The bath tub was filled, steam coming off of the warm water. John settled himself into the tub with a sigh, the hot water pressing against his tense muscles. It had been exactly one year since Sherlock's fateful fall. He sighs and leans his head back, his neck exposed and eyes closed. He opened his eyes a tiny bit, staring at the ceiling. Through the window a ray of sunlight protruded through the room. The glare of the light on something shiny caught his eye. He glanced over and saw it. It was an old fashioned razor blade, a piece of his antique shaving set. It was pure silver, the handle dull and engraved with his initials surrounded by leaved vines. The blade was shining and he could see his reflection as he picked it up, his faded blue eyes reflected in the metal.
At one time they had been much brighter and gleamed with excitement. And every time Sherlock dragged him on some sort of adventure, the spark in his eyes grew brighter. Though he acted annoyed by the antics, he couldn't deny that it had been the most fun he'd ever had in his life. Never before had he seen a rabbit that glowed in the dark or interacted with a member of Parliament. Now that Mr. Holmes was out of his life, he had nothing. His blog had ceased, the number of updates maybe once a month.
He grimaced as the skin was cut open, strands of red dripping down into the water. He grimaced as slowly, more and more red dripped into the water from assorted parts of his arm. His hand trembled as the razor blade hit the tile of the bathroom, the heavy silver handle cracking the tile and red spattering onto the stainless white.
John's head fell back as he sank into the now dark pink, nearly red water. It stained his neck and chin as he sank deeper into the bath tub. His breathing was labored and his eyelids felt heavy, as if his eyelashes had been replaced with lead.
Around his waist he felt arms. They were cold and felt as if they were made out of mist. He eased open one eye and looked over, seeing a familiar head of dark curls. The misty man chuckled. His body was faint, slowly growing more defined as John felt more light headed. "I missed you." He said in his deep voice.
"I missed you too." He mumbles, whispers all he can make. He closes his eyes and feels Sherlock's arms, so much more solid now, pull him away from the red stained bath tub.