Learning to play the music

I do not own sherlock, BBC does. I am just a person who is obsessed with JohnLock. Please do some feedback, this is my first Fanfiction. if you don't support Males with Males. DON'T READ! simple. Any sort of comment is welcome. That would show that someone would read it.

Chapter one


"SHERLOCK!" I yelled, feeling my vocal cords crack as a yelled to my best friend. Sherlock stood upon the ledge of Bart's. His head faced forward never looking, not daring to look, down. My phone was useless in my hands as he threw his away. As I yelled, he ignored me and jumped, looking like a fledgeling bird trying to fly. Tipping forward on the ledge, he fell. His coat billowing around his slender body as he plummeted to earth. I didn't see him land, the building blocked my view. But, I heard him hit the pavement.

I woke with a start, my face wet with tears and my sheets torn wildly on my bed. I was shaking ,almost violently, as I remembered the sick, wet, crunch of my friends last moments with me. I felt sick in every way possible, body and mind. I was still crying silently , not caring to stop. I knew what Sherlock would say if he saw me. I wished he would. Wished he would sneer and laugh at me. Wished he was alive. Wished that sometimes , I was not.

But I had to. I had to live because I owed Sherlock. His last wish was that I lived. I knew it. He wouldn't jump without a reason. He was real, not a fake as he claimed in his last moments. He had to have jumped to save me. I wouldn't let his cool and calm facade fool me into believing he was a machine, no matter I said. He was kind and sweet and caring, even if he didn't know it, I knew. He said he didn't have friends but I knew that was false. He had me. He had his brother. He had . He had friends.I looked at the calendar on the wall of my room. Wednesday, it read. Today was the day I went to see my new therapist.

I groaned inwardly and wiped my face, in a attempt to wipe the tears only seceding in smearing them. I went downstairs and saw his empty chair and the lone couch. I had wanted to get rid of it but I never could or would. It would be like getting rid of him, again. I had gotten rid of his lab equipment and threw away all the papers that he hadn't written on, as those where special. I kept the chair, his clothes, and his violin. The beautiful violin case was left on the window seal, never to be opened. I missed ,almost painfully, the music that the violin could make. I grabbed my coat and walked down the stairs. I almost never saw since... She had stopped in now and then in the beginning, so had Lestrade . Lestrade... Humph. they had learned soon that I did not want company in my time of grief.

I caught a cab fairly quickly and was trying to keep from thinking till I got to the office door. When I arrived I paid the cabby and walked inside the grey building. The waiting room was a comforting color that resembled cream. I walked over to the marble desk and sighed my name. Feeling a bit of a strange feeling of place, I sat on one if the many plush chairs. The wait was very troubling, as I tried not to think of the conversations that are about to occur.

After the wait stretched to 30 minutes, the therapist came into the waiting room. She was a nice lady by the name of Scarlet Henley. She was 5 foot 2 and blonde. She might have been my type but lately, I haven't been caring or in the mood. I followed her room at the end of the hall. The office was warm and had a single window with two chairs, angled at each other and a coffee table in the middle. I smiled as the place reminded me of Baker Street and the grimaced at the thought.

She sat down in one chair, pulled out my file, pinned it to the clipboard and clicked her pen. I said nothing, the silence was heavy with unspoken words and unhad conversations. I was dreading the talk and the aftermath of it. I haven't been to a therapist sense I met Sherlock. Sherlock had, unknowingly, helped me through one of the roughest times of my life. Now he was the reason I was here.

She cleared her throat and asked me in a soft soothing voice that I instantly didn't trust.,

" John, we both know why you are here. Why don't you tell us? Just to make things clear." When I didn't answer. She had asked me to talk about one thing I can't, or would not. " John, tell me about Sherlock."

Inside I was waging a war, should I say why and remember, or not and forget? I chose the speak why I am paying her this heavy price. I was here for a reason. " I am here because..." I took a shaky breath. " my best friend Sherlock is..." Should I say it? If I do it becomes real, he becomes really " dead." My voice caught on that dreadful word as I fought back the tears. I am a soldier. I don't cry.

But I do, and I did. I cried silently as I looked out of the sole window. My head full of that sound. That awful, awful, sound. The sound that haunts my nights and days. She just nodded her head and wrote down calmly, admitted the death. For some reason that I do not know, this made me hate this blonde. How dare she write him down as a casual event. He was one of a kind. That pushed me beyond my breaking point, something I had been close to since his fall. I got out of the chair, ignoring her protest and looks of surprise, and walked out the door before I could do something I regretted.

I walked past the waiting room, and the astounded look and out the door. I took one look at the clouds that covered the sky, then I started to walk. I walked in a daze of grief that I had held off for so long. Not caring, not thinking. Just walking. I walked without aiming towards a target. I walked for what seemed hours or, may have been minuets. I walked on. And on. And on. It wasn't till I saw lights and heard a shrill horn that I was aware that I had walked into a street and into the path of a moving car.

