AN: This was going to side project one-shot, then a couple of chapters, but then I laughed in the face of simplicity.

1st person is not my usual. It is what I'm most worried about. Therefore your reviews are much appreciated so I know how I'm doing with it.

Also sorry I'm so American. I try (but not that hard).

Enjoy :)

Not betaed.

John POV

At first I felt numb.

I didn't stay at the flat for a while. It was just too hard. I only went back to get my things for Harry's.

Even then I was just stuck sitting in the living room. I didn't know what to do. There were too many questions. There was no one left to answer them.

I only took what I needed but I also secretly took something else. Mrs. Hudson had said she would pack up some of his things. The equipment I didn't much care about. It wasn't of value to him. It could all be replaced. But not his violin.

I never did find out where he got it. I guessed I would never know. I would never know why it was the one sentimental thing he kept. Along with his scull but I was sure Mrs. Hudson would not touch that. I really didn't feel like touching it either.

Living with Harry was easier than I had thought. Of course, she was tiptoeing around me. She knew I wasn't really reacting or processing and I think she was afraid to send me over the edge. She just let me be and continued on with her life.

Honestly I ignored her. I kept to myself. I didn't need to worry about if she was drinking or not. I couldn't deal with it.

I really couldn't deal with anything.

I had to take off work for a bit. I actually took off from the world for a bit. I couldn't go out, couldn't go online, couldn't watch the TV, couldn't look at my phone, couldn't read the paper. Everything had to do with him. People wouldn't let it alone.

Of course the news took hold of the story. It was broadcasted worldwide as some big scandal. They had a field day with it, each station giving their own opinion. That of course led to everyone finding out. If they hadn't already.

The media flooded my work on more than one occasion. Looking for me. Sarah shooed them off as best she could. When they realized I wasn't coming, they stopped showing up. I can only imagine how often they went to the flat.

I made the mistake of looking on the blog once. I had honestly hoped for some sign from him. Telling me it was all some kind of cruel joke. At the time I believed it was. I was looking for something only we would understand. But after ten minutes I had to shut it off. There were too many people. People who gave their condolences. People who said it was all fake. People who left hateful messages about how he did the right thing. People who hid behind the virtual world being left anonymous. It was sickening. I couldn't read more.

My email was the same. Friends, family members, and strangers all taking a whack at giving their opinions. I closed it out but the notifications still came. I shut down my computer and took the battery out.

Luckily strangers didn't get my phone number. That didn't mean it wasn't ringing off the hook from people I knew. I had thought about answering but I just couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone. I laughed a bit once at it. Because I was acting like him. Antisocial. Not wanting to talk to people.

Texts flew in when I didn't return the calls. I read them and let them sit unanswered. After a few days the people behind the messages became more and more worried. They threatened to call my sister or come visit me. So I answered them all the same: I'm Fine.

I was fine. I couldn't explain it.

I went through my days the same. Eating, reading, tea, sleeping.

Reading was harder than I would have liked to admit. Everything reminded me of him and that went the same for every word. I would have to stop more than once just to clear my head to try and focus on whatever story I was reading at the time. Needless to say, the plots didn't stick that well.

One night Harry came to check on me.

"You can't keep doing this." She hadn't said anything before that so I was very confused as to what she was talking about. She was just in the doorway of her guest room, the room where I was staying, crossing her arms with a pout on her face.

"Doing what?" I was just reading a book in bed. I found it the most comfortable place to sit. My leg had started to act up again and resting it straight out was most pleasant.

"Acting like you're fine."

"I am fine."

"No John. You're best friend just killed himself. You are not fine." She had a point. I knew she did but I didn't want to admit it. I was doing fine and if I had to face the fact that I wasn't, it would all be too much. I was fine pretending because it would hurt less. "Now if you're not going to talk to me about it…you need to find someone."

She left after that.

I did think about what she said after she left. I spent an hour or two just looking up at the ceiling thinking. I did that more often. He really had rubbed off on me. The only difference was that ridiculous pose he had with his fingers poised under his chin.

I tried it once. To see if it would help me think better. And it also sort of felt like I should try it. Just once. It didn't work though. It just made me think of him so I dropped my hands and went back to looking at the ceiling tiles.

