2 months. 2 months since that day. 2 months since John's life crumbled. 2 months since Sherlock fell.
John couldn't see his therapist anymore. It took all the strength he had to those few words: "my best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead".
Now he could barely move. Mrs Hudson had to force feed him. He was incapable of human interaction, incapable of proper speech, because what he felt was so much deeper than loss. It was pure, cold emptiness.
He saw Sherlock everywhere. John knew it wasn't real, he knew that this Imaginary Sherlock was just a projection, but he clung to the illusion, using it to keep him sane. Because he truly thought he would go mad .He needed Sherlock. Because he was so alone. Because when John breaks a glass he doesn't clean it up. Because when he steps on the shards he doesn't mind, because at least it's a feeling, something to (even if only for a few seconds) break the stone cold monotony of life without the Consulting Detective.
John watched his imaginary Sherlock slowly open the front door. Imaginary Sherlock looked at John with –what was that expression? Regret? Imaginary Sherlock hadn't shown any true emotions before. This roused John from his stupor. Imaginary Sherlock sat across from John.
"I'm so sorry, John"
That was also new. Imaginary Sherlock never spoke any proper sentences. He usually just hovered around the kitchen, or gave disapproving huffs when John cried, sat curled up in front of the telly. This time was different.
"John?"
John didn't know what to do. Should he talk back? Of course, that would be ridiculous, Imaginary Sherlock was exactly that, imaginary. But John still wanted to say something.
"you left me alone" was all he managed to croak out, his throat dry and coarse fro disuse. Imaginary Sherlock got out of the chair and walked to where John was sitting.
"Not anymore"
And Imaginary Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder, and that when Imaginary Sherlock became real Sherlock.
John sprang out of his chair. He had tried to touch his projection of Sherlock before, but his hand just passed straight through him. This was different. He could feel Sherlock.
John's head was spinning. He looked at Sherlock.
"What's happening? I saw you jump! I saw you die!"
John started pulling at his hair, on the brink of collapsing at any moment.
"John, calm down!" Sherlock tried desperately to soothe John. "I'm not dead, I'm alive, I faked my death!"
John stopped clawing at his hair and looked, properly looked. This was the real Sherlock. He was alive.
And John punched him straight in the jaw.