to be the screaming of dying soldiers and the violence of the Battlefield had been replaced by the emptiness and void in his life. In his dreams he relived the fall. He was always too late to save Sherlock in his dreams. John blamed himself. He was too late to save him a second time. He remembered when they first met. He killed a man for Sherlock. He saved Sherlock. Not this time though. This time he couldn't save him.
He didn't go out very often any more sometimes spending months at a time in the flat thinking about Sherlock. He didn't know the date any more but he knew the exact amount of days since the fall. One day was different though. Mrs. Hudson came into the flat and sat opposite John. She said something about going out and that she'd be very grateful if he could accompany her. Or something like that. John didn't remember any conversations any more, only one. The conversation that he had over and over in his own head. "I love you Sherlock. I need you back."
He went out with Mrs. Hudson though. He couldn't be bothered to think of an excuse as to why he couldn't go out anymore. She tried to make small talk with him along the way; his responses were one word replies but she didn't give up.
"Well I needed some clothes and I wanted to buy a film if I have time." She said.
John didn't know why she was telling him. It wasn't like he asked or even cared what she was getting. She probably told him so that they didn't fall into an awkward silence. John knew the silence would be better than listening to her go on and on though. He didn't bother pointing that out to her. Poor Mrs. Hudson. He never knew what to say to her. It was always Sherlock with his charm and witty remarks that she loved. John just shouted at her for no reason. He remembered the "Damn my leg" outburst on the day he met her. There had been many more of them but she'd just ignored him. She knew it wasn't intentional but she truly believed that it would have stopped after a few months. After a year or so she realized that he wasn't going to change or get better and this was John now. The kindhearted friendly man she knew had been replaced by this aggressive man she didn't like one little bit. For this reason she didn't come into the flat as often, making sure only to come in once a day with a meal for him. She knew he wasn't up for cooking anything and although she didn't like this John Watson she didn't want him to starve.
She tried again to make conversation with him but after a few replies of "yeah" and "mmm" she realized she preferred the silence.
They walked around London for what seemed like weeks to John whilst he carried Mrs. Hudson's clothes. Afterwards they walked into a DVD shop so she could get a film. She started telling John about the new releases and how films weren't as good as when she was younger. All he could think of was what films he'd like to watch with Sherlock. She pointed out a couple to John that she thought looked interesting. He agreed without looking at them. He followed her around the shop not bothering to take in anything. He was thinking about Sherlock as usual. After about 10 minutes Mrs. Hudson came up to John and practically shoved a film in his face before he had time to look away.
"I think I'll get this one. The cast looks good doesn't it?"
John glanced at the film and saw something that set his pulse racing. The film was called Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. He was drawn to the face of one particular actor. He knew that face. The hair was different, straight and blonde, but he would recognize that face anywhere. He was staring into the face of Sherlock Holmes.