After thinking about it for a few days I decided my sister was probably right. I didn't like to admit that much. Sibling rivalry and all. Nothing like his though.

Even the thought of Mycroft would get my blood boiling in an instant. There was no way I didn't blame him for this. It was his fault. He was the one who gave the information that led to...I couldn't think of him long though because then the emotion would start to show and I was afraid if I showed some, it would all come spilling out.

Who best to spill out your emotions to than a stranger right? Well since I didn't have the pleasure of talking to a stranger due to my infamous relationship with the media sensation I decided the next best thing: therapist.

I wasn't the biggest fan of my therapist. I wasn't really a big fan of therapy to begin with. But I thought I should go. As much as I wanted to stay numb, the doctor in me told me it wasn't healthy.

I don't like that guy sometimes.

She made me talk about it. She made me say what happened. I don't know if she believed me completely. Not all of it. He was a hard man to grasp. But I told her.

She didn't really help much. They say talking about it will make you feel better. I think that's untrue. She just made me face the questions that I had already pushed to the back of my head. The question that stuck out most to me was about what I would say to him now, that I hadn't been able to say before.

Oh god there was so much I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell him he was a bleeding bastard for one. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault. I wanted to tell him how much he mattered. I wanted to tell him how many people appreciated him. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated him.

I wanted to tell him to come back. He could be as crazy and asinine as he wanted as long as he came back. Leave the flat a mess, play your violin at 3am, I would even buy him his own gun to shoot at the wall as long as he came back.

I wanted to tell him how much I miss him. How much he means to me. How I don't feel right without him. I didn't want to go on without him. How important he was in my life and in my heart.

I wanted to tell him how he saved me.

He would have hated that of course. Too much sentiment laid out on top of him. He wouldn't know what to do with it.

His circuit would fry from overload.

Of course I would make that joke. It was a way of punishing myself for what I said to him in the lab. I didn't really mean it. I really needed to control my anger better.

So the therapist really only opened a can of worms. I spent that night going through every question that popped into my mind and facing it rather than stuffing it in some bin somewhere like he would have. Maybe that was all he really did. Repress instead of delete. Maybe that's what deleting was. If so, I was rather good at it.

Not that night though. That night I faced it all.

Yes, I cried. Everything was so much. I pictured him there. I could see him so clearly in my mind poking fun at my sentiment.

I yelled at him in my head. Sometimes yelling out loud without meaning to. Lucky for me Harry was out that night. Her neighbors probably got an earful.

I had finally taken out that violin. I had it hidden in my bag still. Out of sight so I wouldn't be reminded. Then it was there and I knew it and I had to get it out. I looked at it, touched it, again looked for any clues he might have left. I ran my fingers on the strings, put it up to my chin, I even plucked a note or two. It didn't hold any secrets. It felt very heavy in my hands.

I didn't sleep much that night. I was trying to figure it all out. I couldn't do it. I was ashamed at how broken I was.

It was like I was back right after the war. How can a person have PTSD over their friend? I suppose my circumstances could call for something like that though.

Over and over and over again I could just picture how he looked. Falling and falling. Me screaming.

I stood on my bed once. I wanted to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling. I stood on the end of my bed and looked over trying to picture it all. How he could do it I never would understand. I never was one for heights though.

I felt so lost that night. The room was crushing me. My thoughts were crushing me. I couldn't push myself through. It was all so much. I didn't want any of it. I didn't want to face anything. I couldn't deal with it.

I had only really wanted to kill myself once before. Right then the thought plagued me. I knew if I tried he wouldn't forgive me. I would be copying him. He wouldn't get his dramatic exit.

I ended up sobbing and slowly falling back into the bed as my leg started to hurt and spasm.

I was like that for a few days. I wouldn't talk to Harry, though she did come to check on me when hearing me one night.

I didn't see the therapist again. She would just tell me to write a blog about it. I wasn't about to go on my blog.

Then I started to get a bit better. I realized if I pushed down and set aside all of this, let myself get a bit numb again, I could move. I was starting to get sick of doing nothing with my time. I decided to go back to work.

My first day back was easy going. Sarah was glad I was there and she gave me a light workload. There were no reporters and I didn't run into much trouble.

