Following the sociopath (Sher/Johnlock one-shots)

John's fall

Mrs. Hudson had suggested that I go to John's grave every once in a while to get my frustration and grief out. I took her advice and went that night.

I turned up my coat collar and shoved my hands in my pockets, walking to where John's grave was situated on top of a small hill behind a tree. The gold letters taunted me, jumping out from the black marble. "John," I began. "I know you're not listening. It's not possible. And I also know that talking to a dead person is completely senseless. But I guess I'm doing it anyways. I miss you John. Tremendously. How could you leave me like that? You may have gotten to say goodbye, but I never did." I pause, tears forming in my eyes. I laughed lightly at myself. Sherlock Holmes, crying because a man died. "I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing here. Mrs. Hudson said it was to release some of my emotions, but I think this is just bringing them back up. I'm- I'm going to uh, go home now. Back to Baker Street. Come if convenient, if inconvenient come anyways." I half smiled, remembering when I sent him that text just so I could use his phone when he was half way across London. I walked away slowly, hoping that maybe if I moved slow enough, John would come and grab me from behind, telling me it was all a trick; that he wasn't actually dead. But that never happened, so I walked home in the deafening silence of my own thoughts.

The days dragged on and on, melting into each other and making for an incredibly dull life. I had managed to loose even more weight. As if I wasn't skin and bones before. My button up shirts that used to cling so tightly to me that it seemed the buttons would pop off now hung loosely from my shoulders. Why was I letting the death of one man effect me so much?

I laid on the couch one day, hands folded under my chin, somewhere deep in my mind palace. I sifted through the facts I had found from my investigations. I didn't have much to go on. It's not like there were any cameras on that bloody roof. After some very long minutes I came to the realization that had been in the back of my mind ever since John fell, the one I refused to let form all the way. Moriarty had used John to get to me. This was his sick way of burning my heart out.

Darkness finally rolled around and I dreaded sleep. I've deprived myself of it for the past three days and I knew I couldn't go any longer without it. I dragged my feet until I got to my room. I flopped down on the bed, hearing it squeak in protest at the sudden impact of my little weight. I must have laid there for at least four hours. I was tired but I couldn't sleep. I knew what happened if I fell asleep. I'd get that retched nightmare again.

Before I knew it, I was on the way to John' room. I didn't remember consciously making that decision, but here I was.

I carefully curled myself on top of his bed, careful not to mess up the neatly made blankets on top of it. I didn't let my eyes wander, nothing had been touched since John left. There was still the latest load of his laundry carefully folded at the edge of the bed, his robe that he only occasionally wore was still hanging on the back of the door, there were so many dust particles that it made the room almost look a dull brown, and I bet if I looked, his gun would still be in the top drawer of his dresser. So to distract myself from all of that I buried my head into the pillow he usually slept on and inhaled the scent of my blogger. It smelled like tea, shampoo, and black berry jam. It smelt like home. And within minutes of inhaling it, I was asleep.

I was pleased to see that I had gone the whole night without any nightmares. It must have been sleeping in John's room that stopped them. I decided I'd sleep there from now on.

I picked up the morning paper from the kitchen table where Mrs. Hudson must have placed it there along with my cup of tea and some toast that had now gone cold. I glanced at the headline on the first page. "Four serial murders within three days. Investigators are baffled." It read. When are they not? I wondered, but couldn't be bothered to read more or try and figure it out. It wasn't the same without John. I sighed and took a sip of the tea just to immediately put it back down. It didn't taste as good as I remember it being, and it was only lukewarm.