Warning: If you haven't see "The Reichenbach Fall" (S2 E3) then there's spoliers up ahead. You've been warned!


Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters. They belong the genesis' Mark Gatatis and Steven Moffat. Good job guys!


Authors Note: Hey guys! Thanks for coming out to read my first fanfiction. This fic is about how John went about his life after Sherlock "died". There isn't tons of action in this chapter, but don't worry, John's life is going to get very interesting in the upcoming chapters. Hope you Enjoy!


"This phone call, it's my note. That's what people do don't they...leave a note."

I took a deep breath as I looked at the shape of Sherlock with wide eyes. He couldn't...he wouldn't...would he?

"Leave a note when?"

It was a stupid question really, but I just couldn't believe it. There is no possible way Sherlock Holmes would jump off this roof.

"Goodbye John."

"No. Don't-"

From the looks of it, it seemed that Sherlock threw his phone on the ground. He gave me one last look, a look that told me everything we were never quite able to say to one another. Those three words that would have changed everything. He knew if he said them, he wouldn't be able to go through with it, so he kept quiet.

Everything slowed down. I watched in shock as he fell from the building his coat flying behind him. It was all a blur. Then time sped up and before I could react he was already on the ground

"No" I whispered. It was all I could manage to get out.


...

I woke with a start, my forehead drenched with sweat. I attempted to get up, but quickly realized I was tangled in the sheets. I fell backwards onto my bed and bashed the back of my head on the headbored. I chocked on a sob, trying to keep quiet so that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't hear. The last thing I needed was for her to come and try to comfort me. It was a nice effort, but never helped.

I remained still in bed, trying to decide what to do. It was the same thoughts as every morning. Stay in bed, or get up and eat. Staying in bed always won, because getting up meant facing people and facing people meant hearing their poor attempts on making me feel better.

Ah yes, and there was one more thought that always joined the war going on inside my head. What would Sherlock do?

"Sherlock wouldn't mourn" I told myself each morning.

"Sherlock would get up and complain that if he stayed in bed his brain would rot and then where would we be?"

I heard his voice in my head, telling me mourning won't do me any good, just as it had every morning. But something about this morning was different. It was like there was an invisible force pulling me out of bed. I untangled myself from the sheets and stood up. It was like every movement drained the energy out of me. I took a deep breath, grabbed the doorknob, and opened the door.


...

"John!" Mrs. Hudson said with a warm smile.

She had a surprised look on her face. Did people really believe I was going to stay in bed forever? To be fair, that's what I was planning.

"I was just going to make your morning tea" she said, looking me over. I probably looked awful. I had been in bed for a week, only getting up to drink and use the loo.

"You make tea for me?" I asked her, confused. I suppose I wouldn't know if she did or not, considering I haven't been in the kitchen.

"I make tea for you every morning" she replied plainley. I felt half-bad for not bothering to check on her. She was in just as much pain as I am.

I nodded at her with appreciation. Mrs. Hudson was most likely the only person I could stand right now.

"So..." She looked at me with sad smile. "How are you?"

I sat down in my chair. Sighing, I thought to myself, "Is everything going to remind me of him?" I had considered moving out many times over the past week, but I couldn't bear leave 221B Baker Street. Good memories or not.

"As good as I'll ever be at this point in the game" I said quietly, more to myself then her.

"No one can blame you John, it's only been a week. I couldn't ever expect you to get over what...what happened, in a week." She looked down at the ground, and by the looks of it, she was recalling some sort memory.

I smiled a appreciative smile at her. Mrs. Hudson had known Sherlock for longer than I had. She's the only, well woman Sherlock had ever let get close to him.

"What are your plans for today?" Mrs. Hudson asked, trying to make conversation. Human nature was a strange thing. We all hate silence. We'll do anything possible to avoid it.

I was about to tell her she didn't have to make conversation with me, but luckily, my phone saved me. I reached for the phone to answer, but Mrs. Hudson pushed it out of my reach.

"You are not to even thinking about this phone until you eat something and take a proper shower" she said, motherly like. She had always been a motherly figure to Sherlock and I.

"Mrs. Hudson what if-"

"I will answer the phone. Go get a shower. Frankly dear, you smell, and if you keep it up, I'm going to have to kick you out." A smile ran across her lips. Humour, another part of human nature. We use humour to connect.

