After they had finally finished eating, much to John's relief, the Doctor begged to help with the dishes, and so for a few minutes the air was filled with the happy chatter of the Doctor as he dried and the flapping flurry of the dish towel mixed with the occasional grunts from John who was washing and trying to ignore him.
They almost made it through all the dishes without casualty until the Doctor finally dropped a soup bowl and it crashed to the floor. The last of its kind, John thought in dismay as both Doctors stared forlornly down at the sad and shattered remains of the loyal soup bowl.
The Doctor tried to clean the mess up but was immediately kicked out of the kitchen by John in a way the Doctor could only describe as "Raging" and he wandered sadly into the living room after surrendering his dish towel.
After finally getting the shattered pieces swept up and finishing the rest of the kitchen, John realized he had not heard any noise from the Doctor for the last fifteen minutes or so.
Worried at what else he might find damaged beyond repair, he went and looked for his new erratic flatmate, dreading that he might actually find him and to his disappointment he did find him. Sprawled upside down on the settee and watching the telly.
His ankles were crossed and they were resting against the wall, his head dangling a few inches off the floor as it hung off the settee and he was clutching the union jack pillow in his arms as he crowed with happiness at a Monty Python sketch.
"Hello!" He cheerfully greeted John from his upside down position, "Want to come watch? It's the Gangster Granny sketch, I think you'd like it, you have to watch out for Grannies, you know. They can turn on you in a flash."
John shook his head, clenching his left hand, trying to hide his frustration he knew had no reason to be there. "I'm going to bed, don't forget to turn off the telly when you're done."
The Doctor plopped ungracefully over onto his side on the settee cushions and looked at John sadly as he tried to untangle his arms and legs from each other, trying not to fall completely off the settee and onto his head.
"Oh, alright then," He replied as he stood up in triumph over his battle with his uncooperative limbs and he followed John down the hall to his bedroom chattering about what they would get when they went shopping.
"I haven't been shopping in a shop for ages," The Doctor said excitedly, "Do you think they will have any jammy dodgers? Are they still the sa-" They had reached John's room and he almost ran into John, who turned around angrily, stopping him abruptly in his rambling.
"Look," John said gruffly, "I don't care what you get, just buy whatever you like, as long as I don't have to hear about it." And he shut his door in the Doctor's face, leaving him alone in the hallway.
The Doctor stood outside the door for a few minutes, his head bowed as he looked down at his shoes, realizing that he was so very tired and that John was not coming out again. After turning off the telly and switching off the living room lamp, the Doctor headed upstairs to his room, too tired to even be glad about spending his first night in his real room.
The Doctor sat down on the edge of his bed, glad for the sound of silence that filled the room but hating how it made him miss the soft, warm hum of the TARDIS.
He heard the soft pattering of the rain against the window pane and thought about the TARDIS, alone in the rain. He had placed her in a safe spot, and Mycroft Holmes had promised that he would keep an eye on her and that she would be quite safe where she was.
He then remembered the box of old books that was in the back of his closet. John had said they were just old copies that he didn't want any more but didn't want to throw away.
The Doctor couldn't remember the last time he even picked up a book and he jumped up excitedly from the bed, dived into his closet and pulled out the box with excited glee.
Kneeling before the box, he discovered that it contained several old dog-eared paperbacks, mostly old biographies and war stories. Old news, been there, done that type of read.
But one title caught his eye, Tuck Everlasting. He picked it up and nearly gasped as somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized it. "Oh, look Amy!" He exclaimed cheerfully as he gently stroked the book.
"This is your favorite book remember? You read it all the time in the TARDIS and you always said it was a favorite of yours from when you were little, you even said you would read it out loud to me one day, remember, Amy?"
He looked up from the book and his eyes searched his room, expecting to meet the sassy hazel eyes that he knew so well. Only silence answered him and he took a deep breath as he caught himself.
"Oh…" He said in a disappointed whisper as he looked around his empty room and his smile faded as he realized where he was and that he was alone. Amy wasn't there beside him; he had just been talking to himself again.
He looked down at the book in his hands and his eyes blurred with bitter tears as he unwillingly remembered that Amy was gone and in her place, just like the others, was left the ever present countdown of empty years since he had lost her. Five years eight months and twenty-four days gone. But it felt like a thousand.
