Author's Note: I wrote this yesterday. I don't really know why I did it like this; maybe I was feeling sad for some reason. Anyway, the chapter is Post-Reichenbach. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Characters mentioned belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

Blue TARDIS Everdeen

Chapter Ten: The Scarlet Letters

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. Right. Yes. Bye." The short man hung up his mobile. I really didn't want to have to deal with this now, but I might as well now that…He slid down the wall; ending up on the floor. If only I had gotten to him in time….He wiped away the tears that stung his eyes; although he was used to it by now. He put his head to his knees and started rocking back and forth. He stayed like that for awhile; not hearing his friend come into the room.

"Hey…are you alright?" She says. The man lifts his head slowly; coming to meet the woman's eyes. She could see his eyes were bright with tears.

"What do you think? I lost my best friend. How would you feel if you were in my situation?" He put his head down again. "I don't think you would understand."

"Well, you know I'm his friend too, right? I feel sad just like you." She played with the ends of her scarf. "I just want you to know that I cancelled my shift." The man looked up again.

"Really? Why?"

"Because. I can't bear to see you like this. I wanted to talk to you. To hear about…" She drifted off; not wanting to say the words. "Oh! I just remembered; I brought you a present." She pulled a lumpy, hastily wrapped package out of her rucksack. "I think it might cheer you up a bit." The man hesitantly took the package; nothing could cheer him up. He pulled at the corner of the paper, seeing if it would give. He scowled; tossing the present aside.

"Do I have to open it now?"

The woman laughed. "You don't have to. I just wanted to let you know." She reached out her hand; the man took it. She pulled him up; then wrapped him in a hug. "You can save it for later if you want." She buried her face in his shoulder.

"Thank you, Molly. You're a good friend." They separated; then he walked over to the many shelves of his flat; almost bare. He'd removed most of HIS stuff after he…went. He stood on the tips of his toes; reaching onto the top shelf. He pulled down a little black moleskin notebook.

"This…I haven't…I haven't seen this since…" He rubbed the cover tenderly.

"That was his, wasn't it? I remember seeing him write in it when he came over."

The man sat down on his chair; which was now sitting alone in the big room. He started thumbing through the book; the aroma of the yellowed pages filling his nostrils. One of the pages was different than the others, though. The page was white; it looked out of place. He pulled it out; his eyes squinting to read the print.

'John.' It said. 'When you see this, I will probably be gone. I just wanted to let you know that ever since that night on Northumberland Street, I have always thought of you as my friend. My only friend. I have left something for you in my side table drawer. I hope you will be able to put it to good use.' The note was signed: 'Your faithful friend and partner, Sherlock.'

John crumpled the tear-stained paper in his hands. "That's Sherlock. I wouldn't be surprised if he left me a tin full of old teeth." He winced; the joke made the pain worse. "He's always had such rubbish writing." He stood up, grabbing Molly's arm for support.

"Do you want me to come with you when you go to his room?" Molly said; her voice thick with concern.

"No, I think I can manage." He kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks again." He walked off; picking up Molly's package on his way. He walked slowly down the hallway; only pausing when he heard the outside door close. Oh, Molly. Bless her for trying to help me. Nobody can help me now. Nobody except Sherlock. He stopped in front of Sherlock's door; his fingers lingering over the door knob. He closed his eyes and took a breath. In one move, he opened the door and stepped inside. He didn't open his eyes until his legs found the bed. Lowering himself down and putting the package aside, he opened the drawer. Inside, he found a small, rectangular shaped package; perfectly wrapped with deep red paper. It was complete with a bow made out of string. God, it's the same colour as his dressing gown. He opened it quickly, not wanting to linger on the painful memory. It was Sherlock's magnifier. That sod. Only he would think I could 'make some use out of this.' He turned it over in his hands; his fingers taking in the smooth black plastic and glass. He set it aside gently; turning his attention towards the bigger package. He pulled at the tape holding it together until it sprung open suddenly. He could see a corner of dark navy blue fabric. What? This looks like…he pulled the paper off all the way; the contents spilling out onto the bed. He lifted it out slowly; not wanting to wrinkle it. Oh. He would never leave this behind. There was a note in the pocket; it was written in Molly's curly script:

'Dear John, I managed to knick this off of him before I did the post-mortem. I figured you would get more use out of these than I could. I think he would want you to have them. Love, Molly. Xo' He dropped the note; burying his face in the soft fabric of the coat. Damnit Sherlock! I miss you! I miss your bloody mood swings, your body parts in the fridge, the violin music. He started to cry; the tears that have been threatening to spill this entire night. Come back, please. For me.