He blinked a couple of times, awoken by the noise of the boiling water and the smell of freshly toasted bread. He straightened himself up on the couch, and spotted Mrs. Hudson, busying herself in the kitchen.
He smiled softly: "Good morning Mrs. Hudson".
She turned her head in his direction and, a gentle smile on her lips, she looked at him with infinite kindness "My Dear, have I woken you up?" she shook her head, the smile still curving her mouth "You've been sleeping on the couch again...? You shall be careful John, you may hurt your back if you keep sleeping here".
He got up and stretched before joining her in the small kitchen, placing his arm on hers "Don't you worry for me Mrs. Hudson" he looked at her when she poured the warm water into the teapot "and you know, I've already told you that..." She cut him mid sentence to quote him "you don't have to do this for me..." she placed back the empty kettle on the kitchen table "I know my dear, but that pleases me to do so...".
He gave up, recognizing a lost battle when he came across one, and smiled again before nodding. He took a sit at the small kitchen table and poured himself a large cup of tea before biting into a slice of bread.
He wouldn't admit it aloud, but Mrs. Hudson's every day presence and care was something he would not be able to do without now. She had been there every single day since Sherlock's departure, a peaceful and quiet support in John's broken pattern. She had, without knowing it, enabled him to go on with his daily life.
When done with his light breakfast, he cleared the table and headed to the bathroom, gently patting Miss Hudson's shoulder while passing by her. Once again he'll be early at the Hospital, but it was perfectly fine with him as he needed to keep his mind busy, to refrain himself from thinking too much about the devoid of meaning that his life was having now.
Each breath he took was painful, but all day long he kept the same small and polite smile on his lips, carefully hidden behind this shelter he went through the day, saw each patient and even joked with some, he couldn't afford people knowing how smashed to pieces he truly was inside, he couldn't let any weakness leak, because when people feel weakness they start asking questions, and John couldn't allow that, because his thin shelter would then drop and he would let himself go. No. That was out of question. He'd rather have people think he was heartless and not afflicted by Sherlock's death than letting them know how down he really was. That was a choice, a tough one, but that's the one he made after his best friend's funerals.
When his day of work finally came to an end, he sighed again before putting on his jacket and closing the door of his office behind him. He smiled and nodded at the secretary who was still there despite the late hour and she blushed in return. In regular times, he would have asked her to go out for a drink, cause he would have noticed the blush that always crept to her cheeks when he was passing by, but not tonight. Tonight he only wanted to go to a pub and get awfully drunk, cause tonight was the anniversary of Sherlock's death.