It was exactly how John had left it three years ago. Donovan was still wearing men's deodorant and Andersan was still (Like what Sherlock used to say) lowering the IQ of the entire block. They both sat on a desk, whispering as John came by. That just made his blood boil. Why don't they just say it to his face already? He knew they were talking about Sherlock. They always do.
"Still missing Freak?" Donavan laughed cruelly. John stopped, playing the conversation in his mind carefully. He knew where she was going with this. She was going to say how she had been right all along and that Sherlock was just an ordinary man trying to make himself look good. Well, John didn't believe that and he refused to speak with anyone who did, but he couldn't keep silent anymore. He turned on his heal, a dangerous smile crossing his face.
"Yes, Donavan, you were right," John stated, bile rising in the back of his throat from uttering such poison. Donavan and Anderson looked at him in surprise. John smirked at them, nodding at the sidewalk just visible through the open doors of the Yard. "He put a body there all right! He killed himself and he's never coming back!" Wanting to avoid the two idiots, John limped quickly away from the two of them, leaving them with his poisonous words until he came to Greg's office. It wasn't very clean actually when he thought about it the room was always cluttered, but at least before you could walk in without stepping on stale pretzels! Papers were all over and coffee was spilt on most of them. Files were flung all over. It looked like a rat's nest. Then in the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something. It was a folder marked with a picture and a name. John lifted it up and his stomach knotted as he stared at the file. It was a file for Sherlock Holmes! He opened it with his shaking fingers to find photos of Sherlock from many of his old cases and photos from the fall. John closed his eyes, looking away from the photo of Sherlock's dead bloody body. He could still see and smell the blood and those horrible dead eyes staring out into the distance.
"Ah, John, there you are!" Greg shouted, coming through the door and locking it behind him. His face turned grim and he took the file from John.
"What do you want?" John asked in the most unfriendly voice he could muster. He disliked leaving the flat without being informed why. It made him nervous. Who knows what demons could be waiting for revenge on the doctor for past cases? Greg shuffled over to his desk, taking out another file marked with the name of an assassin who had been living near the flat once upon a time.
"Alright, John, this is an assassin that I believe you remember seeing a lot helping Mrs. Hudson in 221B," Greg started, handing John a file. John stared at the picture. He remembered him well. The man was always assisting Mrs. Hudson when she needed the help. He seemed like a good man.
"What does it have to do with me?" John asked. Greg shoved both Sherlock's and Moriarty's files over to him.
"It just doesn't have to do with you! It has to do with you, Sherlock, and Moriarty," Greg shouted. John's eyes widened.
"Where are you going with this?" John asked, getting a little uncomfortable. He thought this was over with. He thought that the case was closed. Why was Greg bringing up bad memories now of all times?
Greg sat down in his chair and sighed, tapping at the three files.
"We have just recently caught this assassin and took him in for questioning. That's when he told us about Moriarty and Sherlock," Greg sighed. John stiffened. Assassin? What? John stared at the DI with wide eyes, taking in the exhausted form in front of him. The old DI seemed to age ten years that very second and his body shook slightly. John felt his stomach clenching now, fearing what he may hear.
"He told us that Moriarty had planned everything out from the start to frame Sherlock as a fake. That if Sherlock didn't kill himself Moriarty's assassins would kill both Mrs. Hudson, Me, and You," Greg uttered, a pained expression crossing his face. Everything grew into a whirlwind of dizziness. John dropped into the nearest chair in shock. His head spun and His eyes threatened to reveal the stinging tears the old doctor should have used up a long time ago. Sherlock died to save him? Why? Why would he ever do that? Greg kneeled down to John, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, John. We have men out looking for the other two assassins. I swear we will do whatever possible to clear Sherlock's name," Greg reassured him. John nodded, not really listening and slowly walked over to the door, leaving Greg in his office.
John stumbled slowly into his flat, slamming the door shut behind him.
"It's my fault!" he cried, slumping to the floor. His best friend was gone all because he had been protecting him. John glanced over at Sherlock's violin and cleared his eyes. Pain galloped in his chest as he stared at the damaged instrument. A vision of Sherlock lifting the violin and begin playing it danced right in front of John's eyes. John clenched his teeth as the vision of Sherlock turned sour. Blood and tears slowly appeared on Sherlock's face and the detectives dead eyes stared right through John's soul. A sob left John's mouth at the sight and clutched at his heat as he stared into Sherlock's long dead eyes.
"I swear, Sherlock, I will hunt down the other assassins and clear your name!" he cried, getting up to his feet. John knew right where to start too. He rushed outside, grabbing a cab and went straight to the prison holding the assassin. He had to do this. He had to do it for Sherlock, to thank the poor detective for destroying his whole life just to save his only friend.