3 Months.
It had become habit. Mary –for that was her name- would sit in the break room with him every day, quietly eating and reading. Neither ever said a word, and neither ever felt the need to. The only words exchanged were when she greeted him in the morning. Her shift was over by the time he left at night.
John noticed that she read very fast. She always had improbably thick books with her, but they never lasted her more than a week and a half. She ate seemingly random foods, never sticking to a particular type or diet. She rarely wore make-up, and never much of it. Her hair was usually down. John noticed it all, still observing, even without Sherlock.
Their first conversation was simple, effortless. It was on a day that John had been distracted after a night he hadn't slept worth a damn. It was exactly three months after Sherlock had fallen. He didn't want to be awake, much less working. Everything hurt.
He sat, weary, and closed his eyes, as he always did. This time, though, he fell asleep. He woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he could have sworn it was Sherlock, probably because he'd been dreaming of him again. Opening his eyes, he saw it was just Mary, smiling gently. She was a lot shorter than he'd thought she was…
"You'll need to go back to work soon." She said, softly. "Sorry if I startled you, but you did need to wake up…"
"Ah… Right." He said, shaking his head and blinking the sleepiness from his eyes. "Thank you…"
She looked at him, her head tilted a little, a certain sadness in her eyes. An understanding, sympathetic sadness.
"I can tell them you needed to go home, if you like. Say you were needed elsewhere. You've been here every day since you came back, you can afford to take a day."
John stared at her, bewildered. They'd never spoken to each other, they'd never done more than exchange greetings, but here she was, offering to make it so he could go home for the day. Not just that, but encouraginghim to go home.
"Are… Are you sure?" he asked.
"Of course." She said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're dead on your feet, and that's no proper state for anyone to have to work in, much less a doctor."
"Thank you."
"Go home." She urged him, still smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow and make sure no one gets touchy about you leaving."
John left, grateful for her kindness. He couldn't understand for the life of him why she'd done that, but he didn't argue. Rather, he went home. He curled up in bed. He wept for a while, trying to pull himself together. Then, he slept. He became blissfully unaware of his surroundings.
