July 2013

"Hey, Billy. Do you like here?"

John finally found the basketball box and opened it. He placed the skull on the mantelpiece.

The new flat is about half the size of the 221B: a sitting room(plus bedroom) combined with a kitchen. Two large windows looking out the street; a huge fireplace on one side of the sitting room; a small kitchen cabinet with the sink, microwave, and a small refrigerator around a corner; a doored wardrobe. There was a tall bookshelves, a previous tenant's who left it there(therefore the landlord had told John to use it).The walls were painted in pale beige; the room looked bleak and empty. The fireplace was the reason that he decided on the flat: it reminded him of 221B. John was tapping lightly the top of the cranium when someone coughed.

John was startled and looked around only to find the removal service man looking rather nervous, who had just deposited the last boxes on the floor.

"The rest charge is 30 pounds. Sir."

John paid in cash. The driver took the money into his pocket and pointed at the skull.

"There's a skull."

"A friend of mine. I call it Billy. When I say a friend…"

Before he finished the sentence off, the man hastily said,

"No tips. You don't have to pay. Have a good day."

The door closed instantly, and John shrugged wondering why he didn't take a few extra pounds that he was ready to pay. He had asked the driver to drop by a used furniture shop where he bought a few items like folding chairs, a table, and a futon on his way to here.

He looked around the flat. He didn't have many things: he grew into a habit of minimal life thanks to the army career. Most things in his previous flat belonged to Sherlock. John looked around the furniture arrangement and started unpacking.

Open the box, take out the clothes, hang some of them and put the others in drawers. A few plates and cups, a kettle, one pot and one skillet. His laptop on the table. A cane near the door. A box of books and periodicals to the bookshelves. The receipt of the removal service into an empty socket of Billy.

With his things unpacked, the room didn't look horribly bare any more but still it lacked any kind of decorations. The only ornament was the skull on the mantle piece. Glancing at his watch, John told to Billy,

"I'll be back in half an hour. Tesco. Need some food."

"Hey, I'm home. How was your day?"

John asked, and threw his jacket on his chair. He was all dressed up. He loosened his tie, and opened the refrigerator.

"Do we have some food in the freezer? Ha, Billy, here's a half of the apple pie from Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson came by the previous night and brought some food. She really missed the doctor and told him that he could move back anytime. John took the pie out and served himself with a quite big piece. He boiled water to make tea, while talking to the skull.

"I had just finished an interview today. They were very pleasant people. The prospect is good."

He munched and drank his tea. When his pang of hunger was relieved, the doctor turned on his laptop and opened his blog. Ten minutes later, he shook his head lightly and asked,

"What do you think I have to write? Ella's quite adamant."

The skull seemed to frown, pondering to answer the question. The draft from half open window rustled the receipt in Billy's eye socket.

"Ha, good thinking, Billy. I can post a short thing on my moving."

John typed a short entry in his blog for Mrs. Hudson, Harry, and Mike Stamford.

It has been a week since I moved out of the old flat. Now my day is filled up with job interviews, grocery shopping, and reading at a local library. It's quite far away from the old flat. Actually commuting itself will pose a trouble, I believe. But the rent is affordable.

Today's job interview was fine. I "noticed" the interviewer keeps a poodle. It must have a bad habit of nipping clothes. I used to have one. Naturally we talked about poodles. It must have hit the spot.

Strangely it wasn't weird to talk to Billy. Actually he was a very good listener. The skull became a friend of John Watson.

A few days later, John jumped into the flat and shouted,

"Hey, Billy. I got the job. Remember the poodle lady? It's just three-day per week position for 30 weeks. But it's a job!"

John turned on his laptop and checked on the Internet to find the shortest commute possible. His chair creaked under his weight.

"Uhh, did you ask when my first day is? A week later. I think I will go to the library and read medical journals. I've forgotten quite a bit."

He glanced at his swollen finger of his left hand. Billy seemed to frown.

"Ugh, this? Well, I met Greg today. You know him. You've seen him quite a lot. Did I beat him up? No... I didn't punch him. I tried to walk past him and he grabbed at my hand. A scuffle."

The doctor got a few ice cubes in a tray.

"Do you think I need some ice for my finger? Definitely. Billy."

John placed the ice pack on his finger, poured whiskey in a glass, and took a few sips. The memory of the last night with Sherlock came back fiercely. Actually he had put a lid on all of the memory about his dead friend, and the repressed memory was ruptured open by the encounter with Greg Lestrade. He paced around the room, holding his glass. Abruptly he said,

"Today I was shopping groceries... You know I was getting a couple of pop tart boxes. When I was about to pick a strawberry flavor box, someone else's hand snatched it before me. Then I realized it was Greg. Well, I lied. He got a punch from me. He kept nagging me with useless advice…"

He glanced at the skull.

