John walked past the black door and in the pit of his stomach there was a feeling of pain and loss. That had once been his flat, his home. Fate, though had decided that his life would not have a happy ending and instead he had lost his best friend at Reichenbach at the hands of Moriarty.
The more he thought about it the stronger the pain grew. Had had, at first barely survived. He felt the world had no meaning for him anymore but as time went by he slowly regained his composure and settled into a routine of work and sleep. Granted it was not the adrenaline filled chases and solving of cases but it got him through.
Every now and then Lestrade would show up and ask him to help on a case and of course John consented. He wanted to at least use some of the skill that Sherlock had taught him. After these instances, however, the pain and grief returned and he would shut himself away from the world.
And so his life continued like this for three years, three incredibly dull years.
John's phone rang for the fourth time that day. Ha glanced at the screen. Lestrade, again. Okay if he rings again I will answer…might be interesting I suppose, he thought. Ten minutes later he was on the phone in a cab on the way to a crime scene. Why was he doing this again? He knew what came after but still he went hoping to feel something…anything that resembled the rush he used to get when he worked with Sherlock. By the time he reached the police cordon he regretted his agreement to become involved. There was something about the case Lestrade had described that was playing on his mind and he didn't like the fact that he couldn't work out what it was.
"This way John", came Lestrade's voice from behind a blue screen. John walked over but when he saw the body lying on the ground he turned away in disbelief. It was the body of Mike Stamford the very man who had introduced him to Sherlock on his return from Afghanistan. A wave of emotion threatened to overcome John but he just about managed to hold it together.
"Man is in his fifties…no id on the body…but judging from his bag we are assuming he was a medical professional". These words washed over John and it took a minute for them to sink in.
"His name is Mike Stamford…" John managed to say. Lestrade gave him a look of surprise not realising how John had known. Glancing towards Lestrade John noticed and continued.
"He is an old friend from Bart's. Intro...introduced me to Sherlock…" his voice coming as a broken whisper. Lestrade took this as a sign to get John away and fast. He had kept an eye on John ever since Sherlock had died at Reichenbach and knew that this was not a case he should be working on. He had helped John over the past three years but this seemed to be the worst reaction so far and he didn't want to see his friend destroyed by grief again.
Slowly Lestrade guided John towards the cordon again but John refused to have Lestrade take him home in the police car. He needed to clear his head…he needed to be alone.
John walked back to his apartment but took a rather scenic route to get there. Memories of his first meeting with the Great Detective came flooding back. Sherlock had deduced his whole life in seconds standing in that lab.
That evening he sat on his dingy sofa, watching some crap television trying not to let boredom take control. An hour later, he had given up on the programme he was watching and decided that he would go out to a bar around the corner. So putting something suitable on him he left his flat and started towards his local. On his way, however, he noticed a small club that he and Sherlock had visited while on a case. Knowing that he shouldn't, he casually made his way across the road and entered the dump of a place.
Inside, the place stank of alcohol and sweat. It was not appealing but it matched John's mood perfectly. He wasn't looking for a happy light-hearted pub right now. All he wanted was to get as drunk as possible to forget the day's events. After several drinks John did not know the names of, he was having a conversation with a boy who was less than half his age. He had recognised him from his blog. Damn that blog! He thought. He made a mental note to take it down when he got home. He was angry when the boy finally left him alone. He was angry at Sherlock for leaving him like this…angry at Mycroft for not visiting him since Switzerland and angry at himself for being angry with him. If only there was something that could numb the pain…something that could help me forget for a while, said a voice in his head. It was then that he noticed an exchange happening in a dark corner of the club. A small vial was passed between the two men and then money was paid. Something inside John warned him against what his head was telling him to do but at that moment in time he was too drunk too care. After a few minutes he had worked up the nerve to approach the man who had sold the drugs. The man turned and looked John up and down with suspicion in his eyes.
"What do you want?" he asked trying to work out whether he was police or not. When John replied "I want what he just got" slurring his words, however, the dealer figured that John was not a policeman and just some drunk idiot looking for a high. Less than a minute later John was holding a vial of what he believed to be cocaine outside the club. He decided to go back to his flat. He had a supply of syringes there and no-one would interrupt him.
He placed the metal syringe against his skin, willing himself to try it just this once. What harm could it do, he was a medical man after all, and he knew the risks. He punctured his arm and let the cocaine spread through his veins. Suddenly, his vision became clearer and things were becoming sharper. This is how it felt to be high. That night John forgot all about Sherlock and Stamford. He raced around his flat and his heart was beating so fast he could barely breathe. John looked at his watch; it was three in the morning. Something felt wrong…he was beginning to feel dizzy. The last thing he saw before he collapsed on the ground was a figure standing in the doorway holding something long and thin in his right hand.