I arrived at my office on Lillydale Street just a few minutes before nine. While I waited, I made sure there was a full box of tissues and a glass of water on the coffee table. I was too nervous to sit; I fluffed pillows, fussed with the curtains, and was about to check my email when I heard the office door open.

I barely recognized the broken man in front of me.

John Watkins shuffled in, his feet heavy. A woman- she introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson, "John and Sherlock's landlady,"-came in as well. She kept her arm tightly around him, silently daring me to ask her to leave.

"Why don't you both have a seat?" I invited. "I can pull up another chair-"

"I can handle it from here, Mrs. Hudson," John croaked.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asked.

He didn't look at all sure, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll just be right outside, then." She pecked his cheek, and then the tenderness left her face as she turned her red-rimmed eyes to me. Clearly, she wanted me to know she could-and would- defend him if I upset him further.

She closed the door on her departure, leaving us alone. I turned my attention to John. "Can I get you anything?"

John's eyes were as grey and cloudy as the weather outside the window. He shook his head, limped to the chair opposite mine and sank into it heavily.

"This was Mrs. Hudson's idea," he said quietly. "She thought it would help me if I talked about… everything."

"It's good to see you, John," I said. This was the truth; it was reassuring to see him with my own eyes, to assess he was still in his right mind.

But he was sad. So, terribly sad. I could see it in every ounce of him, the way his shoulders slumped, the way his eyes were dry and glazed. The pain was nearly palpable.

"May I ask you a question?" I asked.

He nodded listlessly.

"Why today?"

I watched him closely. His eyes flared with a hint of anger.

"You want to hear me say it?" he demanded.

"Eighteen months since our last appointment…" I reminded.

He stared at me with disbelief. "You read the papers?"

"Sometimes." Unwillingly, my mind recalled the headlines I'd read earlier.

"And you watch telly?" he queried.

I nodded slightly.

"You know why I'm here." I heard the anger in his voice, but in a second it had dissolved into sorrow as he tried valiantly to speak.

"I'm here because…" The words dried up in his throat. I leaned forward to encourage him. He, too, needed to start the grieving process. I knew him well enough to know he'd need to be pushed a little.

"What happened, John?" I asked.

He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

"Sher…" He cleared his throat. He tried to meet my gaze.

"You need to get it out," I encouraged.

His eyes dropped to his lap as he struggled.

"My best friend….Sherlock Holmes…" He sniffled hard. "Is dead."

There was a long silence after that as John struggled mightily to remain in control. I waited patiently for him to speak again.

Eventually, he did. "He said such crazy things. While he was standing on that ledge," he mumbled. "He told me he was a fake. He'd made it all up. He was…" John's face crumpled at the memory. "He was crying, I could hear it in his voice. I told him to shut up… But I wanted to tell him more. He was the best man I've ever known. I knew he wouldn't lie to me.

"But I didn't tell him any of that."

"Why not?"

He startled at my question; he'd forgotten I was in the room.

"I figured we would talk about it later, when he came down," he said. "I thought maybe he was high. Or tired. He would do the craziest things when he was too tired to think straight. Or maybe this was just one of his stupid experiments.

"I figured he'd just calm down and we'd go have dinner somewhere," he said. "I was going to suggest he make an appointment to talk to you."

I had to fight to keep the grimace from my face.

"And then he just… he just dropped his phone. I heard the crack when he dropped it. I was still on the line when he… he just…stepped off like he was stepping off a street curb…"

John had clapped his hand over his mouth now, his eyes fluttering closed in agony.

I called his name to regain his attention. When he faced me, I spoke.

"The stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't say it," I began.

"Yeah…"

"Say it now."

Say it now, I pleaded silently. And I will tell him for you.

John should have been furious with me for pushing him so ruthlessly. But he was, if nothing, always polite. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I… c-can't."

He turned his head away, but all hope of holding together his emotions was lost as he began to weep.

In all our time together, I had never seen John Watson shed a single tear. He had told me about war buddies being blown to bits in front of his eyes, he had told me about murdered children and innocent lives lost.

He had said it all with the clinical view of a doctor who simply could not let himself feel a tenth of what he heard and saw.

I could understand those feelings. My professional detachment was slipping fast as John bent at the waist, quiet sobs rumbling from deep inside him.

"John," I whispered. "It's okay."

The sobs tore loose, gaining sound and momentum, and soon he was crying so hard that Mrs. Hudson heard him and had burst into the door. "That's enough, that's just enough for today," she cried. "We still have to get through the funeral tomorrow."

She, too, was weeping as she stalked to John's side. He allowed her to help him to his feet, pressing the handle of his cane into his hand. she wrapped her arms around John and lifted him to his feet. He shielded his face with his other hand, embarrassed by his outbreak.

"It's all right, dear," she hushed. "Come home, I'll make you some tea."

I stood, too. "John, if you need to talk…"

He couldn't speak; he just shook his head. Mrs. Hudson shot me a dirty glance over her shoulder as she led him out of the room.

When their footsteps had faded down the hall, I slumped back in my chair.

"Sometimes," I said to the empty room, "I very much dislike my job."

**Author's notes** Thank you so much for taking the time to read what I *thought* was going to be a one-shot story. I guess I've gotten a little carried away.

This chapter wiped me out. g I think I need a nap!

Your feedback has been so kind. Thank you again for reading! ****