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I just realized that I made John's room the one upstairs. I think that was Sherlock's actually. I'll have to fix it in the previous chapter.


John felt disorientated when he awoke. It took a few minutes to remember that he was in Sherlock's room and had fallen asleep on Sherlock's bed the night before. Light trickled through Sherlock's curtains. The room was mess and dust had settled everywhere. No one had dared touch anything after Sherlock's death. Sometimes 221B felt more like a memorial to Sherlock than it did a home. John needed to just get away from everything sometimes.

Sometimes he considered leaving London and starting fresh. But he couldn't leave Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly. Then there was his job and his new found friendship with Lyra. Starting over wasn't easy anyway and John didn't think he had the energy for it. He'd been going through the motions after Sherlock's death. He had wanted to throw himself into his work but his boss had put him on mandatory sick leave. John wished he had argued, that he had explained that he didn't need time, he just needed something to do.

John took a deep breath and got up. It wasn't going to do him any good to lay in bed and reflect all day. Especially not with the dust gathering around. He made a mental note to vacuum, Mrs Hudson shouldn't be expected to do all the house work after all.

John got his phone out of his pocket and checked the time before leaving Sherlock's room and making his way downstairs. 12:04 p.m.

I must have been more tired than I realized, he thought. He hadn't over slept in more than a decade. After becoming an army doctor he had become an even earlier riser, often up at the crack of dawn.

Getting up for the first few days after Sherlock's death had been especially hard. He had stared at the ceiling after getting up, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and never wake again. Now he no longer expected to see Sherlock curled up in what had always been Sherlock's arm chair. There was still an odd sense of dread of knowing he would never find a head in the fridge again but the last few weeks had really made a difference.

All of Sherlock's body parts had been brought back to St. Bart's by Molly. John had helped Mrs Hudson clean up Sherlock's experiments even though part of him had kept expecting Sherlock to show up suddenly and tell them to stop and leave his things alone. Of course Sherlock never did show up and John had swallowed down his frustration.

Feeling almost like he was in a trance, John walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grabbed a slice of bread and put it into the toaster. His stomach grumbled and he made a mental note to pick some groceries, there was mostly take away in the fridge.

As soon as he pressed the lever of the toaster down, there was a knock on his door. John rushed to the door and wasn't surprised to see Mrs Hudson there.

"Hello John," Mrs Hudson said. "Mrs Turner and I are going out to lunch. Do you want me to bring you back anything?" John opened his mouth to say no but his grumbling stomach stopped him. "I'll bring you back some sandwiches."

"Thanks Mrs Hudson."

"Are you alright dear?"

"Yeah. I'm just feeling foggy headed, probably just need some air."

"If you need me just give me a call."

John nodded. "I will. Thanks."

"Its not a problem dear. I'll be back soon." Mrs Hudson walked away and John closed the door. He walked to the bathroom and looked himself over in the mirror. His clothes were wrinkled, eyes red, he had a bit of a bed head and he really needed a shave. He smelt himself.

A shower and a shave it is then, he thought.

Later, having cleaned up and ate John felt a bit more like his self. What he told Mrs Hudson came to mind and he wondered where he should go today.


I'm thinking of putting John knowing Lyra at 2 to 3 weeks but I'm afraid that would make it seem like I left out a lot of their interactions. A week or less and I would feel like I made things happen so fast.