A/N You can never, never have enough post-Reichenbach angst. Not ever. (This one is also extremely short, so sorry about that, but the next few are back up to the usual ~500 word length.) And, of course, THANK YOU FOR THE 300+ REVIEWS! It means more to me than you can imagine.
Thanks to johnsarmylady, NinjaGirlRebecca, 666BloodyHell666, total-animal-lover, and Motaku1235
Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.
LXX. 67%
Two years in, it's as hard as ever, if not worse. Everyone's given up trying to comfort him; in their eyes, it's pathetic that he hasn't recovered by now, though of course they'd never say such a thing aloud. Still, he knows what they think. It's clear to him, clear in their eyes and their tight, disapproving expressions. Get over it. It's been two years. Longer than you had with him, even. Isn't it supposed to take half as long as you knew someone to recover from them? But, no, that's only when you're in a romantic relationship… and this is more than that, so much deeper and more real than that…
He still feels it, every day. The emptiness of the flat, pressing in on him from all angles. The lack of anything to work towards… he hasn't even gotten himself any more girlfriends, because he knows what a petty replacement they'd be, what pathetic attempts at filling the horrible gap in his chest.
It's scary, really—beyond scary, terrifying, and it keeps him awake at night, prowling in the corners of his restless mind, taunting and frightening him with its realness: Sherlock is not coming back. Never.
For the rest of John's life, he'll be alone.
And if this, this, is how bad it is for him after just two years, he can't imagine the mess that he'll be in when his time comes rolling around.
John doesn't know, of course, that he's already two thirds of the way there.
He doesn't know, but he will, soon enough.