Slowly I got back into habit. I started to go to work every day.

I was still numb though. I had confronted myself but it was all still there, dragging me down. Of course people couldn't see that. They would want to talk about it. Try to fix me. So I stored it away.

I found it comforting to picture him there. Talk to him about random things. Not really about what had happened. It hurt but it hurt more not to picture him.

After a few weeks I decided to move out of my sister's.

She tried to get me to stay or look for a new place but I couldn't do it. I needed to go back to 221B.

Mrs. Hudson was a wreck when she saw me. She was worried sick about me. Apparently my texts were not enough to ensure her I was really okay. So I pushed it all down when I spoke with her. It was hard because seeing her just brought a whole new onslaught of memories but I managed. It was best no one knew how bad I was still hurting.

Going into the apartment was the most difficult. Of course she followed me in. She was worried about my limp and my cane. It was unfortunately a real tell when it came to how I was. She probably knew I wasn't as good as I let on.

When we were inside I found she had indeed bagged most of his things. She went on about sending stuff off to a school and the stuff she didn't know what to do with. She seemed to be doing better than I thought. I knew she had a motherly love for him. She was a strong woman though. She kept herself busy.

"Mrs. Hudson," I interrupted her on a long winded speech about cleaning or something. It was horrible of me but I really had stopped listening. She had mentioned she put his things in his room and saying his name that many times had gotten to me.

"Yes dear?"

"I don't mean to be rude but-"

"You wish to be alone." She had read my mind. I nodded.

"Of course dear. Let me know if you need anything." She scooted out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her as if she was scared of frightening me.

I was left to stare at the room. It was so much more different than when we had left it. The clutter was significantly reduced. It led me to believe I didn't really own much in this place. It was a sad thought really.

The furniture was still the same. Someone like Mrs. Hudson would have needed help to move things like that. So I sat down in my chair. Staring across at his. Everything felt so heavy.

I stayed like that for a while. All the thoughts and questions just kept flooding back. I replayed every conversation I had in Harry's guest room in my head. I replayed some memories. I didn't want to lose the memories. Bad or good it didn't matter as long as he was in them.

My stomach was what made me get up. I hadn't eaten. I thought about calling down to Mrs. Hudson because a quick look in the kitchen showed the lack of food. Of course it was gone. I had been gone for a long time. I didn't call down though. I didn't want to have to talk about it and I didn't want to have to talk about what I did over the past weeks.

I went out on my own, leaving my bag of things on the couch to be unpacked later. My limp made shopping a bit more difficult but I still managed on my own.

Unlucky for me Donovan was there at the same store.

She was nicer to me than usual. She had always been a bit nicer to me but still it was obvious she was tiptoeing around my feelings. I was able to shorten our conversation and skip out soon enough.

Meeting her made me think of Lestrade. It had been a while since I had spoken to him. I gave him a call that night. He was good about it. He avoided all questions about how I was and really just talked about himself and work. Apparently he and his wife were getting a divorce. It made me regret ignoring him but he seemed to understand. He focused on his kids after that. Funny stories about their school days. But he couldn't help himself when I went to hang up.

"But seriously John…how are you?"

"I'm fine. I'll talk to you later alright?"

"Alright. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

By the time I got off the phone I was set out for bed. I didn't have work the next day and I wasn't quite sure how to deal with the idea of waking up in the flat and spending the entire day in it. I thought of making plans to go out. I knew people wanted to see me. I just wasn't sure I would be ready to see them.

My room was homey. That was comforting. Mrs. Hudson had cleaned in there so the dust didn't pile up. I was grateful for that as I fell down on top of my bed. I left everything to be unpacked for the next day. I just needed some sleep.

Waking up in that bed felt right, at first. Within seconds it started to feel very, very wrong. It was right for me to be there, but there was something missing. I remembered what that something was.

No wonder no one had woken me up in the middle of the night for some weird experiment or to chase after criminals. I missed it. It was better than the nightmares that kept me up. They were mixed now: Afghanistan and the roof of St. Bart's.

Still, I went down and made myself something to eat. I couldn't stop the feeling of loneliness that pushed in on me. The flat was too empty and too quiet.

It was too empty.