The car hit me hard, to the point that I flew a solid meter. I didn't blackout the second my head smacked the pavement. I just felt pain everywhere, head, chest, arms, legs. Somewhere in my mind the soldier, the survivor, was crying out that I needed to survive at all cost. But the other part just thought that this is what he felt. A impact and pain. I was somewhat calmed by the thought and relaxed. At that point I blacked out.

I only heard patches of the conversations but I understood.

" Is he dead?! I didn't see him! I swear!"

" Everyone backup, I'm a doctor."

" He just walked into the street! I think he wanted to get hit."

Nothing entered my head for a blissful while. I didn't awake till I heard a voice calling my name, but it felt like he was talking through water. I didn't want to go to it. It was peaceful here. I liked it. But the voice wouldn't take a no. I opened my eyes to a blinding white light. I was in a hospital. Great. I looked at the man who made the voice, it was a doctor. Why was I here.

Then I remember, the haze and the car. The doctor had a bored expression on his face. I knew the feeling. Being a doctor, I know after a long time, people start getting on every last nerve. My head was pounding. The doctor asked me the usual questions, where are you, who are you, what is the date, and so forth. When I thought he was going to tell me the usual, don't go to sleep. He just walked out of the door and Lestrade and Molly walked in. I stiffened at the sight of Lestrade. I haven't spoken to him since he betrayed Sherlock and me. Thinking Sherlock was a kidnapper. I can never forgive him. Playing into Moriarty's hand and forcing Sherlock to become a criminal. Lestrade saw me stiffen and looked at the ground. He knew what he did. Molly just put he hand on her mouth and gasped. I guess I must look bad.

Lestrade spoke first in a hushed voice," Why did you do it?"

Molly looked down. What was he talking about. I just end looked at him. Hopefully I didn't need to speak my words, as I didn't trust my mouth around him. He looks at me once more and in a forceful voice asked the same question,

"Why did you do it?"

I had to speak up at this point, I clearly didn't know what he was asking me.

"Do what?" My voice was frail and broke. I coughed and tried again. "Do what?" Still weak

" You know what." When I didn't reply he spoke once more.

" Why did try to kill yourself?" He whispered this last part like it was a secret. I understood at once, I vaguely remembered that women when I got hit, 'He just walked into the street, I think he wanted to get hit.' They believed I tried to kill my self. I would have laughed, if I wasn't so damned tired.

" I didn't try to kill myself, I was just walking."

Clearly Lestrade didn't believe me. I thought about that one voice, telling me to give up. I might have tried to kill myself. But I don't think I did. I wouldn't do that. Not now. Not to his memory. I looked at Lestrade, trying show him that I didn't want to. But Lestrade wasn't looking at me. I looked at Molly, she too wasn't. They truly believe it.

" Lestrade, you betrayed Sherlock and now you come on here and try to do the same thing to me! Look at me! You can't just give into popular belief again!" Lestrade flinched at the truth of my words.

" I didn't betray Sherlock. I was doing my job. I'm not betraying you, you are betraying yourself. Don't try to blame this on me." He almost yelled at me but I knew he was convincing himself rather than me.

I didn't regret provoking him. I regretted using sherlocks name to do it. I. Thought I wouldn't do that to him, yet I did. I looked at Lestrade with a look that showed my hate of the man. what i didn't know was that I was looking at him like Sherlock did to people he didn't like.

" Out." I didn't yell at him. I commanded him. Lestrade was going to say something more till Molly looked at him. He sighed and stepped out of the door, slamming it. Then I realized how bad my head was hurting and fell back against the bed. Molly looked frightened, I understood why. I had changed.

She walked over and didn't say a thing. I knew what she wanted to say. Molly opened her mouth and closed it again. She was thinking of how to tell me something.

" Just tell me already Molly." I didn't yell at her. I was just still irritated from Lestrade.

" John, don't blame Lestrade. He had to do that. And don't blame yourself, you couldn't say anything that could have changed it. He had to jump. I don't know why. He just had to." She looked as tho she wanted to say more but thought better of it. I had hoped to stay away from this conversation. I looked at her in a new light. She was smarter then she looked.

" Molly, I already knew this. Why else would he" I couldn't say it "do that. Now why are you here? It's just a concussion. No big deal." I was hoping to direct the conversation to me, not Sherlock. At this her face got red.

" Only a concussion! John you walked right into the street! I don't care if you didn't think about killing yourself! It happened John!" See calmed down and spoke softly

" John I know you were close the Sherlock, closer than anyone I believe. This must be hard for you but, you need to move on. Get a hobby! Don't let him ruin your life John. I would know about this."

