Three: Holding on to thin air

Upon reading the letter, John furiously crumpled the paper, tossing it to the ground. He looked about, scanning the yard for the prankster. Someone was very insensitively poking fun at him, that much was clear. Immediately, he thought to Mycroft. Though, he was not sure the man would do something so childish and intentionally cruel, although, something about the man's cold and almost beady eyes had always disconcerted him.

With a gruff sound of disgust, John cast a wistful look to the grave before turning and stalking off as quickly as his defined limp would allow him.

Mrs. Hudson had gone, and as she had last year, she'd called him his own cab. Just as he reached the road, the car pulled up, and John made a mental note to thank the woman and to have a lunch with her in the near future. Murmuring his address to the cabbie, John checked his phone for messages, then set to watching the cemetery suspiciously.

John did not allow himself to think much of the note over the next few weeks. He worked long, gruelling hours at the surgery. Diligently, the army doctor had immersed himself in his work, keeping his mind so busy, he was too tired to think at the end of the day, and more importantly, he was too tired to dream. No dreaming equated to no nightmares. That suited John just fine.

It'd been weeks since he'd seen Mrs. Hudson in the graveyard, and John decided to ring her about having lunch. As always, she appeared thrilled to see him, which warmed John considerably. The doctor sat across from his old landlady, greeting her with enthusiasm.

"How are you, John?" she asked as they waited to order their dishes.

Sipping at a glass of water, John shrugged. "Same old. Get up, go to work, go home, sleep, then repeat." He chuckled almost bitterly, placing his glass on the table. His dark blue eyes wandered around the small restaurant, it was welcoming and small, though John still felt disconcerted.

The elderly woman frowned, dropping the subject entirely. She smiled wanly, continuing to make safer small talk as they ate.

John liked to see Mrs. Hudson. It was something familiar. An almost-pleasant reminder of his old life. Pleasant until memories of Sherlock came lurking, and for that to happen was inevitable. Sherlock had been the one to introduce him to Mrs. Hudson, after all. Eventually, what began as a pleasant lunch with an old friend, would progress to heartache. John began to focus more on his meal, pushing his pasta about his plate, but no longer hungry enough to eat it. Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

As they neared the end of their meeting, Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat and took an exaggerated sip of her tea. She carefully set down the cup, adjusted the sweater she wore, and smoothed her hair. She was stalling. "John," she began, looking rather uncomfortable. She smiled stiffly. "As you know, I did not intend on renting out 221 B." Her voice died out.

John frowned. "But?"

"Mycroft had been paying me your monthly rate to keep the flat in tact. It appears no one wanted to take up the responsibility of handling his things," she murmured. John did not need to ask who it was she referred to. It was obvious. "Though I've gotten an offer for almost double a month on that particular flat, and John, I have to take that offer."

Something inside John sank. Still, he nodded. "I understand," he said listlessly. He knew he had no right to feel as though this was a betrayal. It had been years now, and he knew that the flat remained uninhabited out of sentiment. Sherlock would have scoffed at that. He would have told them all that sentiment was illogical. Despite that, it was still a concept hard for him to swallow. Actually, it surprised him that Mycroft would not have matched the offer. He'd been paying to keep the flat all this time, what was a little more money?

Mrs. Hudson looked remorseful behind her false smile. "I would like you to come by, maybe take anything you would like to keep. Then help me pack things up to be moved. If it's not too much trouble," she said hopefully. It was clear that the woman did not like the situation any more than John did.

John nodded. He wasn't sure he could take anything from there, the nightmares and memories were bad enough, but to have tangible evidence of Sherlock might break him all over again. "I'll help," he assured her without thinking. "Where will everything go?"

Mrs. Hudson shrugged her thin shoulders. "Storage, I suppose," she replied quietly. "I really am sorry, John."

John nodded again. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted enough to cover both himself and Mrs. Hudson along with a tip. "Give me a ring when you need me," he muttered. "It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Hudson." Without a backward glance, John left the cafe, a new hole burning into his chest.

A/N: Hi there! So, this is my first fanfic. I didn't know how to effectively post an author's note before. Sorry about that. Anyway, I apologize for taking so long to update. A lot has been going on lately, and writing tends to take the back seat. I'm trying to do at least one post a week, but if that doesn't happen, I'm sorry. Thank you for putting up with me! Also, sorry for the short chapters.