Hello Bokkies, back with another Sherlock fanfic.

So I had to take my Avengers fic down because of many reasons beside the fact it was terrible and had no idea what I was doing. Instead this idea popped into my head and it is certainly much better in in my opinion, what about yours? (yes that was a cheep way to get you to comment).

Hopefully this is a lot more light-hearted than some of my previous entries.

Love from thecapefangirl

XXX

"Oh, John," Mrs Hudson said softy as she entered the room carrying a cup of tea, "it is about time we have a chat."

John was huddled under a blanket on the couch, staring at his inactive blog page.

Again.

He had been doing this for weeks, reading over the names of the past cases. He could not help but to smile at the memories at those cases brought to mind.

There was his first case with Sherlock, A Study in Pink, when he recounts the tale of the cabbie poisoning people because Moriarty paid him to do so, but that was the only the skeleton of what the blog contained. He very well couldn't tell them how the amazement that he had shown towards Sherlock's deduction skills changed to attraction.

From that night when John killed the cabbie on all he could think about was his partner. The way he looked in that stupid hat, to his eyes that managed to understand everything about him but never saw his true feelings.

And now he could never tell Sherlock about them.

It had now been three whole months since Sherlock jumped from St Barts and he is still in a state of shock. Every single morning he woke up expecting to find brains in the fridge and blood in the microwave, but there were only old pickles and a cold pie. The whole atmosphere of where ever he went was jus cold and dead.

Ever since that day he had been living out of 221B Baker Street. He had only gone out to the shops if Mrs Hudson refused to buy groceries for him. His only source of entertainment was to stare blankly at the TV or read through the old cases like he was doing now.

In a simple wrapped up statement: he was extremely messed up.

"I'm fine Mrs Hudson. Just want to be left alone." John murmured, not bothering to turn his head to face her.

"No you are not fine, John Watson!" She said sternly, slamming the tea onto the counter top. She stormed over next to him. "Here you are all day, moping around the place getting more depressed as the weeks go on. The room is getting messier than it had when Sherlock was here! Not to mention that you are behind on your rent. Just because I am your friend and care for you doesn't stop me from being your landlady!"

John felt a shock to his system, and to admit, a little scared. There were a few times he had seen Mrs Hudson turn like a dragon and he had been glad that he hadn't been the receiving end of it. She is a force of nature when she wanted to be.

"I'm sorry." She sighed. "Sherlock's death has been a terrible shock to us all and I understand that it is taken you to morn longer than the rest of us because how close you were to him but now has been long enough. Sherlock would certainly have wanted you to go out and live your life."

John swivelled around to face her, tears falling freshly over the dry ones. "It is just so difficult but…well…you know how I felt about him."

Mrs Hudson nodded sympathetically. From the start she just knew that they would be the perfect couple, even before they knew each other. "I know which is why I think you need to consider seeing a therapist again."

A groan escaped John's lips. He had seen enough therapists to last him a life time. The cost a huge amount of money and they all have the same generic fortune-cookie advice he could get off of the internet for free.

"Now before you object, Molly has told me that there is a new psychiatrist around London and apparently he is quite good. And what is better is that he does make house calls," then in a lower voice she muttered, "although it wouldn't do you any harm to get out."

John got up. The blanket pooled around his feet revealing and interesting choice in underwear and a food-stained wife-beater. That was when Mrs Hudson knew that she made the right decision.

"I suppose so. It's not like I have other things to do." He said. Mrs Hudson's face lit up.

"I knew that you would say that!"

A knock resounded from the bottom of the stairs. John took one look at her to know exactly who it was down.

"You have already…" John began with a sigh.

"…already made the arrangement, yes." She cut in, looking away a little sheepish. She grabbed the mug of half-spilt tea and walked towards the door. "I will go and clean some of this up and keep him busy while you do something about that chocolate on your lips."

She hurried around the apartment, picking items such as ten week old socks and an apple core that might have been the fruit of Eden that it was so old. She rushed down stairs to open up the door for the therapist.

Meanwhile John was having his first shower in days. The water cascaded down his back, soothing all tensions he had felt for a while.

He dried off and had a quick shave, cutting a few places in the process. He did stop for a few seconds when he saw a small wisp of a moustache.

"That doesn't look too bad. Maybe I will grow it out another time…"

XXX

The therapist stood out on the steps of 221B Baker Street, next to Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Cafe. He was an unusual looking man, with a shock of thick blond hair and side burns leading to a thin moustache. He wore a pair of sunglasses, even though the clouds covered the sky and it was spitting with rain. He sported a beige jacket with white strips, bell bottoms to match. A large briefcase stood next to him. Almost like a time traveler from the seventies apparated onto the steps.

Mrs Hudson had seen some people from her past, but this wasn't one she would have ever thought to see cross through her doorway.

"Are, are you Dr William Scott? The therapist?" She asked confused. She trusted Molly, she really did, but this just seems so…so…she couldn't even think of the word.

"Yeah, and you must be Mrs Hudson." He had a distinctive American accent. He reached out his hand and she gingerly took it.

"Ah, yes right. Well, um, come in." She stood out of the way to let him come through. He past her and a waft of strong cheep cologne past her.

They walked up to the apartment. The man stopped for a split second, shaking a little bit, before moving on. "I love what has been done with the place Mrs H. The skull, the bullet holes in the smiley face." He drifted past certain objects, reaching the deer stalker hat that lay next to John's laptop. "Yeah, it is really great." His voice faltered slightly.

"Well, I suppose I will go back downstairs and pop on the kettle, shall I"

"That sounds amazing, but I will just have plain cup 'o joe thanks Mrs H."

She backed away from the room, shaking her head.

"We really must be desperate." She muttered to herself.