John woke up with a yell, drenched in sweat and shaking. "Sh-Sherlock..." Then, remembered that Sherlock wasn't there. Three years.
He would never be there again. He never fell back asleep.
Get up, take shower, get dressed. Make tea, leave for clinic. Leave clinic, go get milk, come home, open fridge to put milk in. Realize there are still two pints because Sherlock wasn't there to waste it. Push that thought very far away. Go to bed early. Every day was like this.
John woke silently tonight, still drenched in sweat and shaking. He went to his dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Reaching to the very back, he pulls out Sherlock's scarf. He had left it at home that day...that god-awful day. He falls back asleep tonight.
Wakes up, too late. Skip shower, skip tea, leave for clinic. Half way there, realizes he grabbed Sherlock's scarf instead of his own. Goes back home and calls in sick.
Hails a cab, buys flowers. Walks around cemetary three times. Been using cane, lately the limp was back. Finally enters the gate and finds his way to the gravestone like second nature.
"Sherlock...it was never supposed to be this way, Sherlock. You were never supposed to...I loved you, you git. I loved you." leaves the flowers. Does not cry. He is a soldier. He is strong...no. He is not. He was only strong with him.
He means to go home. He really does. He walks the wrong way. He ends up there...Mrs Hudson never made him give his key up. He goes up the stairs. The furniture is the same...in fact, most of it is the same. He could have sworn they had packed most of it up..
He sits in Sherlock's chair. It smells of him. Cheap cologne, chemicals and the faintest smell of soot and fallen leaves. He sits for hours...he sleeps.
John woke sobbing. His neck was cricked from falling asleep in the chair. He curled up and let himself weep. "Sherlock...Sherlock."
A movement from behind him. He sniffs and sits up. "Mrs. Hudson, it's just me...I stopped by...I'm sorry I didn't tell you..."
"John."
He stands up and twirls around, immediatly furious. "Who are you. What kind of trick-"
The movement speaks again. "John. Please, collect yourself."
He stands, mouth agape. He doesn't remember falling- the movement rushes forward to catch him. He lashes out, catches something hard with the side of his fist,
A soft noise of pain, but John does not hit the floor. He looks up into the face of a shadow...
"Sherlock.."
Sherlock helps him to his feet. He blinks, unbelieving.
"It was all a magic trick, John. I need you to believe me."
He steps back.
"You are not real. You are dead..." The anger rises inside him.
"you are DEAD! YOU LEFT ME!"
Sherlock steps toward him, reaching out...
"John, please. I swear to you I did everything in my power to prevent it. It was so hard-"
John slaps him.
The noise seems to echo. Sherlock steps back, stunned. John stares him down.
"It was hard? leaving me was hard?"
"I never meant-"
"You BASTARD. How COULD YOU."
"I'm so sorry-"
"THREE YEARS."
"They would have killed you."
"I would have rather been dead."
Sherlock's face crumbled and he stepped closer. John didn't move.
"I love you, John."
He broke. Sherlock caught him, held him as he sobbed, holding fistfuls of Sherlock's coat.
"Sherlock...I missed you...I couldn't...I didn't live...I can't live without you...not really."
It seemed as if an infinite amount of time passed. He cried until he could not cry anymore. He stepped back, and dried his eyes.
"If you ever lie to me again, Sherlock..If you ever, EVER leave me again I swear to God I will not be here when you get back. I will not give this world the satisfaction of keeping me."
John didn't wake up until morning. "Sherlock..."
"John."
