Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!

It couldn't be denied that Sherlock spent the rest of the day thinking the events over and over. He remembered what happened before John left. John was angry that Sherlock put a severed head in the fridge. But where else was he meant to put it? He remembered John storming out of the flat, and Sherlock just ignored it. And then John died.
Sherlock tangled his hands in his hair and shut his eyes, thinking. Thinking of what? He was feeling emotion. It was obvious.
"Sherlock?" his head snapped up and his eyes opened quickly. He knew that voice. It was John.
"John?" he asked, quickly and almost desperately. He was confused at his own tone of voice, his own emotions. He rarely felt real, lasting emotion, and whenever he did, he tried to avoid letting it show.
"No... It's just me, dear." Mrs Hudson sighed as she walked slowly into the flat. "Just thought I'd pop in to see how you feel."
Sherlock stared at the woman. "I'm fine."
"Okay." She smiled at him lightly then left the room again, leaving Sherlock sat alone.
He flipped his legs up onto the couch and lay there, staring at the ceiling.
You best move from that couch before I get there – MH
No –SH

Sherlock waited for his brother, not having the effort to move and get away from 221B before he arrived. He heard the footsteps come up the stairs and then a creaky floorboard.
"Brother." Sherlock greeted, not moving his focus from the ceiling which he had been looking at for too long.
"Sherlock, will you get up please?"
Sherlock practically flew up from the couch, starring at his brother ahead of him who looked slightly startled by the manic look on his sibling's face.
"Something wrong?" Mycroft asked, taking a seat.
"That's John's chair."
Mycroft looked at his brother for a few seconds before swapping over into Sherlock's chair. He felt it best not to argue with him at the current time.
"What's really wrong?" Mycroft continued.
"You sounded like John." Sherlock's voice was almost a whisper. Was that uncertainty Mycroft detected?
Mycroft's expression didn't change with Sherlock's comment. He silently took his phone out of his pocket and sent a text.
"You're informing someone of my behaviour," Sherlock stated. "Who?"
"Your doctor," Mycroft answered, knowing that lying to him was useless. Sherlock had a way of finding out a lot of things very quickly and very easily.
"My doctor?" he responded. "What doctor?"
"The one you have had for the past two months."
Sherlock knew the answer but asked anyway. "Why do I need one of those?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing his brother just wanted to be told the answer straight. "Because I got worried for your health."
"Mental health."
"Yes."
Sherlock groaned. "I'm fine, Mycroft."
"Of course."
Sherlock stood from his seat and walked to where his violin was waiting for him. He picked it up and played the most annoying notes he could imagine, and eventually, Mycroft left 221B without another word.

I've got a case, interested? –Lestrade
Depends. What happened? – SH
I'm 5 mins away – Lestrade
Sherlock stood up and straightened his suit, awaiting the arrival of Lestrade. Perhaps having a new case to solve would provide him with some distraction. He counted eight minutes pass before Lestrade actually arrived, but decided not to comment on it.
"Well?" Sherlock asked, looking at the detective inspector.
"Thirty-four year old woman," he began, passing some photographs and a piece of paper that described a friend's interview to the consulting detective. "She was reported missing yesterday, and we found her body in her own basement. All of her family live in the North so her friend was the only person who noticed her disappearance."
Sherlock stared at Lestrade. "You really are an idiot, Lestrade."
"Wha-?"
"It's obvious. This woman was killed by the friend who reported her missing, who decided that if she reported it then she would not be considered a suspect. But why did she kill her, you ask? Well, she was competition. In the interview, she states that they were very good friends and hated to be apart from each other, and that is why they were working in the same business. The woman has been killed in what is clearly her work attire, and she must have been dead for a few days before she was reported missing and found." Sherlock explained. "The friend killed her because they were both aiming for a promotion. Ah! But that's not all of it. She was jealous of the woman's relationship with their boss."
"How do you get any of that from those resources?" Lestrade responded, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Amazing."
Sherlock looked at Lestrade blankly for a second. For a second, he sounded just like John. Why did everything remind him of John?
"Sherlock, are you okay?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes, I'm fine."
"I'm sorry, I should have listened to Mycroft when he said-"
"What did he say?" Sherlock snapped.
"He just told me to leave you without the cases for a while. Doctor's orders, apparently." Lestrade shrugged. "I thought it might help."
Sherlock studied his face. "It did. Thank you."
Lestrade looked even more shocked at that response. Sherlock Holmes had thanked him.
"I should be thanking you for solving my case," Lestrade forced a laugh. "I best be off then. See you later Sherlock."
"Yes. Goodbye."