vii
John was sitting in his chair again, staring at Sherlock's. It was so empty. Well, of course it was, but he never expected an absence to be so gigantic. Not that Sherlock ever sat in it properly, unless he was bothering to look respectable for a client, he was always perched with his knees under his chin there. Rocking and waiting for a case, or snapped to attention as he figures things out. God, the whole flat was so empty. John never really thought of it as his flat, after all, it was always his and Sherlock's flat.
He stayed away from the flat as often as he could, out on location for a case or working in hospitals so far away he had to sleep in hotels. It costs him a fortune but he doesn't need food for money of comforts any more, nothing worth money could bring him the comfort he really needed.
He didn't have girlfriends either, he gave up on them long ago. They all said he's too mopey or too odd. He had one night stands with women he was lucky enough to encourage for one night, but every time he did he remembered how this is not what I need. He didn't need someone to kiss or hug or fuck. He needed a man in a ridiculous coat who would annoy him enough to make him love him.
In fact, he was so often away from the flat that Mrs Hudson started a bed and breakfast whenever he was gone. He often forgot this little fact. Whenever he heard footsteps in the bedroom next door or clattering in the kitchen before he was out of bed, his heart leapt and he bounded through with stupid stupid hope only to find a stranger, confused as to why a man in his pyjamas is suddenly grinning manically at them.
Every time he was tired enough to be fooled into this happiness, he was sadder than ever immediately after. Like suddenly he could fly but moments later he was plunging into the cold and stormy sea.
So now he was in the chair, trying to tune out the sound of the radio that a stranger had turned on in the kitchen. Trying not to hear the clink of cutlery as Sherlock messing around with science equipment. Trying not to hear the footsteps as Sherlock's footsteps. The all too loud breathing as Sherlock's breath tickling his ear as he mutters some witty comment about the idiots of the world.
John was- however- startled when a mug of coffee landed abruptly on the table next to him. He looked up. The man was fully dressed, a backpack over his shoulder. He was a tourist, clearly foreign and his face crumpled at the brow every time he spoke.
"Coffee? You take sugar?" the man blurted.
John blinked. "Yeah," he lied, remembering someone else offering him coffee, long ago. Coffee with sugar. Sugar that the someone thought was drugged, he reminded himself before he labeled that memory as a fond one.
He sipped the coffee as the man watched him expectantly. The man had been staying there for several days, a special favour because he was a friend of a friend of a friend. According to Mrs Hudson, anyway. She told John the man would be stay for a couple of weeks, to his dismay, but in front of him the man is holding what looks like all his bags fully packed. "You off?" John asked, and then- realising the possible misunderstanding- he rephrases. "Are you leaving?"
The man nodded. "I won the lottery," he said. "I shall be buying a better place to stay, so as not to impose on you."
John's eyes widened. "You... won the lottery?"
"Yes," the man nodded. "Twice in a row."
John's eyes were in danger of dropping out of their sockets. "TWICE?"
The man nodded. "Lottery is easy in England, it seems. Man taught me trick."
"There's a trick to the lottery?" John asked.
"I can't tell you," the man beamed.
"Well I don't blame you," John sipped his coffee. It wasn't not so bad. "I had a friend who swore blind that he could get me the lottery numbers. Never believed him for one minute."
"Maybe he knows the trick too?" the man asked.
"No, no, he was just dicking around," John smiled. "Well, you haven't been imposing on me really. You've been polite and... quiet enough."
"I am sure I was annoying you!" the man exclaimed, grinning bizarrely despite the worry in his words. "Why- you always looking so sad when I am in the room!"
"That's just my face," John said.
"Then you are very sad all the time?"
"Yes."