John Watson had never felt so empty.

The tea had gone cold and the only source of warmth in the flat was the central heating, kept on by Mrs Hudson. How she had known that John would forget was beyond the lonely man's thoughts, but he was grateful. Of course he was grateful. There was no way he couldn't be, no way that he could forget about the sweet old woman who made him tea and cleaned the flat and made sure he got up every single morning.

The sweet old woman who watched his slow descent into madness. An empty, lonesome madness, filled with demons and devils, chuckling with a hint of Irish joy. Jumping from across the room when he least expected it, shadows looming across the walls and running, constantly running from things that weren't even there. An empty shell flying across the battlefield that was London, John Watson was empty and broken and everything in between.

Nothing had happened since it, nothing had changed. Lestrade had dropped by, announced that he had lost his job, and had tea. Then he had left, occasionally texting but no more than that. Mycroft hadn't bothered and John was glad for it and all Molly had done was cry and leave. It was ridiculous that a man with so little emotions could leave so many in his wake, tears and trials and all sorts of things that John couldn't put into words, for fear that the lump in his throat would rise and overpower him. It was unbelievable that someone who had been alone for so long couldn't stand being left again. He had expected it, never imagined that he would have the company he had kept for so long, and yet now, now it was gone.

All those things John Watson had finally found, only to be snatched away from the roof of a hospital building.

Strange things had happened. Owls flew overhead, never landing unless it was to sit on the windowsill and tap the glass. John couldn't feed them, he didn't know what owls ate and didn't want to look it up, but they were always there. When they left, they flew north. In fact, John had never seen an owl fly south.

Only he would notice these things. And it was sad that John had only picked it up after he had gone.

Sometimes he thought he saw him. Once in north London, where he had gone on a whim, he had thought he saw him in a cloak. It wasn't him, it never was, but John had run until his limp got the better of him.

They always disappeared. John would blink and they were gone, nowhere in the crowd of even in a desolate square.

Illusions.

As though these imposters were painted onto the air and then torn down by invisible bandits.

John pitied himself but there was nothing he could do to change that and no one who was willing to try. Ella was useless, insisting he keep the blog and write on it and do this and do that and things that John didn't want to do because they didn't involve him. They involved his shell and nothing more, no real John Watson of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers.

He needed the battlefield, a battlefield that had never contained Sherlock Holmes.

What had Mycroft said, that first time the governmental git had gotten hold of him? When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. And hadn't that been exactly what John had needed? Not anymore, not the battlefield of emotions and pain and hate that he was walking through now. John Watson needed the thrill and the heat and the dust as he ran from what was probably a roadside bomb. John Watson needed a life that didn't allow time for thinking, a life of coordinates and explosions and red crosses on white bags.

Pathetic.

They wouldn't let him back in on any grounds. John Watson was a veteran too early on, and he would only be laughed at and sent on his way. Stamford wouldn't allow it, and John knew that Stamford would find out because Stamford was the only guy prepared to sit in a pub with him for hours, stuck in silence but at the same time saying everything that needed to be said.

But at the same time, Stamford wasn't the person John Watson needed right now.

He also didn't need those prats in robes idling outside the flat. It wasn't Halloween, not even close, and either way John could fathom wearing robes in public. Sure, bed sheet ghosts were acceptable, but robes? Some things were supposed to stay in the wardrobe.

John?

Keep an eye on John.

Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

Just make sure-

Make sure he stays out of trouble and doesn't-

And doesn't for the love of all things holy-

Make sure he doesn't get on that bloody roof-

Can you do that?

Don't talk to him-

Don't meet his eyes unless you have too, just-

You have to make sure he's okay.

I can't do it myself, he'd know, he'd know within a second that it's me because-

Look, just as a favour.

I'll join the Order and I'll watch Potter and I'll do whatever you want-

But you have to keep John safe for me-

All he's got is himself and I can't let that go-

The others aren't anything to him anymore, just pieces in his- in Moriarty's little game-

Watch him.

John Watson was empty.

An artillery shell flying across a battlefield of a city.

Dodging everything because he couldn't bring himself to hit anyone else because who deserved to feel that kind of pain, who really deserved to feel things that no human being should ever have to feel?

One false move and bam! He was on that roof again, looking down at a city he didn't understand and couldn't even find his way around because the one who had guided him around it was gone, gone from this very roof and never coming back because what was a life in a silly little game?

Nothing.

Life wa g.

Disposable.

Mendable.

Put a plaster on and send the poor soul back into a world they didn't quite understand.

Watch the havoc as the world becomes a portal to that same bloody roof top, that same stupid place that John Watson could never leave because for some reason it was that significant, that important that he at least find out what had happened to his best friend.

"Sherlock… please."

Official bad person Sasha here. Hi. Sorry. Bad Sasha. I won't play with John's emotions any more than I have to. Which is quite a lot. Sorry. Am I speaking in fragments?

Oops.

Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading :)