Anything recognizable is the property of the appropriate owners. I do not make any claim to ownership, nor do I make any money from this.

This is primarily based off of the most recent BBC version starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.

A Doctor

An entire year had passed before John realized how long it had been. It didn't hurt any less now than 12 months ago to be reminded of the consulting detective. There were days that Watson hated the tall man for striding into his life and dragging him along on cases and then he couldn't imagine where he would be if he hadn't. The street looked so far away from the rooftop and the pavement looked like every other bit in London.

Watson stared down at the ground and imagined the swooping tingle of free fall. Movement out of the corner of his eye pulled his attention from the street below. Molly slowly approached the edge of the roof next to him, but didn't speak. John felt bad for the young woman, her crush on the detective had been painfully obvious from the first moment he met her. Yet Sherlock had treated her with nothing more than casual dismissal except when he manipulated her.

"I called him a machine."

The sound of his voice startled the mortician and she turned wide brown eyes towards him. "I'm sorry?"

"One of the last things I said to him."

"Alone is what I am. Alone protects me."

"Oh." She nodded and silence drawled out between them like taffy. "You're still trying to figure out why he did it."

John almost didn't want to acknowledge the words but slowly he nodded. "He lied to me. Before he jum-fell. Said he was a fraud."

"Do you believe him?"

"No."

"Don't give up on him."

Before John really heard the quiet words, the woman had left him alone on the rooftop. He ducked his head and tried to breath in the scent of Sherlock from the scarf but it was long since gone. He did believe in the detective. Always would. The pavement didn't look any different from any other piece in London and he slowly limped away.

"That, ah— thing that you did. That you, um, you offered to do. That was, um... good."

Everything reminded him painfully of Sherlock Holmes but John didn't flee from the memories. He examined each one, turning it over in his mind, sorting out the hurt and anger. They had too short a time together, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. The first day he met the detective, Mycroft had accused the doctor of being very loyal, very quickly. If only he had known just how true that was.

"Charlie!"

A woman shouted across the street as John limped towards Tesco. "Someone grab him!"

Watson turned towards the panicked voice and caught sight of a child sprinting towards the busy street. Instinct kicked in and he dropped his cane to grab the young boy by the collar and pull him back before he ran into traffic. The child screamed bloody murder and kicked his short legs as the doctor hefted him off the ground. Sharp little feet assaulted his shins and the ex-army doctor looked for the mother.

"Oh thank you so much!" A pretty blonde woman rushed up, arms outstretched for the boy. "Charlie, you scared me half to death."

Caught and unable to get away, Charlie pouted. "Your boy is a handful, I see." John gratefully placed the child in the woman's arms and picked up his cane.

"Oh, he's not mine, I just watch him most days." The blonde woman shifted the boy on her hip and held out her hand. "I'm Mary."

"John, John Watson." For the first time in months the spark of recognition didn't light in her face.

"Won't you let me buy you a coffee in thanks?"

John didn't feel particularly social, but her smile was honest and Mrs Hudson would frown spectacularly at him if he declined. "Alright, so long as I don't have to chase this one down again."

Charlie stuck his tongue out but Mary only smiled wider. "Tomorrow afternoon, 3 o'clock? Over there?"

"Sounds perfect."

After three hours of just chatting about anything and everything, Mary leaned closer over the table and hesitated slightly. "Um, I've had a really lovely afternoon and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner?"

For a moment John was too stunned to answer. Women never asked him out, especially not funny, pretty ones. A voice in the back of his mind piped up and shouted that even now, he would still make her compete with Sherlock. He truly wished that he had met Mary before he had been swept away by the detective.

"I'm sorry Mary, but I don't think I'm ready." Despite how badly it must sting the blonde, he knew he was doing the right thing. "I've only recently lost my partner."

"Oh. Oh!" Her eyes went wide in shock. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - I wouldn't - I just..."

"It's alright, you couldn't have known."

Mary Morstan walked out of his life just as easily as she had walked into it but John felt lighter for the words he had chosen. Even in just 18 months, Sherlock had become his partner in everything except bed. They were codependent to an almost extreme degree but instead of slowly self-destructing, they were made the stronger for it. Holmes had taught John how to live in the hidden battlefield of civilian life, and in return he taught the tall man how to be human. Absentmindedly, the ex-army surgeon fingered the scarf around his neck and wished it still smelled like the younger man.

"I don't have friends. I just have one."

By the time that a second year had passed, John had come more to terms with the fall and anger ruled his actions less. He would never know why Sherlock had chosen to do what he did on the roof of St. Barts Hospital, but now he recognized how important the younger man was. There was truth that the more things change, the more things stay the same.

Calm settled over the doctor's life. Locum work was regular enough to keep him busy and the sting of losing Sherlock hurt less. He no longer stared at his pistol at night, remembering. He would never forget killing a man after only 24 hours of knowing the detective, or Sherlock scratching his head with the muzzle at the swimming pool, but he had no desire to add another memory to the gun. John wasn't at peace with the detective's death, but he felt like he was in a holding pattern, waiting for something to happen. It was the slow build of the calm before a storm.