AN: Sorry for the delay. I have been a bit busy lately. But I am going to be updating this frequently now. Perhaps two times this coming week. So in this chapter John doesn't exactly see Sherlock, but there's a tone of sassy Harry in this one. To keep you entertained.:D

Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.

Chapter 3: Breaking pulse

"Alright...yes, Harry. Sure. Mm-hm...worry not. I won't forget. Yes, Harry." John zigzagged between various boxes, balancing his phone with his shoulder, while carrying a pack of books in his hands.

"I'm leaving in a few hours. I shall see the landlady first." he said, going through the objects of his handbag. " Then straight to the fla-oof!"

The former soldier cursed under his breath as he tripped over a package, sending its contents crashing to the floor. With a sigh, he bent down to pick up the sprawled items.

"Nothing. It's fine... Yes, I'm sure." another deep sigh. "Harry, I'm perfectly capable of living alone. I remember what I said, but I don't want to be bargaining into you and Clara's life." John made a triumphant sound, as he had finally succeeded to give his belongings a decent look. "Yes, I know it's fine, but still."

He maneuvered his way into the kitchen and stopped briefly at the doorway. It was sickeningly unusual, seeing the kitchen table actually serving for its purpose in the house. No experiments, no chemical liquids, no suspicious looking bottles, that really should have just stayed at the lab.

John stepped closer to the table and a small smile grazed his lips. His fingers automatically reached out to trace a pattern over the familiar dash across the board. Funny, he had never questioned Sherlock on how exactly he had managed to ugly the wood. They didn't even change the table. They hardly ever ate at home...and when they did, they would order take away or Mrs. Hudson would have mercy on them. Bless her.

"Hm? Yes, I'm listening." he shook himself off from his dazed stance and continued his way to the cupboard.

"No, I won't regret it later. By the way, how's Clara doing?" The instant he said that, John flinched uncomfortably and removed the cellphone from his ear and held it a safe distance away. After what seemed like a few minutes, and the high pitched babbling from the receiver had comparably died down, he brought the phone back.

"I was an idiot for asking you that." he rolled his eyes, retrieving a mug and pouring some hot water into it.

"Yes, but I thought you'd improve." said the feminine voice.

And to John's annoyance, his sister was talking in her trade mark unreadable voice. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or serious.

"Well, excuse me for not living up to your expectations, my dear sister." he tried for the same tone, but as manys had told him in the past, 'he was too sweet for sarcasm'.

"You are forgiven. Anyway, how about we meet up, when you have moved in?"

"I...don't know." came the uncertain reply.

"Oh come off it, John. It'll be a nice distraction. We can call Bill over too. Actually it will be more beneficial for him. He hasn't been out one night for three weeks!" she said indignantly.

"Oh?" John asked with a chuckle, "Has he turned over a new leaf?"

"No; he's turned over a new car." But before John could open his mouth to ask something, Harry continued. "He's fine. No damage done. So what do you say?"

"Mmm...alright. Fine." The doctor gave in after a minute of hesitation, mostly just to end this ridiculous conversation.

"Great. See you soon, then."

"Yeah...see ya." he was about to hang up, when his sister asked in an uncharacteristically sympathetic manner.
"John...Are you alright?"

John placed his tea on the coffee table, ignoring his slightly shaking hand. He nodded dumbly, before remembering that she couldn't see him.

"Yes..." he said, clearing his throat. "I'm fine. As good as I can be."

And if Harry didn't buy it, she chose not to show it.

He put his phone away and massaged his temples tiredly. Why is it that almost after every talk with his sister he was left with a headache? Although, this time he was thankful for his sister's nosy personality. He doubted he would've been able to make it through the night, without losing his sanity.

John glanced at his watch. Nearly 6 am. Still very early, so he had another few hours to kill. He decided to leave the kitchen's light on, letting it illuminate into the living room, since it was still rather dark in the flat. The sun hadn't even risen yet.

Through the dark, it was easy for him to detect the red blinking light coming from the sofa. John went right there and found his notebook almost completely covered under the many cushions. He shook his head in disbelief. So he had forgotten after all.