I sighed and dragged myself into the bathroom. As annoying as it was, I needed someone like Mrs. Hudson now more than ever. While I stepped into the shower, I heard her voice from the sitting room. I had a short flashback of my therepy sessions.

"You just wrote "still has trust issues" on your paper"

"And your reading my writing upside down. See what I mean?"

I decided against eavesdropping and turned the cold water on. I tried to wash away my feelings, if that was even possible.


...

"Well, who was it" I asked Mrs. Hudson when I got out of the shower. Although I would never admit it out loud, I felt much better after getting a shower. Perhaps if I started taking proper care of myself, the grief would slowly wash away.

"Ah! You smell much better now" she replied, avoiding the question. Why would she avoid the question?

I walked over to my chair and plopped in it. A flashback came to me of the first time I sat in that chair, when Sherlock dragged me to a crime scene.

"Your a doctor, in fact, your an army doctor" Sherlock said with a mischievous light in his eyes.

"Yes" I replied bluntly. What was he getting at?

"Any good?" He asked. Didn't he just leave? Why was he back?

I stood up, trying to add height to myself. "Very good."

"You've seen a lot of injuries then, violent deaths?" He said this while strutting towards me.

Was he trying to bring back traumatic memories!?

"Yes" I said, with a glare.

"Bit of trouble too I bet" he said to me.

Idoit, I thought.

"Yes, of course, enough for a lifetime far too much."

A grin played across his lips.

"Want to go see some more?" He asked.

"Oh God yes" I replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He walked quickly, not making any acceptions for my limp.

Thinking back to it, he was the first, and only person to never slow down for me. He always treated me as just another person. Maybe that was his goal all along. To get rid of my limp, to prove a point. I wonder how my life would have turned out if i never went to that crime scene, if I never ran into Stanford that day. Would I be this broken right now?

Snapping out of it, I asked, "Enough games Mrs. Hudson, who was it?"

"Eat your food dear, before it gets cold."

She had made me my favourite breakfast, beans, sausage, a fried egg, toast, and tomatoes. Never had I been so tempted to eat something over the past week, but the temptation still wasn't strong enough.

"Not hungry" I replied. "Now answer the question." Who was she to think that she couldn't tell me who called me on my own phone!?

"It was Mike Stamford" Mrs. Hudson responded a little to quickly. I know from my days with Sherlock that meant she was lying. He could see through anyone with just a glance.

"Fibbing." He may have been the world's best-and only consulting detective, but I could always tell if someone was lying.

"It was Molly."

She scratched her nose.

"Fibbing, Mrs. Hudson." I sometimes wonder if my super power was one of the only reasons Sherlock kept me around.

"Eat some food and I'll tell you who it was" She said, handing me my plate. Was she bribing me? If she was, it was working. I took a bite of toast. It was all I could stomach.

"Happy?" I snapped at her. I didn't mean for it to come out rude. I remember the last time someone other than Sherlock was rude to her. He probably would have attacked me.

"Yes...It was Lestrade" She whispered, not making eye contact. I just barley made out what she had said.

Lestrade. No wonder she wouldn't tell me. If I had answered, it wouldn't have been pretty. It was all his fault. If he hadn't arrested Sherlock and I that night, would he still be here?

"What does he want?" I replied angerly, scratching the back of my head. There was a bump there from when I hit my head. I winced at the touch of it.

"I need your help on a case."

A voice sounded from the doorway. I turned around to see who the new voice had came from. Lestrade. He was standing in my doorway.

"Get out."

He was the last person I wanted to see. If he was expecting a happy reunion this morning, he would leave here disappointed.

"John at least hear-"

"GET OUT!" I shouted at him. All the anger I had concealed behind my sadness came out all at once. Everything I had been holding back at the funeral when I saw him, everything I couldn't say there, came out in those two words.

Lestrade winced at my words. "Please John, at least listen to me."

"And why exactly should I listen to you? You're the one who drove him to...do what he did! Now you have the gull to walk into my flat and ask for my help!? Get. Out."

I was furious. I have never hated someone more in my life. I would have shouted at him, but experience taught me that keeping the same tone and a straight face had the same effect, if not better. I took a deep breath and a few steps away so I wouldn't do anything I would regret.

Mrs. Hudson had a shocked look on her face. I suddenly felt bad for saying what I had said, but not bad enough to make me feel guilty. Sherlock wouldn't have been happy if he was here. However, if he was here, none of this would be happening right now.

"John Watson I am ashamed of you. Sherlock would not want you to treat one of his good friends in this way."

