It's torture for you all. Ily


A part of John didn't want to let go, a part of him wanted to hold tightly to all his grief for Sherlock and tuck it safely under his pillow where he will always be able to see it. But he knew that was absurd, it was natural for one to let go eventually.

In group therapy, John didn't talk, he just sat there and listened. To the untrained eye he could walk right out of the hospital and be perfectly fine, he never bothered to show any emotion any more. It was too much of an effort to make everyone go away and shut up and stop asking him questions. This time however, he spoke.
"Would you like to say anything this time, John?" the over-friendly nurse asked him, pointing her pen in his general direction.
John pursed his lips before locking his fingers together in his lap and glancing around at the ten other patients sitting in the circle, waiting. "Uh, h-hello."
A younger girl smiled at him and answered, "Hello."
John looked across at her uncertainly and returned her smile, "I- um."
The nurse urged him on with her hands.
"We're open ears John," a man that John had been talking to the other day at dinner -who's name he cannot remember for the life of him- he was older than him and had wispy grey hair. He was an old war veteran.
John went on, "I had a friend, a- a best friend. Who- who killed himself. Three months ago. He was Sh-" he shut his eyes. The hurt hadn't left him. "Sherlock H-Holmes. He wasn't a fake. I can tell you that much… right now. And uh- uh, I've been in here for almost all that time."
The room was silent, everyone around there knew who Sherlock was. They heard his name screamed in the middle of the night and they heard it mentioned when the nurses talked to each other. Though John hardly 'talked' to him anymore, he still hallucinated occasionally. It was more the fact that the nurses wanted him to let go before they would let him out.