Well hello everyone! Woa it's been years since I have writen anything (I'm not kiding. Years.) So well I got inspired and I wrote this! And I made myself I new account because the old one...well It sucked (and of course I don't remember my pasword...) So! General introductions!

My name is Geny! I write once in a while, and I don't usually write in english, but I'm trying and I'm practising so If I made mistakes pleaase tell me when so I can work on them :) Thank you very much! I'll be uploading this in Spanish tomorrow too anyway.

So I hope you like it! :)

It didn't feel like Sherlock was gone. At least, not yet.

It was that strange moment between seeing the body for the last time when Greg called him to testify that it was actually his body, and walking to his tombstone to say goodbye. Mrs. Hudson was by his side when they walked into the cemetery, she was holding his arm tight, silent sobs trying not to escape her mouth, and John couldn't believe it yet. It didn't feel like it. He was sure that Sherlock would appear from behind a tree or something, he even believe that he would go to his own funeral and scoff because they had actually made him a funeral. But he wasn't there. He didn't appear during the whole thing, and John didn't believe it yet. It was sad saying goodbye to a rock, he even felt ridiculous while talking. He almost felt like Sherlock was watching him, so he talked loud and clear: "Don't be dead" He said. He didn't notice that he was holding back a couple of tears, and he didn't let them run through his face. Sherlock wasn't dead. He was sure of it.

Greg offered his couch for him to sleep, but he denied. ¿Why sleep in someone else's house when he had his own? Even Mrs. Hudson offered to clean up a new room for him to use for a couple of days, until he was 'ready'. But he was ready. He was just fine. Sherlock wasn't dead. So he said no to Mrs. Hudson too, and they took a cab to Baker Street one more time. It was weird not to have Sherlock to their side, rambling about his thoughts.

When they got home, John walked Mrs. Hudson to her room, and made her dinner. The poor woman wasn't looking fine. She was pale, but John was sure it was just depression. She was going to scold him the moment he turned up. He was never going to hear the end of it. John hid back a smile while making a nice soup for the two of them. He could hear Mrs. Hudson sobbing, but when he served the sup and sat down in front of her, she didn't have any tears in her face. She was a very strong woman. They talked while eating, various topics came up, but they didn't talk about Sherlock. John though it was very soon for her.

At the end, after John had washed the dishes and made sure that Mrs. Hudson was fine, he went out, not before telling her that he would be just fine in his room, and didn't need any other. They hugged goodbye, and John went up, almost feeling that Sherlock would be there, sitting in his couch, and that he would receive him saying "Didn't you hear me? I told you to give me your computer two hours ago". Or something like it.

But Sherlock wasn't there. The empty chair was the only one there to receive him. John sighed. Where was he? He surely would turn up the next morning. He was tired of saying goodbye to people, and telling them he was just fine too. He walked up to his room and tucked in to sleep. He was sure that by tomorrow Sherlock would be there, telling him something about a new case, or that he was bored, maybe he would be looking through his laptop or something. The last thing he heard in his head before falling asleep was Sherlock telling him "You're in denial John."

The next morning was a quiet one. Also, a beautiful one: No clouds in the sky, the sun shining bright, it was only missing the birds singing to feel like a fairytale. John took a shower, got dressed and went out. The chair, empty again, was like waving hello to him. But he wasn't worried. He went to the kitchen and made tea. Only when he was pouring too glasses of it, he realized that he was alone in the house. In that moment, he felt like his heart fell from that same roof for the first time, and all because a cup of tea, which he tossed it to the floor, regretting it the time he realized that he did it. He sighed and cleaned it up, and by the time he had finished, his tea was cold, so he let the cup there and went out.

The moment he stepped out, he realized he had nothing to do, nothing at all. Not any single cases, not even a suspect to interrogate, a crime scene to see, nothing at all. He got frustrated, but at the same time, kind of relieved. He finally had time for the things he wanted to do. He bought a newspaper and went to the park, when he sat down and read. And read. And read all of it, and it had passed not even half an hour when he was finished. He considered buying a magazine, but it wasn't his thing. He stood up and walked around the park, like three times before he couldn't stand it anymore. And it wasn't even midday yet.

It was the longest day of his life. He walked all around town. He shopped things for the house, food, new towels, toothpaste, and things like that. He went to the house to left them there. The empty chair received him. He settled all in order then took his laptop and went to have some lunch. He opened his blog while eating, and he saw all the farewell messages for Sherlock. He kind of ignored them, and started to work in his blog, but he had nothing to write in it. And he realized, that maybe he won't ever have anything at all, not ever again.

He didn't finish his meal. He wasn't in the mood for it. He took back his laptop to his place. The empty chair received him. He walked out. He visited Greg and talked with him until someone called to fill in a crime scene. Then he tried to talk to Molly Hooper, but someone else told him that she took a short vacation. Depression, he told himself. He walked all around town again, seeing people that waved him hello, and he waved back although he had no idea who they were. He talked to old friends he hadn't seen in years and he didn't want to talk to. He bought things for Mrs. Hudson. He bought things for Greg. He helped clean the park although he didn't want to. He signed for petitions he didn't really care about. He did things he didn't want to do. He actually lost a whole day of his life doing nothing.

He went back to his house for dinner. And the empty chair received him. He was so angry he felt like punching it, but instead he made dinner, and ate it alone. Although he actually made enough for two, but, the bright side was, he could keep it in the fridge for the next day. He washed the dishes and went to sit in the sofa. He could read a book. He could actually start reading all the books he wanted, he could life his life like he wanted, a normal life, a boring life.

He sat there, looking at the wall for several minutes, a book opened in his hands, and his whole life from that day on running through his eyes. That was all? Was he going to sat there all the nights from that day on? He was going to get a new job? Live alone, with actual food in his fridge, a perfect, normal, healthy life. He was already starting to have a damn normal, boring, life. He tossed the book across the room, something that he regretted because it was an excellent book, a masterpiece from the great mind of Tolkien. But in that moment he didn't care. He didn't care at all. His life was boring, just like the day he met Sherlock. And only then he realized that his life won't ever be the same; because he had fun with him, because he was his friend, because he was going to miss him, because he made his life worth of something, and because he was gone. He was actually gone.

He realized that his friend, Sherlock, was dead. And he wasn't coming back.