AN: Right so Post-Reichenbach. Important moments in John and Sherlock's lives are interrupted at the most inconvenient times.
Each chapter will switch off between John and Sherlock. May write like that the entire time. Eventually the rating will go up. Hopefully the chapters will get longer.
Reviews are welcome!
Nothing belongs to me! All goes to ACD, Moffat, Gatiss and BBC.
Three years.
Blurred by, like traveling along to a far way place. Staring out the window with your eyes glazed over. Staring but not seeing.
Three years.
John had three years to replay the moments of Sherlock's falling.
"Goodbye John."
Broken, bloody, gone.
His best friend.
John was a ghost of a man.
He barely spoke to Lestrade for the months after. Mycroft no longer registered in his thoughts, but he knew he was still paying the rent. He hadn't left Baker Street unless to get more food. Mrs. Hudson still fussed over him. Three months after Sherlock's death, she tried to put away his things into a storage but John broke down at the sight of Sherlock's test tubes in a cardboard box and screamed at her to get out and leave everything alone.
He didn't leave the couch for a week after that.
Sherlock's things were exactly where it was the day everything happened. Dust collected around it. But never on. John figured that that is was Mrs. Hudson's doing.
Sherlock's room hadn't been touched. Nobody bothered to go that way anymore. John slept on the couch anyways. The door remained closed until his year anniversary of his death.
John stood outside of the wooden barrier and rested his forehead against the slightly cool surface. The hallway was dimly lit and the moonlight shone throughout the flat. Raising a shaking hand, he grasped the handle and turned it slowly. A creak was heard downstairs and he paused. He had waited until Mrs. Hudson had left the flat to visit her sister, she had left hours before.
Unclenching his muscles, he turned the knob the fourth of the way left and pushed the door open.