I started to unpack my things. It didn't take too long for my stuff but when I was done I was left to stare at that damned violin. It was teasing me. Taunting me. Where could I put it?

It was his. Completely and utterly his. Who was I to say what to do with it?

I settled on putting it, in its case, on his chair. It seemed right. It felt like he was there.

The rest of that day I spent trying out some TV. The news stories had died down enormously and I found I could watch without being triggered into a downward spiral. That was how I spent that day. Just drowning out my mind. That and Mrs. Hudson stopped by quick, just to check on me. She didn't stay very long. I wasn't good company.

The next few days I woke with the same feeling. A few seconds of everything being fine and then the crush of reality. I didn't think it would go away really ever.

Mrs. Hudson would check in on me every day. Keeping tabs. Keeping watch.

That just made me think of Mycroft and his cameras. I flipped them off every once and a while when I thought about it. It didn't really make me feel better but it didn't make me feel worse.

I talked to Lestrade more. We hung out at the pub a few times. I was trying to avoid the alcohol though. I knew it wasn't good to drink in the state I was in. I didn't need alcohol to numb myself like Harry did. I saw the path that led to. I still wouldn't open up to Lestrade about how I was though. I always told him I was fine.

I tried to avoid his room. The door was closed and a part of me thought it was better that way.

One day I couldn't help it though.

I was on my computer trying to file through my emails. I still avoided the internet and my blog. There was too much on there. I could only imagine how much was on my Facebook. Everyone always feels they can show sympathy over that site. I didn't need the friends of friends of friends to be writing to me though. The blog was probably still a hot zone so I thought email was a good start. There was a lot to go through. A lot of subject lines to read. Deleting all that had his name in it.

I could have sworn I heard something coming from behind that door. My heart leapt to my throat and I stared it down. I hadn't gone in there. I couldn't go in there. I was doing so well at pushing down everything. If I went in there it would be like the night after I went to the therapist's all over again. I couldn't do it again. I barely made it through that night. How could I go through another?

Curiosity got the better of me. I thought since it had been almost four months since it happened, I should be able to go in there. Four months was a long time to not open that room.

I walked to the door and stood in front of it for a long while. I wasn't sure what to expect on the other side. I'd left this space to him because he left my room to me. Most of the time. I rarely got to see in there. It almost felt wrong to do it now.

I could picture him in there. Doing an experiment, complaining about Mrs. Hudson getting rid of his equipment and hiding it in there so she wouldn't touch it. His room was probably a huge mess. No more mess could be contained in it and that's why it had been moved into their shared space. I could see it if I couldn't even open the door it was so messy.

I was wrong. I pushed the door open easily and stood looking into the dark room. Boxes filled the room mostly. They were full of the things Mrs. Hudson didn't know what to do with. For a moment I hoped she knew what was in them. For all we knew he was making some kind of killer virus that was growing in here. The thought made me laugh. Of course he wouldn't do that but I wouldn't have put it past him. Well it didn't smell like rotting human flesh so I was safe to guess it was probably most of his knickknacks and books.

I walked in finally. It did feel like I was going somewhere I wasn't supposed to. The thought made my leg hurt a bit less. I felt something in this room. I was able to walk over to the bed with almost no help needed from my cane.

His room was nothing like what I thought. It was his, no doubt. The lack of sentimental things, the colorless walls and fabrics, the furniture was his. It was very clean. Very posh. I assumed that would be the case though.

Of course he'd have no problem putting his mess out for me to look at and clean but his room was to remain immaculate. Everything was straight edges and order. I imagined it must have been what his mind was like.

Walking around, I put the cane down next to the bed because it was of no use. I went over to his closet. Mrs. Hudson had left his things hanging. I imagined she didn't know what to do with such custom made suits. They were left in the order he left them in. I imagine there was an order anyway and my little mind just couldn't see it.

I fumbled through his wardrobe for a while. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for until I found it. In one of the drawers where he kept his shirts I could see the color purple shining off the light in the room. I always liked him in that purple dress shirt. I didn't know why. I guess it just suited him. I pulled it out and made my way back over to the bed. I wasn't sure why I took it with me. It just felt like I should.

