when it began (johnlock)

Chapter 1

Hey everyone! So I have been obsessed with Johnlock, so I thought, why not create a story based off of the obvious romance they have? I hope you all enjoy; I am not the best writer in the world but I try haha. And yes, I used the scene of John and the therapist talking, but I made it a little bit of my own scene. Also, I used the line where John says "don't be dead sherlock" blah blah blah you get the point. So please don't hate me. I think the scenes fitted in great with this chapter. Sorry for somewhat of a filler chapter but it's an introduction to the story, bear with me!

Apologies for any mistakes, and thanks for reading!

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"John Hamish Watson. 4 foot 6 inches. Born March 31, 1971." noted the therapist sitting across from John Watson, and that was about all that was said for the next 15 minutes. The therapist had cleared her throat more than 4 times so far to break the incredibly awkward silence, and John had had enough of this.

"Why did you call me here?" John turned his head from looking out the window to face her, while cracking his neck.

"Because, it's been 18 months since our last appointment. What happened, John?" She spoke in a whisper, like talking to a child on the verge of tears.

"Do you read the news or watch telly?" The therapist nodded, responding, "Sometimes."

"Then you should know why I am here." John's eyes began to fill with the hot liquid, and he turned his head back out the window, trying not to feel vulnerable. He had been holding in his anger for the appointment, but he couldn't stand it anymore. He hated the childish treatment he had been given since the incident.

"As I said, I only sometimes read or watch the news. I may not know why you're here. John, it is best for you to talk to someone about your troubles. Now go on; tell me the reason why you came." His therapist spat out the words with such attitude, and she seemed to not have the patience for him. This sparked John's anger once more, but he swallowed it down again and tried to act as calm as possible.

"My best friend is dead. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, my flatmate, and one of the only people in the world to truly know me. Are you happy now?" John grunted out. He could feel the lump in his throat growing to the beat of his heart, which was increasing frequently with each thought of Sherlock that popped into his head. He turned his head back to the window while blinking tears away from his eyes.

"Mr. Watson, you mustn't get so upset--"
"Upset? How could I not be upset? He was the one who called me to give me his suicide note. He gave me his last words, and the last thing I did for him was watch as he stepped off the ledge of that building and fell to the ground. I felt his pulse, and saw the color of his body fade away to white. I watched him die. And I couldn't do anything. I should have done something. I just stood there and--"

"Enough, Mr. Watson. I understand. You feel the need to take control of the situation and you need to blame something for what happened, and you're blaming yourself. That is unhealthy and definitely is not the best was to handle the emotions you're feeling. It was not you on the top of that building; it was Mr. Holmes. It was not your choice. At least you were by his side and with him in his last moments. So, I am going to write you a prescription to help relieve your stress and we'll call it a day, okay?"

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It had been a year since the suicide of Sherlock Holmes, the world's biggest fake-genius detective ever. It used to have been huge news, and still was to the Sherlockian club, but it seemed to John that the world had moved on, everyone except for him. John's way of coping with the pain was the drinking; everyone was for sure he would get liver issues from how much he drank. Lestrade and Molly had even gotten over it. Molly was engaged now, and pregnant with a mini Molly, and almost due. Lestrade was still working with the police, solving crimes with a new consulting detective who seemed to have grown quite popular, replacing Sherlock's legacy with his own. Even Donovan was happy, and seemed to be living quite the life, having moved to the USA.