Following the sociopath (Sher/Johnlock one-shots)

Two cups of tea

I sat down in my arm chair and had to face the other way, so I wouldn't have to see his chair again. I immediately took a sip of my tea and burned the tip of my tongue on the scalding liquid. I then noticed my phone vibrating on the table but didn't bother even checking to see who it was. It rang again a few minutes later. Who could possibly be calling me right now? I didn't want anyone's sympathies, they wouldn't bring him back. I roughly picked up the phone and brought it to my ear. "What?" I asked.

"John, look I'm sorry to bother you right now, but we've got some stuff of Sherlock's here at the Yard and I thought you would like to have it." Lestrade spoke. I felt tears come into my eyes again.

"Uh yeah, sure. I'll be up in an hour." I barely force out.

"Great, see you then." Lestrade hangs up. I sigh heavily. I didn't know if I'd be able to handle seeing everyone from the Yard and taking Sherlock's belongings in the same hour. Not even in the same week. It was just too much.

I arrived at the Yard an hour later, as I said I would. I went straight up to Lestrade's division, ignoring the sympathetic glances I received from everyone there who had at one point in time come in contact with Sherlock and I. "John, hi." Lestrade greets me as I walk up to his door. I clear my throat. "Hello." I say stiffly. I looked down to Lestrade's arms. They held a rather large cardboard box taped together with packing tape. It had 'Sherlock' written in all capital letters across the side and top in bold sharpie. I gulped, thinking of what could be in that box. He gave me a sorrowful look. "Here you are, John." Lestrade says, extending the box for me to take. I stared at it a moment before I took it with stiff hands. My joints felt like they didn't want to extend to take the box, or to curl around the edges to make sure it didn't fall from my grasp. I thanked Lestrade in a hoarse voice and then turned to leave.

I stood on the street trying to hail a cab. It took almost two minutes, an eternity compared to how fast Sherlock could get one. Amazing how little everyday things like getting a cab could bring back a thousand memories. "Where to mate?" the cabbie asked.

"221b Baker Street please." I say.

"Sure thing. Hey, you're that blogger, right? The detective's friend." I nod.

"Well, I'm real sorry mate. I know how tough that must be."

"Thank you." I say although he really didn't know how hard this was on me. Sherlock made me a life out of nothing, he brought me out of a dark pit I never expected to escape. He gave me excitement, and most importantly; he gave me a best friend.

I returned to the flat and sat down in my chair to unpack the box Lestrade gave me. There was a variety of things in there. First off was two flasks Sherlock used to use for various experiments, there were a couple DVDs, but I decided I'd watch them when I finished going through this. I also found his little magnifying glass he would use to inspect the smallest of details, next was his gun, even though he hardly used it. At this point, there were only three things left. His phone and his beloved coat and scarf. He never went anywhere without those two things. I hadn't realized I was crying until I saw a couple of teardrops splash onto his wool coat. I quickly tried to wipe them away, but they were only followed by more. I flipped his phone around in the palm of my hand before I shoved it in my pocket. "If she left him, he would have kept it. I don't know why, but people do. Sentiment." I can hear Sherlock's voice saying that from the second day we met in that cab. As more tears came from my eyes I began to think that maybe Sherlock was right about another thing. Love is a chemical defect found on the loosing side. I didn't want to have to do this anymore. I didn't want to miss him. I wanted to be the strong soldier I thought I was. But I wasn't. Truth is, I am completely and utterly lost without Sherlock. I reluctantly got up and shoved the first video into the DVD player. I curled up in my chair with Sherlock's coat wrapped around me. It smelled even more like him than his chair did. It was a video of him solving a case that Lestrade couldn't crack. Sherlock had sent it to the lab by email, insisting that it was only a six, so therefore he wouldn't leave the flat. The way he explained it made the whole case seem fairly obvious, although it wasn't that obvious to me or the rest of the Yard. I sighed, then got up to put in the second video. He made it for my birthday, saying sorry that he couldn't make it to the dinner. That of course he wasn't coming, there would be people. I smiled at that. Sometimes I forgot how funny my flatmate could be, how genuinely human he could be. I realized I had taken Sherlock for granted. I had thought that he'd always be here. He'd be that constant force in my life. And he had been. Until a couple of days ago.