Goodbye, John » {Johnlock} ON HIATUS

1. Sleepless

Time was ticking by, mocking him by the second. John tried closing his eyes to get some sort of rest and listened to the rain patter against the window, praying that it would calm him. He laid there for several hours, hoping to get a wink of shut-eye, to no success. When he finally realized he wasn't going to get any sleep that night, he let out a deep breath and rolled over to his side, looking at his alarm clock. The time read 4:37AM. He looked out his window and watched lightning flash across the sky. He didn't want to go out in this kind of weather, but there wasn't much else he had on his mind. Besides, what did he have to lose?

He slipped his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He walked over to his wardrobe and slipped on his leather jacket and a pair of shoes before walking out of his flat with his umbrella in one hand, and his walking stick in the other. Ever since Sherlock fell off that building, John had practically changed back into the same man that he was before they met. He may be even worse.

His psychosomatic limp had returned, and this time his therapist had even sent him to a doctor to receive medication. She had also written down the possibility that John could be, in fact, depressed. But like the proud man that he was, he refused to accept the fact and the medicine that would come with it. John was barely holding on to the life that-supposedly-remained ahead of him. His therapist told him to find something of interest to make him just the slightest bit happier. But the blog had stopped running due to lack of cases since Sherlock was no longer around and he didn't have any talent in any other sort of activity-not that he had much talent in the first place. But, he'd tried distracting himself from the pain that Sherlock had left him with by going out with several different women. But, much like every other relationship he had in the past, none of them lasted long. He'd even met an especially nice lady by the name of Mary, but she was much too good for him. They had a good run, and it certainly lasted longer with Mary than it did for any other woman. At one point, John thought maybe she would be the one to bring out the best in him, but he was only disappointed that he couldn't bring himself to find more of an interest in her. He almost felt guilty, but he was so far gone that he could barely feel guilt, or any other emotion. They had a mutual agreement that they would continue to talk after their relationship came to an inevitable end. And for a time, they did. She was a great person and one of the few people John didn't actually mind talking to. But as more and more time passed by, John was swallowed by the pain. He'd cut off contact with her just like everyone else. She'd left him an endless amount of unanswered calls and even more texts. When she finally gave up, John could only assume that she figured he was dead. But she wasn't completely wrong. John was holding on to his last thread of life, leaving the hope of Sherlock's unlikely return to keep him-partially-sane.

Nevertheless, he had still decided to move out from Baker Street. Missing him was bad, sure, but having to be constantly reminded that he was alone in their flat made it all the more painful. Not only was it empty, but the warmth seemed to have left their home too. So, only a few days after the funeral, he left behind Mrs. Hudson and found his own flat.

It was almost like a blank slate. Some may refer to this to be more like a "new chapter of your life", but for John, it didn't really seem much like a life. By moving away, it was like starting over. He was surrounded by plain walls, plain carpeting, and no decor. He could've sworn he heard Sherlock say, "Boring," the first day he stepped into his new flat, but there was no one there when he turned around. He looked about the empty room and set his bag on the floor. It was maddeningly quiet. He didn't know what would come next.

Although, just because he had moved, doesn't mean he had forgotten. Every moment shared with Sherlock was branded into his skull. They were precious memories. Not because John was much of a sentimental man, but because that was all he had left of his partner in crime. Sherlock wasn't much of a person who fancied taking pictures. Even when John tried to explain it's part of "capturing the moment," Sherlock was reluctant to the idea of it.

Sometimes he almost wished he had something to remind him of Sherlock and the crazy adventures they had together. He almost wished he had forced Sherlock to take a picture so he could have a picture frame sitting on his desk to smile upon. But alas, he could not turn back time. Even if he could, it definitely wouldn't be for a picture.

After trudging through the thick rain and puddles of mud, he finally reached his destination. He cleared his throat and looked upon the gravestone. "SHERLOCK HOLMES" it read, mocking him. He slowly reached out to lay his hand on it. His fingers slid across the marble, sending shivers through his already cold and damp body. His hand moved down and traced the letters engraved on the stone.

He promised himself he wouldn't cry. It had been two years since John had cried over the death of his best friend. He wouldn't cry.

But it was only a matter of time.

John fell to his knees, dropping his cane and umbrella onto the sticky ground. His hands rose to his face as he began to sob, his body shaking violently. The rain soaked his clothes and dripped from his hair, mixing with the tears that poured from his eyes. There wasn't a shred of happiness left him.

He looked up to the heavens with pleading eyes.

"Please," he cried.

John poured everything into that one syllable, begging whoever could possibly be listening to either bring Sherlock back or take John with him. Longing for Sherlock was a pain that John couldn't handle for much longer. After two whole years of having his hope slowly drained from him, he was finally beginning to face reality.

Sherlock wasn't going to come back.

John raised his head and stared at the grave face-to-face. He planted his forehead against it, swallowing the knot in his throat and closing his eyes.

"Sherlock," he whispered. His warm breath made a fogged shape dance on the stone. "Come home."

After a long time of sitting in the pouring rain, John decided it was time to go home. The clouds were beginning to clear and the sun was just barely poking over the horizon. John stood up, collecting his things. Using what pride he had left in himself, he stood with his back straight, addressing Sherlock's gravestone with respect.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." He took a long last look and nodded. He turned to leave, his umbrella closed shut and dangling at his side as he limped his way back home.

When he reached the door of his rickety flat, he shook his head in discontent. John knew this was where he lived, but this was not his home. It almost made him angry, how uncomfortable he was under his own roof. Almost as if he depended on someone else to make his flat feel homely, which in a way, he did. He stepped in, dripping water from his clothes onto the floor and laid the umbrella against the wall. His eyes burned and his skin was cold, adding more to his discomfort.

He didn't even bother to shower. What was the point? He had nowhere to go, no one to please. He simply dressed himself in dry clothes and slipped under the crisp sheets of his bed.

He laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, his mind blank. He was too tired to think. He was too tired to try and remember Sherlock's face and how prominent his cheekbones were or how strangely colored his eyes were. He was too tired to try to think about the way Sherlock played his violin as the bow danced across the strings. But then again, when you try not to think about things, you're still thinking about it, aren't you?

He closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh of frustration. His burning eyes twitched closed and forced themselves to stay shut. After fighting it long and hard, he finally let sleep wash over him.

-Hey guys, I'm back! Hopefully this story will have a much better plot along with much better writing than my previous story. Any feedback would be great!

Make sure to check out--> be-there-now-in-a-minute <--on tumblr! (link below) They are the wonderful creator of the cover of this story. Full credit goes to them, so if you could please go over to their page and maybe give them a follow it would mean a lot! They have amazing fanart, and not just for Johnlock. They also draw Destiel and other things!

We fans must stick together (:

***Artist: http://be-there-now-in-a-minute.tumblr.com***

Thank you so much! There will be more chapters to come.-