Seven months, one week, three days. John stared out the window of his flat; his eyes clouded with grief. Seven months, one week, three days since his best mate Sherlock Holmes fell off of the St. Bart's Hospital roof. John refused to accept Sherlock's death, even after seven months, one week, three days. The press had long since moved on, covering a political scandal instead (this, of course, was conjured up by Mycroft to take the spotlight off of his brother). After all, one can only care about a dead man for so long. No matter how famous he is.
John had left 221B one month after the infamous fall. His therapist said it wasn't healthy for him to stay there, and John agreed. The time at 221B was spent staring into space or making two cups of tea until John remembered that only one was needed. By the time John left his old flat, teacups full of cold tea were strewn everywhere, waiting for the flatmate that wouldn't return.
The army doctor pulled out his phone. His fingers danced just above the buttons. Should he? His therapist told him not to, that it would make things harder.
Fuck it, John thought, and dialed.
The phone rang for one, two, three minutes until the voicemail clicked.
"John," hissed the prerecorded tone. "Do I have to say this?"
"Just do it, Sherlock." John's own voice said in the background.
"Fine," A pause. "You've reached consulting detective Sherlock Holmes...are you happy now, John?"
Click. Beep.
John cleared his throat. He was crying again. "H-hi, Sherlock. It's John, in case you were wondering. I know you're...missing and all – it`s been seven months, one week and three days, by the way – but, anyways, I thought I should call you. I know you won't answer, but I miss you."
John took a deep breath and let out a sob. His phone almost fell out of his hand.
"I miss you. Sherlock," he continued. "And if you could let me know you're still here, just call me, or something-"
John's phone buzzed, alerting him of an incoming message. John pressed the End Call button and checked it.

I prefer to text.

-SH