"Not just Amy." He whispered shakily, as a tear fell onto the worn out cover of the book. All of them, all of them were gone now. His beautiful, amazing companions, so many wonderful beginnings and so many heart breaking endings. Except for him, he never got an ending and he was left alone, just him and the ghosts he once knew. He could see their faces and could feel their hands resting softly upon his bowed head as if to comfort him with their memory.
He slowly pushed all the books except Tuck Everlasting back into the closet and went and laid back on his bed. As he clutched the book, he tried to tell himself that it was alright, he had just forgotten again.
He had been doing it a lot during the past few months, forgetting that he was alone and that they had faded away. His mind playing tricks on him, thinking that they were there with him, laughing and talking beside him. The first time it happened, he had spent a whole day running around the TARDIS, chattering excitedly away to Donna Noble about a type of flying snail he had stumbled over one day.
He didn't even realize she wasn't actually there until he passed a mirror and saw only his own reflection dash by and no Donna behind him. He went back to the mirror and found only his own eyes staring back at him and as he whirled around and looked frantically for Donna, begging her to say something, he realized that the emptiness surrounding him had been real, and his Donna was not real. It was just himself.
It had disturbed him so much, that all he could do was to sit on the TARDIS floor and stare at his reflection.
As he sat there, he tried to sort his memories and put them where they belonged, trying to keep the past separate from the present, but they kept slipping away from him, unwilling to stay in their proper places, unwilling to accept the truth.
After a while, he finally stopped trying, as the faces and voices of the past overcame him, reminding him that he was the memory and the one that got left behind while the others had to go on living. Too exhausted to fight his mind and memories, he just gave in and hugging his knees to his chest he cried hopelessly for himself and his overwhelming reality while the TARDIS silently watched over him.
As he lay there on the bed he thought about John Watson, the man pretending to be asleep downstairs and the promise he had made to stay and look after him during Sherlock's absence.
The Doctor had been grateful to have a chance to slow down and try something new. He had always dreaded living in a house and doing normal things that normal people did, but as the years darkened, and the companions kept leaving, he thought it might not be so bad to give it a try after all.
He would miss the traveling, but somehow he knew that he desperately needed this, and so did the TARDIS. He had realized he wasn't who he used to be and that this was his chance to slow down and rebuild himself. The man who carried the weight of the universe was terribly tired, both physically and mentally and needed to rest his world wearied shoes.
They always said the best road to recovery was to help someone else.
He laughed, a bit sadly, to himself, "I wonder, will I be able to help someone else when I can't even save myself? I'm just a tired old man," He whispered as he stared up at the starless ceiling, "Lying on a bed and losing my mind. I can save planets and galaxies, but myself? I have nothing left for myself."
He lay there, listening to the rain falling and the night hours silently pass. The dark clouds rolled over him and they seeped through the cracks in his mind.
Some medicine I am, one broken doctor coming to try to help another broken doctor, this must be where the broken and used up doctors go to die. They can't help each other and they can't help themselves so they just lay here in their pretend hospital beds until they lose their minds from the reality of things they have lost and their hearts stop from lifeless apathy…
The text tone of his mobile startled him out of his thoughts, no one had texted him in a very long time but he remembered who it would be, especially at this time of night.
Blocked Number: How is he?
TD: Just like you said and he also dislikes me very much.
Blocked Number: Give him time, he'll come around.
TD: How can you be so sure?
Blocked Number: Because, I know him and I know you, don't worry, he'll come around, He reminds me of you, when we first met.
TD: I suppose he does. Thanks for the jelly babies, by the way. I didn't think you remembered. It's been ages since I've had a good jelly baby.
Blocked Number: You're welcome, and I always remember.
Thank you for doing this, Doctor, you are the only one that can, and I have always trusted you. I have to go now, it won't be long now and I'll see both of you again soon.
"Take care of yourself, Sherlock." The Doctor softly said as he deleted the messages from his phone. Well, even if he didn't believe in himself to keep his promise and help John Watson, he knew Sherlock did and maybe, that was all he needed.
Who knew, maybe as he lay in his hospital bed, trying to find and repair his own shattered remains, he might enjoy himself. It wasn't everyday that he had the opportunity to live in a flat and do what people who lived in flats do; it might even be fun at that.
"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." He laughed as he wiped at his eyes, erasing the effect of the tears that Sherlock's trust had brought on him.
Turning off his bedroom light, he pulled his covers over his head. He switched on the torch he had brought with him. In the safety of his cover fortress, he opened Tuck Everlasting and as he began to read, it was Amy's voice reading to him that faded the sound of rain and the fear and uncertainty of what lay ahead.