She was right. I couldn't let him do that. I just nodded as she left, even though she couldn't see me. I looked up at the ceiling. Looking for answers. At some point sleep took me. Sleeping was a mistake. My brain was still swimming with Sherlock and his fall. I was still emotionally scrambled from my encounter with Molly and Lestrade. This was the perfect combination for a nightmare. Tho these weren't uncommon since the fall, they still hurt. And this one was different.

The day was cloudy so I could see him. I could see his black coat that matched his raven hair so well. He looked like a almighty raven, perched on the ledge of Saint Bart's. The wind was facing me, blowing the coat and hair towards me. He never looked so well, yet never looked so broken. My phone was still in my hands when I heard him, 'look at me, keep your eyes on me'. I did. As he threw his phone away, my phone useless against him and his quest. 'SHERLOCK!' I yelled trying to keep him from jumping. I knew what happened next. The sound. I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing. "John, John. I am so sorry. I didn't know this would hurt you so bad. I had to John. I had to. Moriarty was going to kill you john. I had to. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. Please forgive me."

I snapped my eyes open. I found my eyes, once again, wet with tears. I still heard his low voice that rumbled in his chest. I still felt his breath on my ear. Damn these nightmares. They always make me think of things that could be. What was that voice? That wasn't there before. Now I know my brain is scrambled. Sherlock saying sorry, multiple times? He would never. But yet I could still hear the rumble of his deep voice.

I am determined to get out of this hospital bed! One more night and I will go crazy! I swung my legs over the side, my head protesting At the sudden movement. As I placed my feet on the floor I hissed at the sudden cold. I went over to the chair and put on my cloths. Just as I pulled my fleece jumper over my head there was a knock at the door. The nurse walked in and told me where to go for the paper work. As I walked out the doors of the hospital I reviewed what Molly said, get a hobby. That sounded about right, but what could I do? When a black car pulled up in front of me I had no choice but to go meet my 'caretaker', Mycroft.

Since... The fall, Mycroft has been checking up on me, just to keep me from doing something drastic I think. I now see why Sherlock hated his brother, nothing is more annoying than a person in high places mothering you. The car ride was uncomfortable.

No more does he take me to obscure places, since there is no person to hide these meetings from. Just as you would think, Mycroft's office, in his mansion, was extremely posh. Leather seats, one full couch, beautiful tables, lamps, and a full long windows. Mycroft, as always, was sitting in a tall leather bound chair, tea in hand. Tea sounded good.

Mycroft looked down at me and had an assistant get me some tea. He didn't speak for a while and just gazed at me, not hiding his piercing eyes. I shifted in my seat, trying to shake of this uneasy feeling. Only when the assistant returned, tea cart in tow, did Mycroft Speak.

" As you know, I have had you under constant watch. Let me ask you this, how did you find all the cameras in your flat? I put them in high places john. You can reach them. So that means someone has been in your flat, taking out my cameras. You should not return. This person may be friend or foe, but let's not find out."

This had me wanting to chunk something at this man. I set my tea down on the table. I had to breathe slowly to keep from attacking him. " You had my flat bugged?" Slowly I asked him, not trusting my mouth, or hands for that matter. He looked at me and nodded calmly taking a sip of tea.

" Why John, you have a slight anger problem now. You need to keep this in check. Can't have you in jail for punching someone now. That would be unfortunate." He took another sip of tea.

I stood up and walked out, not being able to handle him any didn't try to stop me. Knowing there would be a car out front, so I went out back. I was wrong. Mycroft, the smart bastard, knew I would do this and had a car out back with the door open. I climbed inside and the phone was on and Mycroft's voice came over the radio, " We wouldn't want one more incident would we? " I wanted to hurt Mycroft. Why didn't he try to save Sherlock? Why does he have cameras on me now and not then? Why!

" Mycroft, why don't you tell Lestrade hi from me. He left in a poor sport at the hospital. I can see you have been close since Sherlock died. Very close. Good luck." The line clicked at this point. There, I don't think he will be kidnapping me any more. I could tell by the impression left in my seat and a stain on the couch against the wall. The impression was in the form of Lestrade's sitting. And the stain, well, you can guess. Careless Mycroft. I could spend that long with Sherlock and not pick up a few tricks.

Sherlock has chained me in many different ways. These past 3 months have been horrid, as I have began to realize how much he has changed me. I got out of the car and into the door. Ms. Hudson was out. What did Mycroft mean to do by telling me the cameras were out? What could he gain? I sat disown in my chair and gazed at Sherlocks. A hobby she said. My gaze shifted from the chair to the window, the to the violin case. A hobby. I almost jumped out of my chair as I ran to my laptop and looked for violin teacher in the area. A hobby I shall have.