Some few miles away, John Watson wasn't sleeping well. Horrible memories plagued his mind, tearing and pulling at the peaceful state he had fallen in as he slept in the armchair in front of the small television. It was that time of night where nothing decent was on, just all night poker and telly shopping. John had originally fallen asleep through a gripping episode of Casualty, which had made him appreciate the BBC just a bit more then the usual Antiques Roadshow or Songs of Praise. Some would argue that it couldn't of been that interesting if John had fallen asleep through it, but it wasn't his fault. He'd been avoiding sleep all week.
John's life had dramatically changed since the death of his best friend. He'd instantly left the case solving life and focused on his medical career, taking on full time instead of part. Sarah couldn't complain; John was a brilliant doctor and he was brilliant with the patients, despite what he had been through.
John's life went back to the quiet one that he had hated, nothing exciting, nothing new. He fell into a routine again: wake up, get ready, work then go home. And that would repeat everyday. It made John want to scream sometimes, rip at his hair and scratch at his skin. This wasn't the life he wanted, he didn't want a boring life full of country houses and white picket fences. Yes, John was a family man in ways, but he didn't want it yet. He still wanted the thrill, the danger and all the adrenaline thrown at him.
But, miracles didn't happen.
The sleepless doctor startled himself awake, the ghost of Sherlock's voice haunting his mind again before the silence swallowed it whole. He rubbed at his face then looked around the flat, sighing as he noted the deafening silence and the absence of any other person. Alone, once again.
He stood stiffly then shuffled to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water before retreating to his bed, tired in all senses. Tired of not sleeping, and tired because he wasn't sleeping. The doctor lazily pulled at his clothes until he was somewhat half dressed before he sloppily flopped onto the bed, sighing heavily as he hit the comfortable mattress. Maybe tonight he could get some sleep, maybe this would be a miracle night.
Alas, as previously stated, John didn't believe in miracles, and neither did he believe they happened.
The next morning, the bedraggled doctor stumbled into the practice, his eyes wide against the harsh cold wind that had accompanied John to work. He hastily closed the door and unzipped his coat as he shuffled to the kitchen, smiling slightly at Sarah, who was illegally chirpy on a Monday at six in the morning.
"You look like shit John." she said simply, taking a sip from her coffee as she turned the page of her newspaper.
"Thank you. I do try."
She rolled her eyes and shifted more comfortably in the chair before frowning in disgust at the paper. "Some people in this world are sick."
"That's why we work in the practice; to make them better." John pointed out, smirking into his glass of water.
"Less of the cheek John. I meant mentally." she sighed, shooting the man a disapproving look before pushing the paper towards him. John frowned and pulled it towards him.
" 'Local butcher found mutilated and dead in his own home.'' John read out loud. "Carlos Stevens, forty four, was found in the early hours of Sunday by his brother, cut up and dead. The victim had a neat 'S' carved into his stomach, which shows that the torturer was perfectionist, as well as cold blooded. This isn't the first time our brander had killed either. Over the years, more then twenty victims have been found with the neatly executed 'S' carved into them. No further news for the DI of The Scotland Yard, Greg Lestrade.'" he finished, frowning at the article.
Sarah gave a shudder and pushed the rest of her toast away. "Makes you think, doesn't it? Who would be mad enough to do such a thing?"
John made a small noise to show that he was half listening, but the old John, the better John, side of him kicked in. His mind whirred, and a small voice in the back of his mind asked him, what would Sherlock do?
John put aside that thought and sighed, keeping the exciting stuff away in the tightly shut box. He wasn't part of that anymore, he couldn't be. He missed the thrill, the chase but he couldn't do it, not anymore.
After a rather boring day at the clinic, John tugged on his coat with a heavy sigh. He'd be lying if he said he enjoyed looking at snotty children and reassuring over worried mother's that their child didn't have ear cancer and it was just an infection. It was boring, mind numbingly boring.
John picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder before heading into the waiting room.
"John, have you called Mary?" Sarah asked, picking up the magazines and placing them on the table.
"Ah shit. I'll do it tonight." John said, frowning. Mary was Sarah's friend and John had seen her once or twice at one of Sarah's meals. She was attractive, and John did find himself staring at her a bit too often. But his luck with women had always put John off dating, so he had always watched from a distance.
"Oh please do, Mary is really interested in you!"
John smiled weakly then nodded. "I said I'll do it when I get back. I'll see you tomorrow." he sighed, hurrying out of the door before Sarah started the 'commitment talk'.
He had only got a few yards when his phone buzzed irritatingly in his pocket, making the doctor frown and shove his hand in his pocket, pulling it out.
"Hello?"
"John, it's me."
John blinked, surprised to hear Lestrade calling him at this time. Usually when Greg called him, it was a trip to the pub to watch the Rugby or just have a drink."Greg? What's up?"
"Listen, I'm sure you've seen the papers. I need your help."
"Greg, you know I'm not in that line of work anymore-"
"Please. Only take a look."
John chewed on his lip, his fingers curling in his palm. John knew this wouldn't make his night's any better if he started working in the old job. He wasn't Sherlock, the genius who could tell who it was by one glance. John might have picked up a few tricks, but that didn't mean he knew what he was doing. John was just the companion, the lackey, the doctor. But he never heard Greg sound this desperate, so he sighed.
"Fine."
"Brilliant. I'll see you soon, yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll be down now."
The line went dead and John stared at his phone, sighing heavily before hitching his satchel on his shoulder more while hailing a cab.
Greg owed him.