Chapter 10: Moran.

"I know you are a friend," the little voice went on. "An old friend and a dear friend. And I know you won't hurt me…"

-Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass.

Life went on.

It was something John had noticed many times before. No matter how blank you felt, days kept passing, and people kept living their lives. He was a leaf in the river, unmoving but pulled along by the current, everything around him changing while he stayed the same. It was rather unnerving.

Sarah had found a new boyfriend. She'd cut her hair and started wearing dark lipstick. She smiled a lot more. Things were changing for her, and the world was bright and alive.

It had been twelve days since John's last outing with Moriarty, but it could have been a day, or a year. Everything was dead, wasn't that funny? He hadn't realized how much everything depended on Sherlock. Without him, it seemed like there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. The closest thing John had had to a friend since Sherlock's death was Sarah, with their strictly work-only relationship. Or, dare he think it, Moriarty.

And he really didn't want to think about that anymore! He didn't want to think about anything. Not Sarah's new chance at escape, not that he might actually be missing Moriarty, not that Sherlock was dead, not the things he never said, he didn't want to think, he wanted to forget.

So John did the only reasonable thing. He decided to get drunk.

That evening found him at a pub, sliding onto a stool and taking a glance around the left side of the bar as he ordered his drink. He absentmindedly picked out the married people, the ones having an affair, the ones looking for a pickup, and other little details he'd learned from Sherlock, or Sherlock's notes.

He wondered how many drinks it would take before Sherlock's voice stopped pointing out all the little things he was missing at the back of his mind. John had stopped fighting it and simply left it to chatter on in the back of his head, a constant litany of criticism through his daily life. He picked up the glass the bartender set in front of him and took a drink.

"John?" He turned automatically, knowing it probably wasn't him. The curse of having a common name; someone's always calling you, or talking about you. He was fully prepared for the person to be facing the other way, calling over their friend or something like that. But when his eyes met the other man's, there was an instant flare of recognition.

"Sebastian?" He asked, unbelieving. "You… But we thought you were dead. They told us you were dead. What…" he was unable to finish, and settled for simply staring at his old army mate, who had been declared missing in action several years ago.

"I know, I'm sorry. I would have written you, but…" Sebastian trailed off. "I'm not sure how much I can say. I was picked out by a sort of Secret Service thing, and I had to disappear to join them. It seemed like the best option, at the time."

"Jesus," John said softly, looking his friend up and down. Yes, he was definitely alive, definitely Sebastian Moran. "Are you going to be in trouble for talking to me now?" John wanted to catch up, but not if it meant being kidnapped and questioned by another government agent, or getting Sebastian in trouble.

"As long as you don't go telling everyone I'm alive, we should be fine. He trusts me, and I can trust you, right?" John took note of the fact that he was working for a single person. Second-in-command? Sebastian had been Captain before John, he was good in a command position.

"Yeah, sure, of course. So…" John faltered, unsure of what to ask. "You're alive. I guess I can't ask about your work, but what have you been doing with yourself otherwise?"

"Hmm. Well, I was in America for a year or so. I just got back a few months ago, I'm living in London now. What else, what else. I love my work, don't get much free time, live alone in an apartment paid for by my work, my only friends are my coworkers. Not much of a life, really. But the last time I saw you, you were all lined up for a captaincy. What happened?"

"I did get the captaincy," John said. "Then I got shot." He gave Sebastian the full story that he only told to the people he trusted. He cut off the story when he got back to London, not wanting to revisit Sherlock in any way right now. Sebastian didn't ask, and the conversation turned to reminiscing. Old exploits, truly horrible camp spots, other old army mates, and singing 80s songs behind the lines while they waited.

They had moved to a booth about an hour ago, and were sharing nachos, when Sebastian's phone went off with the distinctive opening notes of Beethoven's fifth symphony. John raised his eyebrows and Sebastian checked the screen. He grimaced, then looked up at John.

"That would be my boss."

"Nice ringtone." They shared a grin, then Sebastian gave an apologetic expression.

"My job has really weird hours, I'm pretty much always on-call. I've got to go. But hey, this has been great. We could get another round sometime on me. I could use a friend that's outside of my work. Gives me a little break, you know?"

"Sounds great." They set up a time and place, exchanged cell phone numbers. Then Sebastian left, John halfheartedly finished the nachos, and went home mostly sober. What a coincidence, to meet his old friend there like that! And, for Christ's sake, how many people were going to end up coming back from the dead? John was half-expecting to come home and find Sherlock sitting in his flat, demanding nicotine patches. But no, he didn't think about that, because he'd stopped hoping for that a long time ago. Because when he allowed himself to think about that, the hope came back, and that meant the tears, every time he came home and no one was there. So he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, and didn't allow himself to consider the possibility of Sherlock still being out there somewhere. A shame, really. It could have saved him a lot of trouble later on.

Oooo000oooO

Things weren't perfect. But then again, they rarely were.

There were still long stretches of staring into space and wondering what could have been. Still boring work at the clinic, and the damnable (blank, dull, predictable) routine. John still had to force a smile and tell Sarah that he was so happy for her, when he found out she was pregnant. She was settling down into family life, something John would never do. He was still watching the world outside go by, blank, dull, predictable, useless.

But all of that was made better by the evenings spent with Sebastian, at a different bar each time. They didn't talk about Sebastian's work, or John's more recent past, but they talked about books, movies, ex-girlfriends and John's work, so the time passed quickly.

As it turned out, Sebastian had alcohol restrictions on him because of his job. Apparently the higher-ups were concerned about their workers getting drunk and spilling high-security secrets. Seemed like paranoia to John, but he wasn't getting drunk alone and embarrassing himself, so they measured out their drinks together, drawing out their beers for as long as possible.

John had to relearn his friend, in some ways, catching up with who he was. They were both different from who they'd been in their middle twenties when they had fought together. Sebastian was no longer the laughing, easy-going captain that had been so loved by his soldiers. He was a little bit hardened now, in a way even the war hadn't managed. John was no longer the man who had volunteered as a front-line doctor, running in with the soldiers that carried guns and increasing his chance of injury. It had been better than staying behind and waiting for the men to be brought back to him, just listening to the screams and gunfire, so close yet far away.

So he learned about Sebastian in bits and pieces, almost never asking direct questions (because that reminded him of question games, deals with the devil, black eyes and a Cheshire smile.) Moran was 32, his favorite color was gold, he still liked reading old sci-fi novels, and his work took up most of his life. His boss was eccentric, paranoid, demanding, a tad unhinged, and had a good sense of humor.

Sebastian sometimes came back with non-specific stories about him, and they would both laugh over them. He must be the second-in-command because of the familiarity in the way he talked about his nameless boss, and the commonness of the texts from him, which always ended their little meetings.

John wasn't sure what Sebastian was learning about him, but he was sure it wasn't awfully interesting. His life, after all, was pretty (blank, dull, predictable) boring. But that didn't matter, because Sebastian feigned interest, and although there were awkward lulls in the conversation, they were eventually filled, and life went on.

A/N: Hello. Listen, I've got a question. Is there anyone still reading this? Because I got a grand total of... 0 reviews for the last two chapters! I love writing, I love posting my writing, but if no one is reading it, then it may as well just sit around on my laptop unedited. Even if there's ONE PERSON who wants me to keep writing, I'll do it. But if no one cares one way or another, well...

I hope to see you next time. Have good days, or lives, or whatever!