"Mr. Watson, I don't think you understand quite how serious this is..." The voice buzzed in John's ear as he sorted through let another pile letters addressing bills upon bills. None of which were being payed. John stayed silent. "Mr. Watson? Mr. Watson, are you there?"
"Doctor! It's doctor Watson!" John screamed down the phone.
"Well I apologise DOCTOR Watson. But we have sent many letters to you explaining that you are not paying any of your bills."
"Yes. Yes, I know I haven't been paying them." John sternly said down the phone, trying unbelievably hard not to loose his temper.
"Mr... Doctor Watson, I must enquire as to why you have not been paying them."
"Listen her-... I have just lost a friend."
"I know Doctor Watson I have became very aware of that fact. I am sorry for your los..."
"No you aren't."
"Excuse me?" Everyone had been telling him the same thing. 'I'm sorry for your loss' and 'he will be missed' but would he really? Would anyone else, apart from John, even notice he was gone? Or even care?
"You aren't sorry. No one is. I am the only person who understood Sherlock and I swear that I am the only damn person who generally cares that he is gone..."
"I meant no harm, Doctor Watson."
"Of course you didn't. I- I need more time. I can get the money."
"You have been telling us that for several weeks now..."
"I will get the money!" John screamed as he slammed the phone down. John sat down hard, and let out a puff of air. He put his head in his hands, trying not to cry. He was loosing it. After all this time, he thought, after all he'd been through... This is what he had come to.
He missed Sherlock; more than he had missed anyone else, in his entire life. He tried to put on a poker face as best as he could; it never worked. Hiding your emotions will drive you insane, Molly had once told him. Even though there was something about the way she said it... Which made it sound like she didn't quite believe it... But showing your emotions in the army was a sign for weakness.
If sherlock were here he would probably be telling John the reason he was crying based on his left ear." He chuckled to himself. Occasionally he got good memories of Sherlock and couldn't help but smile. "However you were never good with people's emotions, were you?" The smile faded from his face and was replaced with yet another fallen tear. "God, I miss you Sherlock."
He heard a soft knock on the front door. His head snapped up. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway. Her mouth dropped slightly.
"Oh John..." She signed, letting herself in. She had became an even closer friend to John during this hard time, he basically had no one. And she knew that, and he was so thankful.
He stood up suddenly and remembered that he had been crying. He sniffed as he whipped his eyes quickly, as if making it discrete.
"Mrs Hudson." He said with a nod of his head.
"John..."
He didn't mean to seem rude but he turned around and walked to the window. It was slightly open and John could hear the traffic going by. He saw a cab stop not far from 221B Baker Street and couldn't stop the flood of emotions that overcame him. Everything lately reminded him of Sherlock. Everything. He looked up slightly and caught his reflection in the window. His eyes were ringed with red.
The room seemed to be suddenly quiet and John realised that Mrs Hudson had said something. "What?" He asked quickly, trying to take away the fact of how rude it seemed not listening to her speaking.
"Would you like some tea, dear?" She asked him in her soft voice.
He grinned and said, "You're my landlady, not my housekeeper."
Mrs Hudson grinned, clapping her hands together. It was clear that she was remembering the 'good' times too. "I don't mind, dear. Two sugars, isn't it?" She asked.
"No, Mrs Hudson. That'll be quite alright. I'm actually heading out."
"Wha- John are you sure?"
John had struggled to leave the apartment. He had tried to, but he just couldn't. Memories of Sherlock were too much for him, and they were everywhere. "Yes."
"And where is it you will be going?" It was obvious that she was trying to use her calmest voice with John, hoping he wasn't going to snap.
"Bar. I just.. I think I should get out for a while at least."
"John you know that drinking away your sorrows is not the best thing for y-" Mrs Hudson softly began.
"Yes, Mrs Hudson! I am very aware of it!" John said slightly louder but not loud enough to be classed as shouting. He turned around to see her looking sadly at the floor.
He sighed. "I am so sorry, Mrs Hudson. It's just.."
"It's fine dear, honestly. Now go on."
John picked up his jacket and put it into of his stripped jumper and followed Mrs Hudson out of the apartment.
Whilst walking, John reached into his pocket, pulling out something that he found in it.
Gloves.
