"It will help, John" said Ella.

"Writing a letter to him, explaining how I feel isn't going to help because he's never going to read it because he's dea-" John cut off and buried his face in his hands. "I can't do this. He was my best friend and I'm never going to see him again because he's in a box, underground and he's not coming back."

"John, listen to me, you need to get your anger out and if you won't say it to me or on your blog then you should write a letter"

"But what's the point in writing a letter if he's never going to read it. Nothing I do will ever bring him back, no matter how upset or how much I stand at his gravestone and plead with him. This is pointless, I don't even know why I'm sitting here with you having therapy. It didn't help me get over the psychosomatic limp or mentally get out of the war, and look," John held up his shaking hand, "The tremor has returned. It was Sherlock who helped me find my way back into normal life, even if the cases and risking our lives wasn't normal. He took me out of my hole and now, you know what, sod this."

John took his coat and stormed out of the room. He ran to Mike's house, where he was staying just until he had a new place, as Baker Street was off limits. Mike wasn't home yet so John just lay on his bed and sobbed until he was asleep, where his dreams were filled with Sherlock jumping off the roof and John not being able to stop him.

He woke up to find 5 missed calls and a voicemail on his phone. Mrs Hudson had phoned, he wanted to see her but she reminded him too much of Sherlock, and he would have to go to Baker Street to see her. He could phone her but, he just couldn't. Four of the calls and the voicemail were from Ella.

"John, this is the third time you've ran out. I know it's hard but we can work through this, if you'll just co-operate. I've got you in for next week at the same time. You can move on, but no one said it was easy. Please try, if not for me or for you then for Sherlock. He wouldn't have wanted to see you like this."

John couldn't help but agree. He had to get on with his life, with or without Sherlock. Starting with work. He couldn't be off grieving forever. He called in to the hospital and said he would be in the next day.

"Morning"

John looked up from his desk to see a blonde nurse at his door.

"Oh hi, I thought you were, um"

"The last nurse? She's left, so I've taken her place, I'm Mary." She smiled.

"John, so is my first patient here?"

"No, we aren't open yet. But I've seen what's been happening in the news and when you were in the canteen this morning you looked a bit lost so I thought I'd see if you were okay"

"It's just my first day back since, you know, besides I'm always lost these days," he shrugged.

"Well, I'm here if you need to talk,"

Meeting Mary put a smile on John's face for the rest of the day. He spotted her at the canteen at lunch.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked.

"Not at all," she smiled. "You don't look so lost anymore."

"No, you cheered me up. I was wondering if you'd talk to me about something." He sat down in the seat across from her.

"Shoot," she said, sipping her peppermint tea.

"Do you think he is – was – a fake? I keep getting looks from people and my blog is filled with people putting him down, and I feel like I'm the only one in the world who believes in him"

"No, I don't think anyone could pull off what they're accusing him of doing."

"Really?" John looked hopeful.

"Really,"

They talked every day at lunch, going out for drinks in the evening too. John found that Mary, who was now his girlfriend, was better therapy than Ella had ever been. So he phoned her to say that he no longer needed her help. He wrote a blog post about moving on, and his tremor went away but Mary said that he still looked lost sometimes.

"I think you should write that letter to him," she said.

"He'll never read it though."

"You still have things to say to him."

"I've said things to him, at his grave but, "

"But?" she asked.

"Look, I had this idea, but I didn't think I'd be able to do it on my own. I want to visit every single place that I've been with him, and just remember. I think I need to look back to move forward."

"I'll come with you, you can tell me your memories."

"Okay, after work, do you want to go to St Bart's? Start at the beginning?"

"Of course."

At the morgue, he recalled the details that Sherlock had noticed about him the very first time they met. Molly walked in on them, and she and John talked for a bit about all the times they'd been with Sherlock in that room.

As the days of remembering turned to weeks of remembering, with dinner at Angelo's restaurant, a weekend in Dartmoor, they'd been everywhere except Baker Street and Sherlock's grave. John still felt he could never step foot in 221B again.

"I'll give you a couple minutes," said Mary and walked off into another part of the graveyard. John checked to see if she was gone and then started to speak.

"Three months since you jumped, Sherlock. It's been three months and I'm still stuck. Mary and I have been everywhere that we ever went together. Angelo, Molly and Greg miss you, everyone misses you. I've been to the Black Tramline, I've been to the Hickman, and I've been to Lauriston Gardens. It was good to go back, and to see people I haven't seen in ages. But every time I've been to a place I expect to see you there making deductions, every time I hear a violin I expect to see you playing it and every time I read a story about a murder mystery or something in the papers I expect you to be making snide comments about how you know who did already. It's like I'm lost Sherlock, and I can't find you, and then I think I've found you and you aren't there and I'm lost again. Just, please come back."

A tear rolled down John's cheek but he wiped it away.

"John?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mary"

She took his hand and stood by him.