I went over to the bed because I was kind of curious as to what his bed really felt like. Half the time he would end up sleeping on the couch and the other half he didn't really sleep at all. I sat down and found any doubt of the comfort of the bed flying out the window. It was memory foam. A giant queen size memory foam mattress for the man that never slept. Why he made me have the upstairs bedroom I'd never really understand. Sometimes I thought he just liked to be a dick for the sake of it.

I found it kind of hard to get up after that. I just found myself staring at that shirt and running my hand through his sheets. Soon I got very tired and I accidentally fell asleep.

It was the first night I didn't have a nightmare in a very long time. I accidentally slept through till late afternoon, much later than I was used to getting up but I supposed my body was trying to catch up.

Waking up was a bit hard. It was like I was wrapped up in a bubble made up of everything him. The thought of leaving it scared me. Like if I left and shut the door, the room would just disappear. So I stayed there as long as I could. But nature called and I had to leave. I didn't shut the door though. I left it open.

The next night after coming home from work and keeping my brain numb with some TV I was growing tired. I stood at the bottom of my stairs for a long time. My cane in my hand. The limp had returned shortly after I left his room. It seemed like such a large climb when there was a perfectly good bed on this floor. So I went to where I left the door open and did the easy thing. I set the alarm on my phone for work the next morning and I let myself sleep.

It was like that for a while. I would go to work, repress everything and act fine, then I would come home and keep myself numb until I slept. Every night I would sleep in his room. I told myself it was because the bed was better and the stairs weren't good for my leg but I knew it wasn't true.

It wasn't like I would unload everything when I entered his room. But for a moment each night, when I knew I was alone, I could feel it. I could feel everything pressing in on me but it was okay because he was there surrounding me. It made it all better somehow.

My limp would always return the next day though. It didn't go unnoticed.

Lestrade and some of my co-workers would hint about how I needed to get a different flat. Their reasons were subtle. The stairs, not being able to afford it on my own, things like that. It wasn't all true. Though I did wonder sometimes why Mrs. Hudson didn't complain about the money. I paid her as much as she would let me which was only what I had been paying before. She had said it was covered. I assumed Mycroft had something to do with it but I didn't much feel like thanking him.

Mrs. Hudson even mentioned moving once.

"You know dear, I would not be offended if you started looking for another flat. I'd understand you know." She would always check in every other day or so, make light conversation, make sure I was eating and taking care of myself before leaving.

"That's alright Mrs. Hudson. I'm perfectly happy here." Happy was a lie. But I was fine. She left it alone after that.

They were really all just telling me to move on with my life and forget about him in the nicest way possible. They were all so subtle about it. Well most were. All except Harry. She pretty much just screamed it.

She was visiting. It was my birthday. I guess she thought I shouldn't be alone. I might have thanked her for it if she didn't start in on me.

We had talked for a while. I drank my tea while she drank her coffee. It might have been spiked. I didn't really want to know the answer so I didn't ask.

"How are you John?"

Everyone kept asking me that.

"I'm fine."

"Don't give me that crap. Why haven't you found a new place yet?"

"I like this place."

I did.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?" I was starting to get angry. Usually people just left me alone after I said I was fine.

"Torturing yourself."

"I'm not torturing myself."

"Look around you! How is this not torture? You see him everywhere you look. You haven't gotten rid of any of his things. You haven't even started looking for another flatmate. You really need to move on!"

Really I didn't know what to say to her but I didn't need to think of anything because she just kept pushing on. Apparently she had been thinking of this for a while. She had a whole speech lined up.

"It's not good for you. You of all people should know that Doctor Watson." She said the doctor a bit sarcastically. "It's been half a year. You can't keep putting yourself through this. I mean I can only imagine what his room is like."

She saw me stiffen at mentioning his room. She started to move towards it.

"No! No Harry. Don't you dare!"

I wasn't fast enough with the limp though. She pushed open the already cracked open door and she saw. I really had left most of his stuff there. I had eventually moved the boxes to a corner but you could see nothing else was touched. His clothes still hung in their order, his shirts were still put away. All except the one which I got into the habit of leaving next to the bed while I slept. She must have noticed that though because the bed looked like someone had woken up in it that morning. That was because someone had.

"John." The amount of shock, pity, and all out confusion in her voice said more than I needed to hear. I reached around her and shut the door, most of the way.