"No, we are good now. We sat on a bench outside the store. He looked fine although I could see that he had a lot of cold cases: he often overworks. How did I know it?"

John stopped and smiled bitterly,

"I don't know. Eye bags, pale skin, bleary eyes, husky voice, and...the shirt that he must have worn for a couple of days. His eyes lingered around the tobacco and nicotine patch shelf."

He emptied his glass and muttered out.

"Mrs. Botwin. Dog hair on her trousers. Dog smell that can't be hidden with deodorant… A few nipped marks on her clothes… I made a guess… Oh, God. What's wrong with me?"

He slumped into his chair, emptied his glass, and wrapped his head with his hands in despair. Tears blurred his eyes.

"Look at me. I am talking to a skull. I'm calling you a friend. Sometimes I can read people and their lives. He would say it is a science of deduction. You know, Billy, I still hear his voice."

John started to sob. His shoulders shook and a painful grown came out of his mouth.

"This is not right. It's just not right. It has been more than a year... and I can't still believe he doesn't exist. He should be the one who makes deductions, not me."

John turned around and threw the skull to the floor. Thump. It rolled towards the toilet door. He seethed and cursed because that was the only thing he could do.

"I wish I could have taken my words back! I told him that friends protect people. I said it. He did it. He did kill himself to protect me."

The alcohol finally wore him off, John slumped onto his sofa bed, and drifted into a nightmarish sleep. After a few hours, the doctor woke up feeling a head cracking pain and thirst. He felt nauseous and weak. He staggered to the toilet and tipped over the skull. He blinked at the skull, trying to remember why it was there. His face changed. He hastily picked up the cranium and placed it back gently. He muttered,

"Billy. Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He stared at the cranium to check if there was any damage.

"Do you miss him? I do. If only I could be given a chance to say sorry to him..."

With a deep sigh, the doctor went to his toilet to take a shower. Staring at his reflection on the mirror, he put on a steely expression; his shoulders stiffened and fists clenched. He shouted at himself,

"John Watson. Just give you a year to live as normal as possible. Something wonderful might happen to you."

Mycroft's words rang in his ears. There was a series of media's frenzy reporting about Sherlock's suicide in the last month. Paparazzi followed the doctor all the time, and he just couldn't bear it anymore. John had attempted to take his own life, Mycroft's surveillance stopped it, and the older brother was sitting at his hospital bed, locking the doctor on his stern gaze.

"Look at you. A pity. Do you think my brother would be happy to see you like this? He didn't jump from the building for this."

That was when John decided to move out. Mycroft was Sherlock's Juda and still he was audacious enough to chide him. But John couldn't refute the older Holmes. The last 12 months…since he buried Sherlock underground. Mycroft was right. He had to move on. He also hoped that he would be freed from Mycroft's surveillance a bit. Why the older Holmes was aware of every event in his life... He didn't want to get into it.

John dressed up, and glanced at the bedside table. His gun was locked in the drawer.

"If not, I've got my gun as the last resort."

John put a small post-it on top of the skull, which said "MOVE ON."

"Hey. I'm back."

Billy was there, a little lop-sided and silent as usual. John deposited his briefcase, and washed his hands. He put a take-out kebab on a table and took a bottle of juice. He sat down, and mused about his first day at work.

"Wonder how my first day was? It was … good."

He started wolfing down the food and turned on a classical music channel. Bach's violin sonata filled the room. The melody soothed him in a strange way.

"Billy. Today…I felt I was needed. It felt great! I wasn't a redundance. Nurses were kind to me. One seemed to have interested in me."

John chuckled.

"I really have to ask her name tomorrow… She was blonde. Her eyes were blue. She had a very nice smile. How was your day? Just sitting there all day? Do you want to take a walk with me?"

He finished the meal, tossed the container into the bin, and put the skull in the box. It was originally a box for a basketball. He placed the skull in the way that its eye sockets could face the front. After brushing his teeth, he picked up the box and headed out to the nearby park. He was so lost in thoughts that it was past an hour that he returned to his radio was still on. He suddenly realized that he didn't think about Sherlock at all even when he heard the Bach's violin sonata. He stood in the room for a long time, totally feeling guilty for forgetting his friend even for a brief moment.

A month passed since John started to work. He saw his therapist once a week; studied almost every night at the nearby library, reading medical journals and textbooks; and posted a couple of entries in his blog. The door banged shut and John ran into the flat. His eyes twinkled. He spluttered in a hurry.

"Hey, Billy. My friend Billy. You know what? Mary said yes when I asked her out. This weekend I'll take her to the West End. She happened to have two tickets of a Shakespeare play, Hamlet. I'm buying her dinner and drinks."

