A/N: This short 221B is inspired by the song Weighty Ghost by Wintersleep, an absolutely fabulous song. Go have a listen, it's worth it.
It'll be three parts; one published now, another later and the last still later. Thanks to all reviewers as well as those who have followed or even have this story as a favorite!
Have You Seen My Ghost?
The day his best friend had died, John Watson hadn't returned home.
He figured he had had a good enough excuse for not returning to the flat, not when he knew that…
Not when he knew he'd have to explain to Mrs. Hudson why he was crying, why his hands were bloody, why... Why he looked dead.
He didn't want to see her face when she found out the answer.
Lestrade had tried to talk to him, asking what the hell had happened but John's throat was clogged with a wretched mix of anger, grief and disbelief. He'd seen the cold dead eyes of his friend and damned them; damned his own fingers as they failed to find a pulse in the cold dead body. John had just stared at the ground, that unforgiving mass of concrete that held the drying blood.
Instead of returning to where he knew he'd find unfinished experiments, half-finished violin compositions and an empty leather chair, John simply walked.
He walked till he couldn't feel his legs anymore, wishing it was his whole body going numb and tingling painfully; anything would have been better than that rotten feeling vibrating through his body.
Sherlock had left him alone to return to lifelessness; to return to his ghost-like state of being.
John tried desperately not to feel betrayed.