"Don't. Just don't." She did.

"You have a shrine for him and you sleep there! You can't keep doing this! You need help. That's coming from me. You hear that? Your drunk of a sister is telling you to go get some help. Will that make you listen?!"

I didn't like the point she was making. I knew what I was doing was a bit not good but I didn't need her to tell me that. I didn't need to hear any of this from her.

"I think you should leave." I started to walk her out but she still had more to say.

"You need to talk to someone at least. Anyone. Mom even! Maybe you'll listen to her."

"I am not talking to mom about this." I didn't need Harry to talk about mom. Harry was a bitch to her most of the time. She didn't deserve to talk about her because what she was really saying was Maybe you'll listen to her because you're a momma's boy.

My mother was a wonderful person and she probably would understand and talk to me but really I was too ashamed of myself to do so. She didn't need to know how I was acting. She didn't need to worry. Harry was trouble enough as it was.

She didn't need two broken kids.

"Find someone. Six months John. People don't act like this over a man they only knew for a couple of years who was just a friend. Best friend even. Was he more than that? It's the only thing that makes sense. I mean-"

"Get out!" I had felt the tremors in my hand start up again. She was just making me furious. I wanted her gone. I didn't need more questions to be answered. I didn't need her to try and talk to me. To try and fix me. I didn't need her.

"No! I mean for the love of god John, even this?" She was holding up his violin. I had put it on the windowsill for her visit. I didn't want her to find it sitting on his chair like it had been all this time. I didn't want her to talk about him.

"Put that down." I was inching over slowly. I really didn't want her to get so mad at me when she was holding that. It was out of its case. I needed that to be safe. She shouldn't have even been holding it. No one but him should had ever been holding it.

"Sherlock is dead John!"

"Don't you dare say his name!" I lost it at that. I had closed the distance and was screaming in her face at this point. I held the violin in one hand trying not to rip it from her for fear of it breaking. "You need to leave. I don't need your help. I don't want your help. I don't want you around. Get out of my apartment and while you're at it, just get out of my life! I don't need you."

"Fine. You want to keep on pretending everything is fine. Fine." She ripped the violin from my hands before I could stop her and she stomped off towards the door. "You are going to drown in this John. You are going to drown in him. He's dead. You need to accept that and move on. Get help. But don't come to me." She stomped off down the stairs right after throwing the violin on the ground.

I didn't know what her point was in throwing it down like that. I guess she just wanted to hurt me or she wanted me to accept that everything was not fine and that I could be greatly affected by its harm. Well I was greatly affected. I ran over as fast as I could and bent down to pick it up. It was mostly okay. There was a chip in the framework and scratches along the side but nothing was too broken. I set it back down on his chair. I was going to bring it to a shop to have them fix it. I wasn't okay with it being broken like that.

I was pretty shaken to say the least. I didn't really know what to do, I was so mad. So I tried to clean up. I figured I should get rid of anything that made me think of the fight with Harry. I poured out the rest of my tea out and washed the cup. I went back for her cup and sniffed it. I was right. She had spiked it. I dumped it out and left it there.

There was whiskey in the back of one of the cabinets. I had managed to stay away from drinking this entire time but it seemed to be calling me. I knew how wrong it was. Especially after spending the day with Harry.

I didn't think I could stay numb on my own though. Not after that fight. And I really didn't want to have to face another night like before. I didn't have the guarantee that I would make it through.

As I held the whiskey in my hand I thought about calling Lestrade. Maybe if I went out to a bar with him it would be better. I really didn't want to talk though.

So I started drinking.

I hated myself for it. That was until I was completely drunk. I just sat there with the TV on, not really watching, with a sad smile on my face.

I was right plastered by the time I went off to bed. I stumbled over to his room. I wasn't about to change because of my sister. I stumbled in and crashed on the bed making sure I stayed on my side in case I felt sick later. I was sure the morning wouldn't be good. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about anything.

So I slept.

I woke up early the next morning. It was still dark out.

I always was like that when I drank. I always woke up far too soon and could never fall back asleep. The hangover was to blame.

The hangover wasn't what woke me up this time though. It was there, don't get me wrong. But what woke me was the low baritone voice that shook me to my core.

"John, what are you doing in my bed?"