John danced around the room.

"I have never imagined she would say yes. I don't know what to do. Flowers? Chocolates? When was my last date? It was 2 years ago. Ugh, Sherlock used to ruin almost all of my dates. The only girlfriend he had ever respected was Sarah… This time he won't be able to mess up with my da…"

He stopped in the middle of the sentence, totally horrified at what he had just said. Deflated and dejected, he reached out his arms to get the skull, looked at it, and asked.

"Billy, do you think if it is okay for me to be happy again? Will he understand it?"

As always, the skull's eye sockets pored into the doctor's eyes with silence. The yellow post-it seemed to yell at him to move on.

The weekend date was a success. John and Mary had a good time over dinner and enjoyed the play. Mary had known about the skull as John kept talking about it but she genuinely seemed surprised when John took out Billy's box. John whispered that Billy seemed to be lonely and might be thrilled to see Yorick, the skull of the Hamlet play. When Mary was saying good night at her flat door, John impulsively pulled her closer and stared into her eyes. She was so warm; he could feel her heart beating and smell her hair rose; she pecked on his cheek before disappearing into her flat. John didn't have a clear memory how he got back to his flat. His mind was all blown away. His heart that had stopped beating started to pump blood throughout his body.

The next morning, John went to Sherlock's grave. It had been three weeks since the last visit. The cemetery was empty for the sky was dark grey, threatening a downpour any moment. John placed roses in the vase and stared at the dark marble.

"Sherlock. Something wonderful happened to me. I got a job. You know that. I told you last time I visited here."

John cleared his throat. He wasn't sure why it felt so awkward to talk about his new date to his dead friend.

"Ugh, I met a girl. Her name is Mary. Mary Morstan. She's a nurse…"

He fidgeted for a moment and carried on,

"If you had seen her, you probably would've told me her whole life before me… Well, Sherlock. I don't know how serious this can go but I think I like her. I hope she likes me… Someday, I will introduce her to you."

John patted the top of the gravestone.

"You used to talk in my head… Now it seems you don't do it that often. Are you annoyed because I am dating with her?"

The air smelled rain and dusts. Big drops of rain started to fall. John could see lightning and hear thunders. The wind blew hard, shaking tree branches and leaves.

"I have to go. I'll be here soon."

John hurried outside.

Christmas carols rang in the streets. The sparkling red and yellow lights decorated show windows. It smelled like Christmas with pudding and gingerbreadman cookies. People swarmed in the High Street for their last Christmas shopping. John glanced at his flat. The flat wasn't bleak any more. A woman's touch had changed it. Now there was a vase with flowers next to Billy. A very nice painting of the white Cliffs of Dover was hung on the wall, Mary's painting. It was her Christmas present for John. John got her a nice cashmere jumper. John put a small Santa hat on Billy and headed out.

John was waiting for Mary at Baker Station. They were going to visit Mrs. Hudson. John hadn't been in his old flat for more than six months. Lestrade, Molly, and her new boy friend were invited at 221A. There was no new tenant in 221B. Mycroft Holmes still paid for his brother's flat and all of Sherlock's things were preserved upstairs as if he were alive.

Mrs. Hudson had a huge turkey stuffed and baked, with sweet potatoes, beans, and salad. She turned the CD player on so they could indulge in festivities. When they were done with their turkey, the music changed into I wish you a Merry Christmas. That was the tune that Sherlock had played two years ago. Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and John looked at each other: they understood. Time had healed their raw and sore wounds: now they could listen to the carol or violin music without burning eyes. None of them still dared to visit the upstairs: only the landlady did once a week for dusting and vacuuming.

Mary had brought a gorgeous chocolate cake and they enjoyed it to the last crumbs. Mary was so thrilled when Mrs. Hudson gave her hand-knit scarf. John hadn't realized that Mrs. Hudson was such a good knitter. She was happy to get a new set of tea cups from Mary.

They were standing behind Mary's door. It was a White Christmas. Snowflakes embroidered their coats and hair. She appreciated John's invitation.

"Well, thanks for taking me to Mrs. Hudson's. She's a sweet lady. Look at this scarf! And all of the new facts about your friend, Shelrock, were quite amazing. The DI was a very nice man. He's handsome. It's always good if you have a police officer friend."

Mary laughed when John's flinched.

"Are you jealous?"

"Well, no. It's just..."

Why hide his sentiment? Greg looked marvelous tonight.

John just nodded while scratching his head. Mary's next words were unexpectedly disappointing.

"John, I don't think I like you."

His face fell. He didn't know what to say. Then he felt her lips near his ear. She whispered,

"I think... I'm in love with you."

John didn't hesitate when Mary's hand pulled him into her flat. The door closed. Far away carolers' singing drifted in swirlings of snowflakes.

