John is getting worse in this one, guys. watch?v=0GOEvKk4LtA

Made of Stone

Three weeks, two days, and eleven hours. That's how long it had been since Sherlock had taken his own life, and John Watson had felt every second of it. You've been counting? How pathetic. Sherlock's voice sneered in his head. John clutched the sides of his head. This wasn't the first time that he had heard the consulting detective's voice. As a doctor he knew what was going on, he just refused to admit it. You're obviously suffering from some form of schizophrenia triggered by my death. Clearly Sherlock didn't have the same hang up.

John nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile rang. A quick glance at the read out confirmed his suspicions. Molly again. He allowed it to go to voice mail like he had done for three weeks. And two days and eleven hours, remember. "Damn, it man shut up!" he shouted, causing the woman and child approaching to cross the street in an effort to avoid him. He shook himself and moved more quickly down the street. In a few minutes he was pushing through the door of the flat. He sighed as he raked a stack of take away containers off the couch as he settled in. your becoming quite the slob, John. And you used to cook. Sherlock said.

"I will do whatever a damn well please. You don't live here anymore remember. You're…" he let his voice trail off before he actually said it. Dead. Stupid not to say it, John. You were an army doctor you've dealt with more death than most people.

"You have got to stop talking to me." He moaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I can't keep doing this."

Speak your mind,
Like I care
I can see your lips moving
I've just learned not to hear
Don't waste your time

It's never enough for you baby
Don't want to play your game anymore
No matter what you say
I'm all out of love for you, baby
And now that I've tried everything
I'll numb the pain,
'Til I am made of stone

You are the one harboring auditory hallucinations, John. I cannot stop anything until you seek help for your condition. Not that woman you were going to before we met though, she was terrible. "It's incredible. You manage to be condescending and judgmental from the grave!" he bellowed and began to pace the room. "There is nothing wrong with me!"

Take your time
I'm not scared
Make me everything you need me to be
So the judgment seems fair

Don't waste your time

"I am an adult, damn it." He raved. "I got on fine before we met and I can get on fine now if you will just stop telling me I'm crazy and GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" with that he dropped back down on the couch, his chest heaving as if he had run several miles. There was a simple solution to this, he decided. He only ever heard Sherlock's voice when he allowed the man's absence to affect him, so all he had to do was just stop letting it affect him. That's not going to work. John let out a frustrated growl and heading for the cabinet were he kept the scotch.

I'll numb the pain
'Til I am made to

Tear out my heart
For the way that it feels
I will still remember when you've long forgotten me

After his third scotch, John decided that this no emotions plan was working quite well. He hadn't heard Sherlock's voice in several hours and the warm buzz from the scotch was making him sleepy, which was something he hadn't felt in weeks. As he lay back in bed, his forth glass of dark liquor in his hands, he was sure he could beat this…whatever it was, on his own. You are capable of doing a great many things on your own John, but overcoming a mental disorder is not one of them. I should know.

John sat upright in the bed and with a mighty roar he heaved the glass against the far wall, watching the dark liquid slide down it for a few seconds before dropping back down on the bed and pressing the pillow tightly to his ears.

It's never enough
It's never enough
It's never enough
I'll numb the pain
'Til I am made of stone