John had finally settled down. He had a lovely girlfriend named Amy who he had been with for exactly one year. Tonight was, in fact, their anniversary. They were going out to dinner at the restaurant where they had had their first date. John was happy in his new life, or so he told himself. He hadn't had anything to do with the Scotland Yard or Mycroft in two years. He didn't go see a shrink anymore, and he no longer looked for Sherlock around corners. He still visited Sherlock's grave on the anniversary of his death but he no longer went there just to talk to a ghost. Really the only reminder of his old life was the phantom limp, which had come back with a vengeance after Sherlock's fall, and 221 B, which he hadn't had the heart to move out of. Even 221 B however, was nothing like it had been. Gone were all traces of Sherlock. All his things had been packed away in his room after his death, John just couldn't stand looking at his things and knowing that he was never going to return to use them. He couldn't even bare to keep out the skull, what was the point of it if he would never again hear Sherlock throw hypothesis' at it. Really, what was the point in anything if there wasn't an infuriating curly haired man to chase down the streets of London and put body parts in his fridge? No. He was happy. He had a new life with Amy, today was their anniversary. He was not going to ruin it by bringing up memories best left buried.
John walked down the street towards Amy's flat, leaning heavily on his cane. As he rang the bell and waited for her to come down he looked around at the passing pedestrians and tried to figure out what kind of people they were. John did this whenever he was out. He had started it to feel as if Sherlock was with him after the fall but now he simply did it out of habit. His deductions were interrupted by Amy pocking him in the arm.
"Stop day dreaming John." Amy said as she smiled at him. She was a fairly pretty girl, with long, wavy, dark brown hair, and amber eyes. She was a nurse at the clinic where he now worked, which was where they had met.
John looked up at her and smiled. She was a sweet girl and he liked her well enough. She was smart and funny and put up with all his shit, even if most of it was buried by the time they met. She even dealt with his nightmares, which had switched from the war to falling, or more specifically Sherlock falling. He did it less now but he stilled dreamed of it. The dream was always the same. He was standing behind Sherlock before he fell. He would run forward, screaming himself horse, "Sherlock no! Don't jump! Please don't jump!" It never did any good. Sherlock always jumped, and he woke up screaming for Sherlock, his arms outstretched to try and grab him before he could jump.
John and Amy walked down the street a little ways until they got to their restaurant where they were shown to the seats by the window. As Amy began to scan the menu John looked out the window absentmindedly. He felt a slight twinge in chest when he saw a mop of curly black hair pass but stopped himself before he started actually getting sad. He was on his anniversary, he should be happy, and there were tons of people in London with hair like that. He would know. Right after the fall it seemed as if all the curly, black haired people in London were plotting against him. He had seen them everywhere. It had always made him hopeful and then crushed when he realized that it wasn't and would never again be Sherlock.
The waiter came as he was looking at the crowed and took their order and soon their food came. The dinner was pleasant and the conversation light. Amy and John sharing smiles and laughs as they celebrated sticking it out for a year. When they were done they decided to return to 221 and have some tea.
They made their way upstairs, saying hello to Ms. Hudson on their way up, until they got to the door, which was unlocked. Hope welled up in John's chest before he could stomp it down. What if he was here? What if he'd finally returned? Who else had a key besides Ms. Hudson, who they had run into on their way up the stairs? He pushed forward, ignoring Amy as he almost ran into the flat, head turning this way and that, searching for a sign, anything that could mean that the whirlwind of a sociopath he'd missed more than he would ever admit was finally home. He ran into the kitchen, not even aware of Amy as she ran after him trying to figure out what the hell had put her boyfriend in such hysterics.
After searching every inch of the kitchen John flopped down on the couch in defeat. Not only was Sherlock not there, he had completely ruined his night with Amy, who was currently bustling about the kitchen making them tea. This has to stop. He had to stop thinking of Sherlock, it just ended in pain. Pain for him, and pain for the people around him, after all, who wants to spend their time with someone who is constantly thinking about someone else? He needs to put Sherlock out of his mind and move on from his life, he needs to get over his limp, he needs to move out of 221 B, he needs to…
Something's amiss. The blanket had not been folded when he had left the house. He distinctly remembered throwing it at the back of the chair in his haste to pick up Amy. He'd even thought it had missed the chair and hit the floor, but here it was folded just like…no. He's gone John, he's gone. But there was the other day when John came in to find his computer had been moved. When he'd left it had been on the desk and when he came in it was on the coffee table. He had thought it was Ms. Hudson but then again, Ms. Hudson never touched his computer, and why would she move it from its rightful place? And a month ago he'd also come home to find things slightly different from when he had left. Who else would come to 221 B beside Sherlock? But no, he can't think like that. No matter how much he wants him back, no matter how many times he dreams he opens the door to find that familiar black coat, no matter how many times he makes one too many cups of tea because he hopes that one day there will be a hand snaking out to grab it as they sit together and watch crap television,
John sits in silence for a couple more minutes, trying to convince himself that Sherlock is well and truly dead until he hears a bump from hid bed room. John is up in a flash, grabbing his gun. He looks at Amy in the kitchen, silently telling her to keep on making tea, so as not to alert the intruders. He stalked silently up the stairs, years of army training kicking in. He walked down the hall and opened the door slowly, walking gun first into the room.
The lights were out but the window shades were opens a crack, letting a sliver of light by which John could see a figure kneeling on the floor. The figure turned slightly as if he was trying to see John as John leveled his gun at the man.
"Drop the gun John," said the soft voice in the dark, and John did. He dropped the gun and stared at the figure in front of him, who was gracefully getting to his feet. John knew that voice and that silhouette, he knew it and he couldn't believe it. He was here. He was finally here. But he was dead. He was gone. John had seen him fall of that building. Still, if anyone could fabricate that it would be Sherlock, maybe that's why John really never let go of his friend, maybe that's why he knew that the figure in front was in fact the one and only Sherlock Homes.
From far off he could hear Amy asking if everything was okay but he couldn't find it in himself to reply, he was still stuck still staring at the man at the other end of the room. He heard as Amy walked cautiously up the stairs and entering the room to see the two men staring at each other, neither moving or making any sound, John's empty hand, and the gun on the floor.
"John? Is everything okay?" She asked, steeping towards him. John didn't even look at her; he just kept staring across the room. She took another step towards him and saw that he was shaking, eyes wide with shock. The man on the other side of the room stared back, looking more relaxed, with the hint of a smirk on his lips.
"John who's…?" She started to ask, but was interrupted by John, who still hadn't looked away from the other man.
"Amy, you need to leave."