Title: The Truth in Three Words

Ratings: K+

Summary: (Post-Reichenbach Fall) He was fine. He was fine. John lost count of how many times he had repeated those words to everyone. Maybe if he said them enough, he would start to believe them himself.

He was fine. He was fine. Well, yes, he'd been better, of course. He wouldn't deny that. But he was doing okay. It was all fine.

He was fine.

John had lost count of how many times he repeated those three words after Sherlock's—after that day. First to the police who came what felt like hours later (John still standing on the pavement, still looking at the blood and wishing he could look away but knowing that he couldn't). It wasn't anyone he knew, fortunately. So they believed him when he said it.

"I am fine."

Then to the doctor they forced him to see after he gave a statement, for shock, they said. John was a doctor. He understood shock, and really, if they just let him go home, he would be okay. He would be fine. He promised.

And then Molly came and was hugging him and crying just a little, but John hugged her back and repeated it again: "I am fine. I am fine." It took far too long to disengage from her, but eventually he did and he was back at Baker Street.

Lestrade had already been to see Mrs. Hudson, thank god, but she was still a wreck when John came through the door. He hugged her and let her cry and when she asked about him he promised he was fine. He would be okay. It would be all right.

And when he got to the top of the stairs and opened the door to the flat, he had the slightest feeling he might not be fine after all. Because there was Sherlock's stuff everywhere, waiting for him to come back. But he wouldn't. And that? That was not fine.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath like Ella taught him (but he was fine, no reason to call her up for an appointment), and when he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock standing across the room. Imaginary Sherlock, he knew. But it would do for now, because if someone was around he could continue being fine and there was no one other than Sherlock who would force him to keep that face and repeat those three words to anyone who asked.

(There were three other words he wanted to say, words he hadn't said since he was a child because any time he said them his Mum or Dad or someone reminded him they never changed anything, never helped anything.)

"I am fine," he whispered to Imagined Sherlock instead, who gave a curt nod of his head (his not-split-open head, his not-bloodied hair) in agreement.

The police had told John about Moriarty's body being found on the roof. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. John had a feeling that whatever had happened up there, it wasn't as Sherlock presented it on the phone. Moriarty's presence alone was clue enough. But whatever had happened, Sherlock was dead and John was alive and there was nothing he could do to change that.

And so John set about continuing to be fine with everything.

He survived the first night and first day after (though that was likely due to getting spectacularly drunk all night and sleeping the day away).

He survived the visits from Lestrade and Molly and Mrs. Hudson (all so caring and gentle as if he were made of glass, but he was always the one who wound up comforting them in the end).

He survived the funeral (not very well attended, but he still sat in the back and left before it was over).

That got him to just about the end of the first week. John sat in his chair in the flat, staring at the wall and thinking he might actually be fine.

"Not a lie then, is it?" he asked Imaginary Sherlock, whom he visualized standing by the window. John didn't feel there was anything wrong with these one-sided conversations. If Sherlock had once talked to John when he wasn't there, then why couldn't he do the same?

Sherlock looked up from his violin (John could only see it, couldn't imagine the sound correctly and gave up trying) and shrugged. John nodded in response.

"Exactly. We are fine."

And he might have been, if Harry hadn't called.

Leave it to Harry, a week in, to reach out to her younger brother. Mycroft had called and been round to see him repeatedly, though after the first visit (John promising that yes, he was fine) he stopped answering. But John's best mate's suicide hits the front page of the paper and the telly and Harry waits a week before ringing up and saying "Johnny, maybe you'd like to come round?"

(Actually, she was smart. If she'd contacted him any sooner, he probably would not have gone. But he'd run out of distractions.)

So that's how John finds himself at his sister's that same day, where she has purposefully not offered him a drink and instead they sit with too-strong coffee and Harry asks, "how are you, Johnny?"

"I am fine," John says, but it's less convincing this time, six days in, and he isn't sure why.

Harry observes him for a moment before telling him she's sorry for what happened, and John nods his head quickly, looking away, tuning her out, just ready to get this part over and wondering how long before he can leave. Imaginary Sherlock stands just behind Harry, watching John closely.

"He seemed like an all-right sort," Harry was saying, and John assumes she's talking about Sherlock. "Funny thing, running around and chasing criminals, but it seemed to suit you both."

John nods again, his head bobbing up and down and up and down, more in impatience than agreement.

"But you seemed…you seemed happy, Johnny. Like I hadn't seen you in a while." Harry smiles and looks at John fondly. "You were due for a bit of happiness for once."

At that John stops nodding, because she's right, Harry's right. He had been happy. His best friend was a nutter and John could barely keep a day job or a girlfriend and he knew he wasn't getting enough sleep or eating properly, so he probably wasn't fine but dammit, he had been happy. He had been happy, and then life had swooped in and taken it all away from him, but it was worse now than it was before. Before, he had just been empty. Now, he was broken.

He was not fine.

John looks back at Harry and she's staring at him, the way she'd done when they were kids, and suddenly he's five years old again and he's hurt and it's hard to pretend otherwise with her. He opens his mouth anyway to try and preserve the lie with three words (I am fine), but what comes out instead are three other words he's wanted to say and tried so very hard not to:

"It's not fair..."

John's voice is choked and broken, and as soon as those words are out in the open he feels like a child again, because only a child would say that, would speak the truth instead of maintaining a lie. Harry's face has gone soft which makes it all worse, and John looks past her to Imaginary Sherlock, needing someone to keep him in line.

But Imaginary Sherlock's giving a look John's never seen (but he must have seen it, or else how can he imagine it?) and his face reads "Go on, then, if you must." And then he turns his head to the side so John won't feel quite so ashamed as his sister embraces him and his own face crumbles and tears finally fall, washing away the lie, for a moment, that he is fine.

For CHA