Mrs. Hudson scolding you was like a mother scolding her child. You couldn't unsee the look she gave you. She crossed the room and slammed the door behind her as she left the room. I had never seen her this ferocious before.


...

"Soo...I'm just going to say this straight out. I can't help you with your case. I'm not Sherlock."After I had calmed down, I managed to have a civil conversation with Lestrade. He was sitting across the table from me.

"I know. I know your not Sherlock. But you knew him better then any of us. You knew how he worked better then anyone. And if all else fails, we could really use your doctor skills." He was staring down at his hands, refusing to look up and make eye contact. If he did look up, he would see all the hatred in my eyes, looking right at him.

"Even if I could help on the case, my answer is still no.. It reminds me too much of...him. In fact, everything reminds me of him. I can't go anywhere without thinking of him!" If my conscience was trying to guilt Lestrade, the look on his face told me it was working. I tittled my head up, trying to hold back my tears. I would not cry in front of him.

"John, I understand this is hard for you, but this case is very important. We're at our wits end. We need your help." He threw me a desperate look. He clearly had no hope on solving this case.

I scoffed. "Everything I have to say has probably already crossed your mind." I froze and slapped a hand over my mouth. I couldn't believe what I had just said.

"Sorry boys, I'm soooooo changeable"

My eyes flickered from the red dot on Sherlock to Jim Moriarty, standiing only 10 feet away from me. We were so close, so close to escaping. I should have known better, it's never that simple with him.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

He slowly walked towards Sherlock and I. Every step drained a bit of hope from me. How could we possibly get out of this one?

"You can't be aloud to continue. You just can't." Moriarty shook his head. "I would try to convince you but, everything I have to say has already crossed your mind." His voice changed from many different tones whilst saying this. He spread his arms out and gave a little smirk. He was enjoying himself.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." Sherlock raised his gun and pointed it at Moriarty. If I hadn't been living with him for the past while, I would have never known that he was scared. And that meant something, Sherlock Holmes doesn't get scared. He slowly lowerd his gun to point at the bomb-jacket, not breaking eye contact with Moriarty. His eyes were watery. Jim Moriarty tilted his head to the side, giving him a "What are you going to do" look. I probably looked terrified. I felt it, anyways. A smile played across Moriarys lips. How could he possibly be smiling, he was about to die.

The next thing that happened not even Sherlock Holmes could predict. "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees started to play. Sherlocks eyes looked around to swimming pool, but his head remained still. He gave a quick glance at me but quickly returned his eyes to Moriarty. Moriarty closed his eyes and sighed, giving a look that would say this has happened before.

"Do you mind if I get that?" He asked, shaking his head.

"Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life" Sherlock replied. He waved his gun at him for dramatics.

"Hello. Yes of course it is what do you want?" He mouthed the word "sorry" at Sherlock, to which he mouthed back "it's fine." It was most civil death threat I have ever seen. These two definitely were not ordinary. Moriarty turned around with an annoyed look on his face. It was silent for a moment but then...

"SAY THAT AGAIN." Moriarty shouted. I had to resiste the urge not to jump out of my skin. Somehow it had not frightened Sherlock. The only sign that he gave of being frightened was a little twitch of his hand holding the gun.

"Say that again and know that if your lying to me, I will find you, and I will skiiiiiiinnn you." He used his hand for effect, most likely trying to frighten Sherlock and I. "Away" was his final word before hanging up. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Sorry, wrong day to die."

"Oh" Sherlock replied. "Did you get a better offer?"

"You'll be hearing from me Sherlock" Moriarty said while walking away. Sherlock kept his gun pointed at him.

He snapped his fingers, and the snippers were gone.

I shuddered at the thought of saying something Moriarty had used against Sherlock as a threat. Removing the hand clasped over my mouth, I took a deep breath, and counted to ten, momentarily forgetting Lestrade was across the table from me. I was so lost in thought that I was completely oblivious to Lestrade calling my name.

"Are you even listing to me?" Lestrade snapped. The look on his face told me that he regretted snapping at me immediately. He knew that if he even came off a bit to strong, I would kick him out in an instant.

"What...oh yea I'm listening. Um, tell me more about the case." I tried to play it off as if nothing had happened.

"Are you alright John?" He has a genuine look of concern on his face. Like him or not, he was one of Sherlock's only friends before me, and I knew he cared for Sherlock's, and my well being.