John stopped seeing his therapist. He was thinking about getting a new spacious flat and moving in with Mary, yet he just thought it was still too early. Mary quitted her job and got a new position at Bart's. Molly had some connections with the HR department of the hospital. Mary and Molly had become close friends, and the three often had a dinner together.

Billy was still there. John talked to it in mornings mostly. He was a full-time doctor at the clinic; had to date with Mary three times a week at least; and from time to time went to the pub with Greg and some other Yarders. At night there was simply no time to talk to the skull. One time, he took Billy to Sherlock's grave. Now he visited once a month if possible to lay flowers and talk about his life.

June 2014

It was June. Two years have passed since Sherlock died. John, as he had promised, took Mary to Sherlock's grave. By that time, Mary knew almost all of the cases that Sherlock and John had worked together, and every detail about the detective.

"Sherlock. Sorry. It had been five-six weeks since I visited. I've been busy. Today, I brought someone that I think you really have to see. This is Mary Morstan, my girlfriend..."

John wrapped his arms around Mary tightly. He stopped, not knowing what to say next. Introducing his girlfriend to his dead best friend had seemed to be so easy. Not any more. His face reddened. Mary understood, and placed roses in the vase. Her blonde hair shined under the sun light. She whispered,

"Mr. Holmes. I'm Mary. John has been telling me about you so many times, so...I feel as if I had known you all these times. I wish you hadn't died. We must have been great friends, I believe..."

John smiled at Mary's naiveness: their relationship must have ended long before this if Sherlock had been alive. Mary added,

"John said he owes you a lot. Thank you so much for having been there for him. If you hadn't, I might not have been able to meet him."

They stared at the marble for a long time. Then they slowly walked out of the cemetery. A year ago John had decided to give him a year to move on. Something wonderful had happened to him miraculously. He forgot that he had kept his gun in his lockable drawer.

It was December again. John visited Mrs. Hudson the week before Christmas because he had other plans on the holiday.

"Billy, take a look at it."

John took out a small box. He opened the box and showed its content to the skull. There was a beautiful glittering ruby ring.

"A family heiroom. Actually Harry had it but she gave it to me since she broke up with Clara. I did the setting again into a more modern design. Do you think she would love it?"

He made a hollow laugh.

"Look at me. I'm still taking to you as if you were my friend... No offense. You ARE my friend. Now tell me. How do I propose? Do I have to knee before her and ask for her hand?"

On the following week, John invited Mary to his flat. Billy was putting on a Santa hat. A small Christmas tree was set up near the fireplace. They had decorated it together. After a sumptuous dinner of roast chicken and stuffing, John asked her to get him a tray of cheese. He had set out two wine glasses and poured white wine into them. He slipped the ring into one glass and held it to Mary. Mary's eyes sparkled when they found the ring. The doctor knelt before Mary. Words were not spoken. Their eyes met, and a warm flame started to flicker inside the doctor's heart. They decided to get married in next December.

Jan 2015

Lestrade and John headed to Sherlock's grave. It was his birthday. The second birthday after death. Greg placed a box of nicotine patches in front of the grave.

"Would he miss it? Smoking?"

John chuckled,

"Well, at least I hope they don't have a smoking ban in the heaven. He used to implore the unfriendly London environment for smokers."

Lestrade joined John's chuckling,

"I stopped smoking. I've never smoked for a year. My voice got much better."

"Good."

"How's Mary?"

"Wonderful. Well, we...are engaged... sort of..."

Greg's face beamed at the news. He shook his hand with John and congratulated him. John reddened a bit and said,

"Thanks. I thought he needs to know it, too."

"What would he say if he were here?"

"He would say I am mad to embrace a quaint idea of marriage. He might predict the exact length of the marriage before it fails."

John stuttered his apology.

"Uh, Sorry. Greg. No offense."

"It's fine. Well, tell Mary that I'm happy for her."

"Sure. I might ask you to be my best man."

Greg tried to say no.

"No. I don't think it's proper... My marriage failed. What about Sh..."

He stopped in mid-sentence, and John tried to smile but his mouth failed to arch.

"He would've been the one that I would ask... Well, it's still far away. It's too early to talk about it. Sherlock, I'll bring her next time."

John nodded tersely at the black marble. Greg did the same, and both men hurried out of the cemetery. They hadn't realized that Mycroft Holmes was nearby and overheard most of the conversation. The older Holmes also left the grave and got on his car. He looked pensive on the way to his office: he had known John was dating with Mary. But an engagement? He wasn't sure how he could deliver the news of John's engagement to his brother who might come home in a few months.

A/N John seems to be happy enough now. This happens before "the day he returned." Your opinions value so much, so please reviews are very appreciated. Thanks for your reading.