Hi there! So this is chapter 1 of Three Years After the Burn! Reviews are very welcome!

Here it goes!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Moffat, Gatiss, and the Sherlock writing staff own everything. I'm only a fan!

Three years after Sherlock's fall to the day I was sitting downtown at a cafe eating lunch with Mycroft. We had grown much closer, or as close as you could get to Mycroft, over the years. It had been hard the past three years and Mycroft had been one person that had given me a bit of support because he was the one person who knew Sherlock best besides me. As I was finishing my sandwich Mycroft took a sip of his tea and look thoughtful, but then a bit sorrowful before saying something that startled me. "My brother is dead and always will be John."

"Why do you say that?'" I asked, confused and a bit hurt at the thought though I knew it was true.

"Because, maybe I'm just trying to tell myself that he is gone and after three years I can't bring myself to say that he's gone forever," he replied carefully with a sad smile tight on his face.

The rest of our meal went in silence. After I finished the last of my meal and paid, I hailed a cab down to Scotland Yard. Luckily, the cab ride wasn't very long because I was a bit antsy to say what I was going to say. When I got out of the cab I started to walk into the building before I realized that Lestrade was standing outside. For a moment, it seemed as though he was waiting for me. "Hey," I spoke in an altogether too cheerful voice.

"Hello John," he spoke heavily.

After a minute of silence he figured out what was on my mind. "Yes, I do know what day it is, though I try to forget every year."

"Yes I thought you would and I also try and do the same. That is also more or less what I am here about. I was wondering if you would like to come to the flat tonight for a little get together in memory of him," I said shakily because I was a bit nervous to hear what he had to say in response. When I said the flat he knew which flat I was talking about. Our flat, the one I had shared with Sherlock. 221B. Baker Street. I hadn't been there since the night of the fall. I went back to the flat I was living in before I had met Sherlock. It was small, inexpensive, and most of all, had nothing to remind me of him. For a few months after I tried to make it as though I had never known him at all. It didn't work of course. No one could ever forget such a brilliant and ignorant mind such as his.

"Sure I'll come. 221B. Baker Street?" he asked though he knew the answer as I knew he would.

"Yes," I answered softly looking down at my feet. The reason I looked down at my feet was not because I was ashamed of having anyone know it was there, it was because everything hurt at the mere mention of the flat and street name. We said our goodbyes quickly and I left, deciding to walk to my next destination since I hadn't been out and about in awhile. My next stop was St. Bart's hospital to find Molly.

It was a crisp, but mild day outside as I approached St. Bart's. I did my best not to look at the rooftop, which still haunted me. When I got inside I went over to the elevator and I was just about to push the up arrow when I read a sign that said "Elevator out of order, use stairs." pasted across the front of the doors. "What a day to walk," I huffed, making my way over to the stairs. When I reached the top of the two flights of steps, I was a bit out of breath. I made my way to the morgue and found Molly studying a body with a clipboard in hand.

"Hi there," I said, again altogether too cheerfully. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice.

She turned around with a surprised look on her face and said, "Hi, John!"

I decided to say what I had to say quickly. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over to our flat to night for a little get together in memory of him," I said a bit timidly.

"I'd love to," she said. "Can I bring my boyfriend, Sam Haroldson? He was really fascinated by Sherlock's work."

"Sure" I replied, but as the words escaped my mouth I remembered her last boyfriend who was interested in Sherlock. I tried to make that thought go away by saying, "The more the merrier. See you there." I wasn't really eager to hang around so I walked quickly out the door. As I again ventured down the steps I decided this time I would take a cab. Time to visit Mrs. Hudson.

I hadn't seen her for months because I refused to go back to Baker Street. We had only seen each other once when she called me up to see if I would like to go for lunch. As the cab turned the corner sadness rushed back to me and took over my body. It was almost overwhelming. The burning sensation returned to my heart. I took a deep breath which also took more effort than it should have. I paid the cabbie as we rolled to a stop and slowly exited the cab. Slowly, I approached the unlocked door and opened it. I heard my voice call out, "Mrs. Hudson?"

A few seconds later I heard her call out, "John!? Its been so long!" her voice was excited as she hurried out of her flat and hugged the stuffing out of me.

"I was just wondering if, if, if the flat was still, um, well had, um, all of the stuff," I finally stuttered out.

"Why of course it does," she said kindly.

"I was going to have a get together up there tonight if that was okay with you," I said, feeling a little more confident. "I was wondering if you wanted to come up."

"I'd love to, that's a splendid idea," she exclaimed. "Why don't you head up there and start to get it ready," she said not knowing how much this was going to hurt. I swallowed and made my way over to the steps. "I'll bring up some food later," she said. I couldn't respond so I gripped the railing so hard my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat ran down my forehead. As I came to the top of the stairs I had to steady myself on the wall. It hadn't changed at all, just for a few cobwebs and a musty smell. All of his belongings were still there. Even the teacup I used three years ago was still there. I walked slowly over to my hair and sat down for a moment taking it all in. I imagined a tall slender figure in black sitting across from me, cursing how stupid the television was. I could feel my lips go into a little smile, but before I let myself get too carried away remembering I went into the kitchen and began to prepare.