"Yes, I'm fine." I said this in a tone which clearly told him I was not up for discussing if I was alright or not, with him. "Just get on with the case already, I'm growing impatient."

"Right. The client's name is Mary Morston. She was at home on a Friday night watching a movie with three of her friends. She told us that one of her friends heard a sound coming from the back door, and decided to investigate." Lestrade paused and scratched behind his ear. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? I gave him a look as if to say "Hurry up".

"It had been about ten minutes after she left, that Mary grew concerned. She was about to check to see what she was doing, when she heard a scream. Her friend's scream." He looked around the room. "Listen, John, What I'm about to tell you is top secret. You have to swear on life you won't tell anyone." I did I quick look over of Lestrade. He was fidgeting with his hands and now that I think of it, he's been constantly looking over his shoulder, as if someone was about to show up. What was he so afraid of?

"It's not like I have anyone to tell" I replied bitterly. Lestrade immediately regretted his choice in wording. I muffled a sigh. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over Sherlock. It was right there, in that moment, that I decided to stop. Stop trying to get over him, because it was in that moment that I realized, it was never going to happen. Because of Sherlock Holmes, I had started living again. Living life to it's fullest, never knowing what adventure would come up next. Now, because of Sherlock Holmes, I had stopped living, returning to my dull life. Boring, as Sherlock called it. In fact, this life was even worse than my old one. At least my old one had hope.

"Listen, John, I should probably just leave." I had never seen Lestrade so utterly hopeless before. As much as I hated the man, I couldn't let an innocent suffer. When I didn't respond, he stood up to leave.

"No-wait." He turned around and looked at me with a surprised face. I stood up."Let me hear the rest of the case, then I'll decide if I'll help for not." A bit of hope flashed in his eyes.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me?" I thought about the question for a moment. Had I forgiven him? I thought back to the events that led up to Sherlocks death. The one person Sherlock thought would never doubt him, doubted him. Everyone thought it was a fake. He destroyed him.

"No. But I won't let and innocent suffer. Now, sit back down, and tell me about the case." This came out in a commanding tone, reminding me of my days in the army. I haven't had to use that tone since, well, the army. We both walked back over to the table and took a seat. The next thing Lestrade has to say would have even made Sherlock gasp.

"Well, Mary and her two friends ran outside to see what had happened. When they got outside, they saw, well the girl was missing and all that was left was a symbol, on the ground." Lestrade grabbed a pen and paper and started drawing something. After about 15 seconds, he turned the paper around and showed me what he had drawn. It was the letter M with two diagonal slashes, going downwards to the bottem right, through the M.

"What is it." I asked, rubbing my chin.

"No clue. But if we want to find the missing girl, we need your help." He was practically begging me to help him. "What do you say John," Lestrade said folding his hands on the table. "Are you up for a new case?"


...

It was the morning after Lestrade came to our-my flat. I had told him that I need some time to think. On one hand, if I didn't help, people could die. But on the other hand, I'm not Sherlock Holmes. I doubt I would be any help to them. Well at least that's what I was telling myself. The truth is, I don't want to solve crimes without Sherlock. If I went back to solving crimes, like the good old days, I would most likely have an emotional breakdown on the crime scene. I was getting no further in making a decision, so I did what one does when they have nothing let to do. Make a pros and cons list.

The pros were simple, I could potentially save a life. I could keep myself distracted from my grief, and I would have something to live for again. But then there was the cons, Sherlock Holmes. I only solve crimes with Sherlock. If I did something like this, continuing the business, well it just reminds me too much of him.

The worst part, was that the longer I took to decide, the more danger this woman, whoever she is, was in. I was sitting in my chair in the sitting room, eating some dry cereal for breakfast, (I was out of milk, but I refused to leave the flat until I absolutely had to.) when something on the tele caught my attention. The woman speaking said something that made my jaw drop.

"Breaking news. Just last night a 30 year old man was kidnapped from his home. He was described as a tall, brown hair, white male. He was wearing blue jeans and a green, button up, long sleeve shirt. There was no evidence at his home. All the police found was this."

There it was. The symbol that Lestrade has described. It was spray painted on the wall. The woman on the tele continued talking but I didn't hear any of it. I was lost in thought. Another person. Another person was kidnapped by this...whoever it was. That was the last straw for me. This couldn't continue. I grabbed my phone from my jean pocket, and dailed a number.

"Lestrade? I'll take the case."