Chapter 2
It had been three weeks since the incident in the flat where John had seen Sherlock. He could still not come up with a plausible reason for why Sherlock had miraculously appeared behind him, perhaps he really was entering into the realms of grief filled madness. These thoughts filled Johns mind as he sat in the plastic chair in waiting room of his GP, it was not a very exciting room, whitewashed walls and a white tiled floor gave way to a very clinical look, which, John thought, was as it should be considering that it was a GP surgery. Even though he had explained to Mary that he had all the necessary training to diagnose himself of any illnesses that he may have, she still insisted that he go the GP every 6 months in order for him to get a 'non biased opinion' in her words. The tendrils of grief and guilt still encased his mind when he was called by the brown haired receptionist and was directed to the door into the doctor's room.
As he stepped through the doorway, John saw his GP, a portly, brown haired man with a posh accent. Today, he was wearing a blue tie with a bleached green shirt and khakis with a lab coat on top of all of this. "Hello there John", he said in a thick southern English accent, "holding up well I assume?" "Yeah" John said gloomily. He always hated visiting his GP, a combination of frustration about being told what he already knew along with the feeling that his visits were always a waste of time usually made them a dull, soul destroying affair. "It wasn't your fault you know", Johns head shot up from the hanging position that he had it in when he walked into the room. His GP's eyes had glazed over