Spoilers for the first episode of S3
Characters: Anderson
"Why'd you start up this group anyway?" One of the young women who came to Anderson's first meeting of what he had decided to call The Empty Hearse asked. "I read it in the papers, you were one of the police officers who said he was a fake."
Everyone in the room turned to stare at Anderson, who swallowed nervously. "Why are you listening to the papers? They're the ones that gave out that whole fake life story."
"Yeah, but Sherlock was arrested on police evidence. They must have believed; there are pictures of him and John escaping in handcuffs. And you were a police officer," Laura said, as if it was obvious.
"So was it you?" One of the other members asked.
"All right, yes, it was me," Anderson said, getting fed up. Instantly, ten pairs of eyes were looking daggers at him. "Well, it wasn't just me. You have to understand, he was a pain to work with. None of us could stand him. And the feeling was mutual." Sherlock's well-placed barbs were still ringing in his ears all these months later. Only now they came with a wistfulness that had certainly never been present while the detective was alive.
"So, if you hated him so much, and he hated you, why'd you start this group?" The original questioner asked. Anderson noticed she was wearing a black armband on her sleeve, in mourning.
"I bet it's guilt," Laura said. "Can't live with yourself now that you made him jump off of St. Bart's."
"I didn't make him do that, because he didn't do it," Anderson said. "The whole point of this group is that he's still alive!" The silence that greeted this proclamation might as well have been full of chirping crickets. Anderson sighed and went on, "Fine. All right. I didn't want…what happened to happen. And I do think he's alive. He would have seen it coming and prepared." It had given him such a shiver when he realized Sherlock had actually done it. It was an incredible feeling of power that terrified him slightly. "But I am guilty, and not because of Sherlock."
"Who, then?"
"He means John, you idiot," Laura answered impatiently.
Anderson nodded. "The day of the funeral. I don't know why I decided to go; he wouldn't have wanted me there. Neither of them would have, knowing what I'd done. But I never saw anyone as lost as John Watson was that day." He let his mind drift back into the memories of that day, only a few months ago. The church had been almost empty. None of Sherlock's family were there, only those few who considered him a friend. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, a few restaurant owners. All looking appropriately sad, or simply shocked by the loss. And John.
"He didn't move. Didn't blink. His expression didn't change once. He just stared at the coffin with this deadened look, like if he stared at it hard enough it would change what had happened. No one could get through to him, it was like there was this fog between him and everyone else." He'd never seen anyone look so lonely, made worse since no one had ever really seen John outside of Sherlock's company.
Anderson brought himself back to the present, "That's when I realized what we'd done. And I'm going to make up for it by making sure everyone knows what really happened."
Everyone was silent before Laura ventured to ask, "How is John now?"
Anderson shrugged. "No one sees him. He moved out of 221b right away. He doesn't see any of us anymore." He'd never really given John much consideration before; aside from wondering how Sherlock had managed to get him to stick around. After, when it was too late, he saw the truth. Sherlock hadn't done anything aside from being himself. John was the one who had done the sticking around. And without anyone to stick around for, he was a broken man.
Nobody had taken John into account before St. Bart's. Not until he was the only one left and it was too late.