It had been three years since Sherlock had jumped off the building. Three years since John had been alone again. He performed simple, everyday tasks. He returned to 221B, talked to Mrs Hudson, sat down in his armchair, pulled out his laptop and attempted to blog again but he just couldn't. He always saw Sherlock scoffing and telling him to stop such nonsense.
Every time he returned to the apartment, he still had a silly hope that Sherlock wouldn't be dead. He hoped that when he would walk into the living room, he would find Sherlock sitting in his armchair, playing the violin and muttering to himself and then snapping at John for not doing something he hadn't asked and then John would give an exasperated sigh and go do whatever Sherlock wanted him to do.
He walked down the wet streets of London and thought about how Sherlock really was a terrible friend. He shouldn't miss the snapping and the rudeness and the bloody violin he did. He still woke up thinking he could hear the violin but when he went into the living room he always saw it resting where Sherlock last left it, collecting dust.
John decided that if he was to stay out in London any longer he was sure to catch a cold. He caught a taxi and fidgeted, wanting to get home as soon as possible.
He wanted to sit down in his armchair, open his laptop and start blogging again. He would start again tonight. Nothing could stop him. Not even his memories of Sherlock.
After paying the driver, he hurried to 221B. He needed to be home, he couldn't say why but it was of utmost importance that he was home.
After a quick chat to Mrs Hudson, he nearly ran to his front door. He opened it up and the room was empty. His heart sunk and he sat down slowly in his armchair. His fingers tapped against his knee and with a sigh he pulled his laptop towards him, opening the page of his blog.
He started to type and he then heard, "Still blogging? John, there are better things you could be doing! Like cleaning my violin! It's so dusty and frankly, I'm rather annoyed."
John closed his eyes before snapping the lid of his laptop shut. "He's dead," he told himself sternly. He opened his eyes again and looked to where the violin usually sat. With a jolt, he saw that it was no longer there. He turned around in alarm and saw Sherlock in the kitchen cleaning his violin.
"Sherlock?" said John in wonder.
"Hello, John." Sherlock paused his actions as he looked at John. "What is that atrocious thing on your face?"
John – who had become frozen that Sherlock was alive – touched his moustache gently. Sherlock tutted and started to discuss the latest crimes.
"You're really alive," said John in awe.
"Excellent observation," said Sherlock, "I hadn't noticed. Now come on, we don't have all day."
Okay, so this is my first non-Harry-Potter-fanfic! It's my first time writing Sherlock fanfiction so please be nice! I welcome constructive criticism. :)
So yeah, this is a result of procrastination and obsessing over Sherlock and that it's going to be so soon! :D
Anyway, hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! :)