John muttered to himself when he realized that he made two cups of tea, again. He sighed pouring the second one down the drain and sat down on the old arm chair in the flat he now was the singular owner of. He scolded himself for making the second cup of tea. It had been only a month since Sherlock jumped but the pain was still fresh.
John hadn't bother cleaning out Sherlock's belongings much to his friends advice. Mrs. Hudson checked on him daily and Lestrade visited him every now and then. He rarely saw Mycroft. They always said the same things, "Get out of the flat." "Clear your head." John clenched his fist. He prayed everyday for Sherlock not to be dead, he would do anything to bring back that Detective. He sighed and sipped his tea, staring at the empty seat across from him. To take his mind off Sherlock, John turned of the TV and attempted to watch daytime TV.
Across the street a man in a dark coat sat in the cafe and sipped a cup of steaming hot tea. As he drank, he gazed up at the flat across the street and muttered to himself,
"Soon John, very soon."