You were right, you know
It had been three days.
Three days, yet to John, it seemed like a lifetime since he had last seen his best friend.
There was a knock on the door of the flat, and Mrs Hudson quickly walked in, setting down the tray with tea, biscuits and the morning paper on it, before standing there awkwardly for a moment, as though she wished John would say something.
But John couldn't find anything to say. Not since he'd spoken to Sherlock... Sherlock's grave. So Mrs Hudson sighed and walked out again – as she had done for the past three days.
John still hadn't found it in him to start packing his things. Mary had kept trying to tell him in gentle ways, but he just couldn't face leaving 221B. It didn't feel right to him. John had put it down to not wanting to leave Mrs Hudson on her own, or to old army principles of never abandoning base or some other rubbish excuse he had told himself when reality threatened to settle in.
Even John's therapist didn't know what to do with him, so how the hell should he?
John continued to stare at the empty green chair opposite him, and allowed old memories to fill his head, even allowing himself to smile at some of them, until he realised he had tears running down his face. He sat up abruptly and quickly wiped them away. He didn't have time for any more tears.
The rest of the world had moved on, so he needed to do the same.
But John just couldn't. He still found himself wandering the streets of London most days, when he could face going out, but more often than not, he found himself at Bart's or the station.
He hated to impose on the others, and he knew that Molly and Lestrade didn't really want to kick him out, so they just let him help with things, but he hated the fact that they pitied him. However, John had found it the only way of coping.
He didn't really do much, half the time he was just on auto pilot. When he was at Bart's, he would help Molly carry things, or collect results; a couple of times he had made notes on her post mortems. When he was at the station, John mainly just listened to Lestrade's updates on current cases; he had only given his medical profession on two cases after Sherlock's death. After that, it became too much.
It was on this day that John found himself at the station.
At first, he just sat outside on the bench that he and... Sherlock... would often sit on if Sherlock stormed out because "Scotland Yard are blind to the obvious as usual... I need some air".
John wasn't sure how long he'd been sat there when he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him back to reality. He looked round to see the concerned face of Lestrade, who motioned for John to move over so he could join him.
"You know John, you can just come straight in and tell the desk officer you need to see me. Everyone in the station still knows who you are. Saves you from sitting out here all the time in this cold" Lestrade wrapped his coat around him, whether or not for more emphasis, John didn't really care.
"Thanks Greg. I don't know, I guess I just don't like to impose, but half the time I don't want to be anywhere else" John muttered. Lestrade made a noise of understanding and agreement, before standing up and waiting for John to do the same. Eventually he did, and they headed up to the office.
"So, anything you really wanna know about today John?" Lestrade asked as soon as they were seated. John took a moment to look around, as he always did, remembering the last time they were all in the room.
"No... Not really. Just came to see what was going on" came the standard response.
"Well not much really, although there is one case that's a bit odd in terms of the cause of death. I'll get the file and you can have a look, see if you can see anything we've missed" Lestrade suggested. John simply nodded, his train of thought elsewhere.
However, John was soon snapped back to reality when he heard a high pitched laugh coming from across the office. The laugh sounded strange to him, but also familiar. He turned to look and saw Donovan and Anderson walk in, Donovan laughing at something Anderson had just said.
John stared at them.
He hadn't seen either of them properly since Sherlock's death. If he was ever at a scene, or in the office, they either weren't there or they avoided him.
'As they bloody well should' thought John. He was still staring at them; at them being happy, and getting on with work and their lives. And in that moment, John hated them for it.
He wasn't even aware that he'd got up until he was face to face with Donovan. He was aware he'd called her name, but the anger her was feeling threatened to choke him.
"Hi John. How are you?" Sally said quietly.
"Don't. Just don't pull that crap with me Donovan. You know how I am" John said, clenching his fist, trying to hold on to his composure. But it wasn't working, and Donovan could see that.
"You know, you were right. What you said all those years ago, who knew you'd actually be right about something to do with Sherlock?!" John said. Sally gave him a confused look. By this point, Lestrade had come back and was now standing in the corner just behind Donovan, just watching; allowing John to get his words out but making sure he didn't lose it.
"Right about what?" Donovan asked.
"When you first met me, you told me that one day, we'd be standing round a body, and Sherlock... Holmes, will be the one that put it there. Well guess what, you were right. Three days ago, we all stood round a body... Sherlock's body. And he was the one that put it there; after he jumped off of the roof at Saint Bart's BLOODY HOSPITAL, because YOU and Anderson just had to go and dirty his name, and make everybody believe he was a fake!"
Donovan stood there, her mouth slightly agape, lost for words.
"It's OK Greg, I don't need to see that file. I don't want to see it, because I don't want to know. Ask Molly if she'll look over it for you" John stated, still shooting daggers at Donovan, before walking past them and out of the station altogether.
Back in the office, Donovan had turned round to face Lestrade.
"Why didn't you stop him boss?! He's got no right to come in here and say that, no matter who he is or the fact that Sherlock was his friend" she cried.
"No Donovan, John had every right. Because everything he just said, I can guarantee you I would have said the same if I was in John's position right now. So get back to work"
That afternoon, John found himself standing in front of the black marble headstone that bore his best friend's name.
"I know I should have done that for you ages ago. Stopped her calling you a freak all the time. Anything. I'm sorry I didn't do that Sherlock. But you didn't really help much; all the times you proved her wrong, and it was this time you had to prove her right" John said with a small, sad laugh.
"Another thing I should have done already... I'm going to take my things and leave Baker Street. I'm sorry Sherlock, but I just can't stay there anymore. I'll go and live with Mary... things have been going well. You would have liked her, I think. So..."
"Goodbye, Sherlock"