He took hold of his mac and sited himself there instead. The battery was low, but it was too late to go and attempt to find the charger in all those bags. He'd only make a mess and what was the point? He was leaving in a while, anyway.

Making a sip from his mug, John opened his laptop, for the first time since the past week. He was met with an already opened(or rather, not closed) window of his blog. Former blog, if being accurate. He hadn't written anything lately and truth be told, was not intending to. John swallowed down his tea with difficulty as his eyes fell on his last post.

16th June

Untitled

He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him. Read more.

0 comments

He didn't even bother to refresh the site. Nobody read it anymore. Why should they? Just as he was about to close the tab, a light beeping was heard. At first he thought it was just the reminder sign to charge the computer, but no... it was nothing close to it. He stared at the screen, that remained relatively unchanged, except for one line. A very short line. Just a word and a natural number.

1 comment...it now said.

Hesitantly clicking at the same line a few times for good measure, John licked his lips in anticipation. If it was again one of those darned journalists trying to snake in with their rude remarks and unceremonious expressions, sure as hell he was going to tell them exactly what he thought and where they should go running with their 'so called truth'.

But instead of an accusing letter directed at him or his former flat mate, he found himself gawking at three simple words, forming the more simple sentence.

'Thank you, John.' it said. Nothing more. Not even the name or the time of sending showed.

He rubbed his eyes vigorously and opened them slowly, uncertainly. Nope..still there. He exhaled sharp and shaky, his hold on the notebook tightening noticeably. What kind of a sick joke was this? John could feel his limbs begin to tremble, his knuckles whitening from his bold grip on the laptop. He didn't know what to do...he didn't know what to think!

Suddenly the light from the kitchen started flickering uncontrollably. John's glare turned into a quizzical look, just as the lights went out completely. And it being the only source of light at the moment, left the good doctor siting there in the dark, still plainly confused. As if on cue, the notebook let out another weak signaling sound, before shutting down.

It took John a few shameful minutes to register the happened. He blinked numbly into the darkness, not moving an inch from his spot.

"What the hell?" he mused out loud, his anger seemingly drained out of him at the turn of the events. Who was the lunatic to leave that anonymous comment? And most importantly what did he mean by it? It didn't make bloody sense. He let out a humorless snort, as a ludicrous idea crossed his mind. Stop. He told himself firmly...no way it could be real...It just couldn't.

The groaning noise of the fridge made John snap out of his thoughts, The lights were back. With a new found determination, the good doctor leapt from the sofa and strode to the packages. Now he just had to find that charger...He started with his bag at first, uncaringly throwing the contents to the floor. Then he moved to the carton packs. John had to empty three boxes and a suitcase, before he spotted the charger lying innocently between his jumpers. He didn't waste time on thinking about how he had come up with such a spectacularly brilliant idea to put a charger with his clothes. He hurried back to the notebook.

"Come on. Come on." he muttered encouragingly as he waited for the laptop to turn on at last. With as much hastiness as he could muster with the piece of technology, John opened the browser and desperately waited for his blog to load. And he couldn't hide his disappointment when the page went back to showing 0 comments.

John gazed at the screen owlishly, swiping away a light layer of sweat from his forehead with his hand. Had he imagined it? He could swear he saw it! It wasn't some bizarre dream or his imagination playing tricks on him. He saw it.

Eventually, he put the offensive item away. Vowing to himself, not to check his blog. Ever. Again. He let out a shuddering breath, hiding his face in his palms. For a second there...for one insane moment, he thought it was...No! It couldn't be! John shook his head at the absurd idea. It couldn't be him.

The rest of the day went fluently, with John repeating to himself the words that he had been saying not once during the last few weeks to convince himself.

I took his pulse.

AN: If you check John Watson's blog, you can see that ^ was in fact his last post on the site. I kinda decided to use it as a version. There's no time following in this story, so you can say that this all happened just a few weeks after Sherlock's fall. While the previous chapters- a year or two later. And I have one question, as I've already planned out to include Mary in the last two chapters and Molly in another, it leaves a spare chapter. If you have any requests or suggestions, feel free to offer them. Reviews are very much appreciated.:)