Upon entering 221b John felt the grief that had consumed him for so long crash over him. It held him in the door way washing over him like waves plunging him back into that dark place. He gripped the door frame and concentrated on his breathing for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He straightened up. It was unchanged, except for a thick layer of dust which had blanketed the apartment like snow. With every step John took the dust rose to greet him, dancing in whirlwind of celebration for his return. John walked over to what had been his chair and sat down. The dust erupted around him, glistening in the light escaping from the cracks in the curtains. He needed to collected his thoughts and deal with the overwhelming emotions he hadn't expected just from returning to the flat. Of course he'd prepared for his. It'd taking him weeks to psyche himself up and get used to just the idea of going back. When his psychiatrist had suggested it to him as the next step in moving on with his life John had scoffed in reply, but the idea had not gone away and over the passing weeks a curiosity had grown until it was an over powering desire. And now sitting in his chair in the flat which still smelt of old books and something on fire John felt a tingling feeling of calm, like it was two years ago and nothing had happened. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. He'd claimed his chair for it's extraordinary ability to in suck its occupant into a sort of chair embrace where he could sit with his tea and paper listening to Sherlock make all kinds of strange noises boiling toes or whatever his latest thing was. He could almost hear them now, wait that was a real crash. John's heart leapt into his throat as he spun around only to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the kitchen next to a smashed mug which was leaking tea onto the dusty tiled floor.
"Oh hello John dear I didn't think i'd see you here, oh," Mrs Hudson paused for a moment looking at John with a sympethetic expression, "how are you dear?"
John got up to help Mrs. Hudson clear up the broken mug.
"Fine, fine," an automatic reply he gave now to anyone who asked how he was, "shrink said coming back might help with, you know, um, moving on. Not that I haven't moved on, of course after two years…" He laughed nervously, "but.. You know actually I need to go. Yes… um, I've got to pick up some things from the supermarket, Mary will be furious if i'm late again. Lovely to see you Mrs. Hudson, bye."
John dropped the pieces of mug and rushed out onto the landing. He took extra care to walk down the stairs making us much noise as possible and when he reached the door he opened it and shut it loud enough that Mrs. Hudson would hear. He waited a moment till he heard a shuffle of movement in the flat and then he hid in the cupboard under the stairs. He aloud himself a quick sigh of relief. He needed this time to be his time alone in the flat, Mrs. Hudson meant well but sometimes she just didn't know when to leave. He didn't want to speak to her anyway, he didn't want to speak to anyone right now. He just wanted time to himself to slip back into past John, to indulge himself in a nostalgic trip.
Of course Mary had thought it was a bad idea, she'd worried nonstop after he'd mentioned it to her. Oh Mary, she was so patient with him, so incredibly understanding. Around him she'd be so calm and straight forward yet he knew she worried about him, furrowed brow lines, bitten skin around the nails. He'd at least learnt something from Sherlock. She'd been so wonderful, someone he could escape with. He'd created a new John with her, a Post-Sherlock John. He didn't mind being this New John either, the only difference was this new John was a John of supermarket shopping, jobs and foot massages rather than a John of experiments, murders and near death experiences. Also this New John couldn't put himself into what he was doing not as completely as old John, for fear of loosing as much as he did when he lost Sherlock. He knew Mary felt it, he felt her disappointment and frustration every time she got close to breaking down his walls and he pulled away. He wanted to be with Mary, he wanted to share himself completely but he couldn't, Mary could only give him so much but it wasn't want he needed. It wasn't what Sherlock had given him.
John heard Mrs. Hudson shuffling around the flat, putting the mug pieces into some paper. She was up in the flat for some time, possibly dusting, but she knew Sherlock hates… hated… her dusting. At last John heard her descend the stairs and the small thud of her door.