The doctor and the detective

Chapter 1: Better than fine

It was raining almost all the time lately. This was perhaps not especially unusual. After all, it was England and London and so on. It just sort of irritated John. He couldn't walk anywhere without arriving looking like a depressed, nearly drowned creature. And he wasn't sad. He was most emphatically not sad.

Not that anyone believed him. When he said that he was fine, they nodded, but that didn't fool him for a second. Their voices remained gentle, their expressions sympathetic, their questions about his wellbeing never ceased. It was touching, but infuriating. If a man said that he was doing okay after the death of his friend, then it was impolite to doubt him. Nonetheless, everyone's concern was unabated.

All for naught, though. Sherlock wasn't dead.

It hadn't been difficult to figure out. First of all, Sherlock wasn't a fraud. Secondly, Sherlock would not have committed suicide in front of him. Of this John was sure. Conclusion: Sherlock is still alive but for some unknown reason wants people to think that he's dead. He obviously had a plan or purpose in mind with this bit of subterfuge and John wasn't about to mess that up. So, he had kept his mouth shut. If he ever mentioned what he knew, the others would probably think he had taken leave of his senses anyway.

Now all he had to do was wait for Sherlock to resurface, which was proven to be harder than John had imagined. Mostly, it was dull. To earn money in the meantime, he'd found a nearby GP who needed some help. He took frequent walks, he read a lot. He was incredibly bored.

Coming home after another one of his walks in the rain, John was immediately accosted by Mrs. Hudson.

'Are you alright, dear? You're going to catch a cold in this weather. Go on, go upstairs. It's nice and warm in there. Have you gone to see the therapist again? I think that's good. You should talk to someone about… well, you know,' she twittered, taking the sodden coat from his hands.

'I'm not… I've stopped seeing a therapist,' he admitted, starting up the steps. He resisted the urge to add that he was fine. Past a certain point it just seemed like he was trying to convince himself. Mrs. Hudson stood still at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him with a look John had grown quite accustomed to over the last couple of weeks. Genuine concern mixed with mild disapproval.

'Your friend is already upstairs,' she announced. He thanked her and ascended the stairs. Peter was sitting on the couch. He smiled when John entered. It occurred to John – not for the first time – that Peter might be in love with him. No matter how much John enjoyed Peter's company, this would be an unwelcome complication.

'I thought I'd drop in to see if you wanted…' Peter began, but John didn't let him finish the sentence. He kissed the other man. Kissed him all the way to the bedroom. And thought about Sherlock all the while.