A/N: Bring on the angst!

Chapter 4

The funeral was too horrible to describe. The media had a field day deconstructing those who came to actually mourn. Hecklers stood outside the cemetery (they weren't allowed in) and shouted abuse. Greg was pretty sure John noticed none of this. He was wrapped up in a little cocoon of grief, oblivious to the rest of the world.

That night, John got drunk. He got drunk the next night, too, and the one after that. He stopped showing up to work. Sarah kept him on as long as she could, but eventually she had to let him go. He spent his pension on booze, and stopped talking to most of his friends, or seeing his therapist.

He stayed in touch with Greg, though. Or rather, Greg stayed in touch with him. Greg, and a few other people, made sure he didn't loose himself completely. Mrs. Hudson let him keep his room for free, saying he was 'her boy' and that she couldn't possibly leave him out in the cold. Molly brought him food at least once a week. Mycroft, to the extent that he could, made sure John was looked after financially, and Harry (who got better as her brother got worse) tried to get him to join her AA group, or go back to his therapist, but he would have none of it.

He got better for a little while, when the 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes' graffiti campaign first started, but he got worse than ever when the counter-campaign – the word 'fraud' written in purple capital letters over the 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes' or 'Moriarty was Real' slogans – began.

Nearly a year after Sherlock's death, John pretty much hit the bottom. He showed up at Greg's doorstep one September night, confused and hardly able to stand. When Greg let him inside, he stumbled across the threshold and collapsed on the couch, falling asleep immediately. Plastered as he was, he was still so beautiful. Greg had always believed that people looked best when they were asleep, and John was proving him right. Smiling sadly to himself, Greg went to get John a blanket.

The next morning, Greg woke to find John sleeping peacefully on his sofa. He was caught off-guard by John's face. He looked almost happy! The worry and pain that was usually lined his visage were nowhere to be seen. But Greg quickly shook himself out of his trance. John's probably dreaming of Sherlock, he thought, ruefully.

When John finally woke up, Greg had coffee, toast, and eggs waiting for him. "Thanks," he said as Greg handed him a steaming plate. Greg sat down on the sofa beside him.

"You really shouldn't do that, you know. It'll kill you someday," he said.

"Do what, drink?"

"Yeah."

"I know," John sighed. "But..."

"But what?"

"When I'm drunk... it's the only time I don't..." John took a deep breath, "It's the only time I don't think about him. Nothing... nothing else can distract me from...from it."

The time had come for a shot in the dark. Though half his brain screamed for him not to do it, Greg leaned in closer to John and whispered, "Maybe there are other things that could... distract you," and kissed him on the mouth. Even with the uncertainty – was John going to accept his kiss or was he going to run away – it was everything he had dreamed of and more. It felt right.

It even seemed for a second that John would kiss him back. But after a moment, John pulled away with a jerk.

"Greg, I... you know I like you but... I'm sorry," John stood and grabbed his coat. "I just... I can't, not now. I'm sorry. Thanks for letting me stay the night." Then the door slammed, and he was gone.

A/N: Yeah, I'm a terrible person. You should review and tell me about it!