John's used to seeing Sherlock now. 3 years in and he still sees him around, a shadow of his former self. He knows he's imagining it, and he's going more crazy as each day passes, when he should be recovering and pulling out of mourning, but it isn't possible. Sherlock will not leave, not quite, and each time John sees him it brings the memories flooding back. And all the pain, and the loss feels like a deep flesh wound being reopened. Never staying closed long enough to heal and scar. Never staying closed long enough to leave a mark, but not a hole.
Chapter 1
John
I saw him today. I was with Greg, the fifth time I'd seen him since it happened, when he was called in on a case, and I went with him. There was a body of a man, no older than 19 ripped, and torn like a well-loved doll. And Sherlock was there, looking over him, examining, saying nothing. That's how I knew; Sherlock would never keep quiet for longer than a few seconds unless it was necessary. Plus Greg, Donovan and Anderson kept stepping on his coat, and his face as they flittered round, trying to work out the cause of death. I was no help; I've rather lost my touch since he left me. Psychosomatic limp is back with a vengeance, too.
Sherlock
It isn't time yet. Well the time has been and gone, but I missed it, and to lessen the pain I'm going to have to wait, until John is ready. I can see it in his eyes, the tiny glimmer of hope that I may still be alive, and it is slowly being extinguished. And it's all my fault.
I think he saw me the other day, his eyes met mine as I was watching him enter 221B. I hadn't expected him to be here, he hadn't been back since it happened. But he was and as soon as he saw me, he shook his head, and purposely didn't look twice. He thought I was a hallucination.
I'm killing him.
John
It was funny, earlier, as I went to get the last of my things from 221B, I saw him again. He looked different to my usual sightings of him, more real.
Maybe this is where im getting to now, the point where I cant distinguish the dead from the living.
Not that it makes any difference to my life, anyway, I couldn't live without my images of him, so why not have more?