Sherlock's gloves.
He stopped in the middle of the street. Causing some people to stare, he didn't even notice. He slipped his hands into the gloves. They were a little bit big. They were fine though, more than fine John thought.
He continued walking even though he could hardly feel his legs. He was just looking at the pavement whilst walking, trying to avoid looking up, thinking it would be easier that way.
The one time he looked up, he was walking past a music shop. Instruments were displayed in the windows: pianos, guitars, flutes, violins...
Violins.
Dammit, John thought as he felt his eyes stinging. He was tearing up again. He stopped walking and just stared at the violin. His mind was flooded with repetition of what Sherlock once said:
"If she left him, he would have kept it. People do: sentiment."
He couldn't help think of Sherlock's violin which was in 221B. John had kept it: sentiment.
"You left me." John said to himself, not realising he'd said it out loud, he looked around him to see if anyone heard.
Fortunately there didn't seem to be anyone paying any attention. Once again, John continued walking even though his legs were lead, his eyes welling up once again.
He got to the bar after what seemed like forever, he walked in and strode up to the counter.
"Glass of whiskey please... Large." He asked the barmaid.
"Coming right u-... Wait a minute. Hey, are you Doctor Watson?!" She replied.
"No. No I am not. I'm afraid you must have me confused." He kept his eyes down.
"No but I know your face..."
"I am not Doctor Watson!" He said, too loudly as a few people near turned and stared.
"Sorry." She said as she passed him the glass of whiskey.
"Thanks." He whispered. He walked over to the booth farthest away from anyone else. He liked having that bit of privacy.
The time seemed to fly. Before he knew it, he was on his 5th glass of whiskey. He knew he was drunk. He didn't care. He wanted more. This seemed to be the only thing that could take his mind of Sherlock. A little bit anyways.
He gulped down the last of the whiskey in his fifth glass and sat for a while with his head in his hands.
He looked up to see a figure sitting across from him. Wait... Sherlock?
"Jesus how much of this have I had to drink?" John said to himself with a sigh.
"Far too much."
"Oh so you can talk! Ha!" John laughed but not in an amused way. "I have one hell of an imagination."
So, John thought, I try to drink away my thoughts of Sherlock and my brain decides to imagine him sitting right in front of me instead.
John's eyes started to feel heavy and as he felt hands grab at his waist and shoulders he felt himself drift into a sleep.
John woke up the next morning with sunlight streaming in through the open window. He saw a figure standing next to the window and assumed it was Mrs. Hudson.
"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked in a croaky voice.
"Not quite." John instantly recognised the male voice. John's eyes started to come into focus as he stood up; using the bed for balance.
The slender figure turned around and straight away John knew who it was.
"Sherlock?"
"Hello, John."
"But... Am I still drunk?"
"Probably."
"So you are just a figment of my imagination?"
"Not quite. I am actually here." Sherlock said as he walked up to John, standing less than a metre away from him.
"Where.. No. You can't..." John began but couldn't seem to finish any of his sentences.
"I'm sorry John. But it was necessary to keep you in the darkness about my location until now for reasons you can't understand."
"You.. You're real? You are actually here? You're not dead?" John, only managing to finish his sentences, said.
"I'm real." Sherlock whispered.
John stayed silent for at least a minute when he was trying to get his head around it.
"Listen," Sherlock began. "If you want to punch me, go ahead. I don't mind. You deserve it after everything I have out you through. But if you are please at least give me a warning so that I can brace myself..."
"I'm not going to punch you." John whispered.
"Then what..." Sherlock was cut off as John flung his arms around Sherlock.
Sherlock couldn't help it but thousands of thoughts started flowing through his mind.
'Smaller' was the first thought. He seemed thinner than a few months ago. He hasn't been eating as he should be. Depression? Sherlock thought, most likely.
'Weak' was his second thought. He hadn't slept before last night in days.
He seemed to be trembling slightly. Cold? No. Sherlock realised it was more like anxiety.
Depression. Lack of sleep. Anxiety.
It all clicked that John had missed Sherlock, a massive amount.
"I missed you too, John." Sherlock said, they were still embracing.
"What... I never even said that... Oh."
Sherlock couldn't help but smile.
"The power of deduction, Dr. Watson."
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