"Just stop this… right now." John Watson looked back on these words form where he sat in his worn armchair in the living room where he and Sherlock would spend most of their days. With shaking hands he lifted a cup of tea to his mouth, it sloshed against his lips.
"Dimnit!" he shouted slamming the cup back down onto the saucer. John looked down and lifted one hand to cover his sleep deprived eyes, slowly shaking his head he murmured with a hitch in his breath. "Please Sherlock-"he paused shoving a clenched fist into his mouth "please stop being…" he had to choke out the last word.
"Dead."
It resounded around the empty room like a sonic boom. John leaned forward jamming his elbows into his knees, pushing his palms into his eyes; trying to still the tears threatening to come. He could hear Sherlock's voice now- "Come on John, sentiment doesn't solve problems." He sounded so real; like john could just turn around and see his best friend stand behind his armchair, like he always used to.
There was a slight pressure on john's shoulder- as if someone was setting their hand on his shoulder. "Great John." He said to himself "now you are creating physical manifestations of a dead pers-" but he was interrupted by the sound of a moving jacket and john looked up to see a dark trench coat swirl down in front of him. Then there he was, looking into those eyes. Those eyes that shone at the prospect of a murder and yearned for an indecipherable code. Those beautiful eyes.
"Sherlock…" john whispered, then his eyes slowly closed and he felt his back melt into the chair as he slipped away into darkness…
"I thought I saw Sherlock yesterday." John paused and glanced up at his therapist. "Is that unusual?" she leaned forward and seemed to be considering what to say.
"It is not abnormal to imagine images of loved ones after they have gone."
"Well, what about if I can feel them touching me, like here-" John gestured to his shoulder. "Here, I felt his hand before Sherlock knelt down in front of me and looked at me." His tone had become pleading and his therapist looked at him sadly.
"John, did you experience the sensation of waking up, or falling asleep after this incident?"
John hesitantly nodded. "Well, I- he…" He trailed off as his chin hung down to his broken heart. "John, Sherlock is gone. He jumped off of a seven story building." She paused, "There is no way anyone could survive that."
John looked up and met her gaze evenly.
"He's not anyone."
