Chapter Two
Packing Up
It didn't take John long to pack everything he wanted to take with him.
Harry had offered to come with him to help, but he didn't think he could stand her watching him and vacillating between feeble attempts to comfort him and lashing out at Sherlock and his selfishness while he worked. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?
Besides, he certainly didn't need help with two suitcases and a duffel, which was all it took to collect his belongings.
A life in the military meant he didn't have much in the way of personal affects and he hadn't accumulated much after moving into Baker Street. The annoying Consulting Detective had had enough junk for two flats, he certainly didn't need to contribute any more.
As he gave the room a brief once-over to make sure he hadn't missed anything he might actually want his eye caught on a small lockbox shoved to the back of the top shelf of his closet.
Oh yeah, mustn't forget that, he thought bitterly. The box contained the numerous medals and ribbons he had been awarded for his service and valor, along with his old dog tags and discharge documents.
He fumbled the box as he pulled it down and it hit the floor, popping open and scattering some of the contents on the floor.
Damn it! Why was the thing unlocked? Why have I even kept this crap? What good was any of it? All that training as a doctor and then as a soldier and I couldn't even keep my best friend alive.
He felt the familiar ache welling up in his chest, threatening to blossom into full-blown sobs as his mind replayed Sherlock's last moments – the phone call, the desperate plea for John to stay put and John actually – stupidly - doing it.
What an idiot, he chastised himself for the millionth time. I should have seen it coming. I should have known something was terribly wrong when he sent me off to see to Mrs. Hudson alone. He was so right. I saw but I did not observe.
He quickly scooped up the spilled items, not really looking at them, and stuffed them back in the box before tucking it into the last suitcase and zipping it closed.
Pausing briefly in the sitting room, John took one last look around the familiar flat, memories of Sherlock flooding his mind. He chuckled grimly as he took in the bullet hole pocked smiley face on the wall and the Cluedo board still pinned to the wall – left there as a reminder of why they didn't play board games after that first ill-fated attempt.
The skull leering at him from the mantel was too much though, and he quickly tore his eyes away from it, landing instead on the Union Jack throw pillow. The pillow belonged to Sherlock even though it had early on become a fixture in John's chair.
Without giving himself time to change his mind, he quickly scooped it up and stuffed it in the top of the duffel bag.