Grief

Anger

5 months after the fall: November

John woke up in his recliner to crisp November air streamed through the window that was still open from the night before. He checked his phone like always to check what day it was. He groaned when he read that it was thanksgiving. 

After the fall, John decided that he could hold the annual Thanksgiving celebration.  It was a yearly tradition with his friends to celebrate the holiday. Even though it was an American celebration, they still celebrated it as a time to talk and enjoy good food. Mrs. Hudsan, predictably, had greatly supported the idea, saying it forced John into social interaction. John had to admit it, he hadn't been out of the house for weeks and it was starting to affect his health. 

His eyes stung from lack of sleep and he was running out of alcohol to combat his lonely mind.  He had been spending his day either sitting in his chair doing nothing or pointlessly stalking sluggishly through his empty house, like sleepwalking. 

John walked to his dining room and began setting the table.  His mind wandered to the last thanksgiving he spent. He remembered sitting in the living room of 221B,  laughing with all of his friends. They were busy playing a game of charades where someone just acted out Anderson as some deranged chimp/ T-rex combo while eating some of the best food John had ever had. John's mom was never the best cook, but Mrs. Hudson's family recipes made up for all the years of bad food. John stuffed bite after bite of stuffing and pumpkin pie into his mouth until he felt about ready to burst. Even Sherlock managed to clear his plate. It must have been the most he had eaten in over a month. 

Sherlock. 

He had been trying to avoid thinking about him. His grief and denial were slowly fading. Fading and turning into something...else. Something that he didn't yet comprehend. Anger.

John woke from his daydream to discover that while he hadn't been paying attention he had set the table all wrong. The silverware were all over the place at random angles.                                             

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid! He cursed at himself. Stupid! Why did you let your best friend die without doing anything? There must have been something you could have done?  These thoughts were like the devil's tongue slipping the message into his ear, and then his mind. Stupid Stupid! He screamed this thought in his head many times, the message growing louder and angrier with every scream.  It got so loud that John subconsciously started whispering it aloud to himself. Just like in his head, He started saying the message louder and louder until he was spreading his pain with the whole world around him. Every part of him trembled as he grew hotter and hotter. This thought was the only thing that controlled him. It was the only thought he knew of. 

STUPID STUPID STU...

Ding dong.

He was interrupted by the doorbell. Right, John thought, attempting to steady himself, Guests.
Taking a deep breath, he jerked the door open like ripping off a band-aid. His shocked eyes met the worried eyes of Mrs. Hudson.

John must have looked like he just saw a ghost. They stayed in that awkward position for a long time, just exchanging looks. Mrs. Hudson looked at John like he had just been diagnosed with the deadliest, incurable disease.

  He slowly adjusted his glance to her hands where she was holding a small pie pan. He gently put his hands out grab the pan and Mrs. Hudson hesitated as if she thought that the pan was going to grow teeth and bite his hands. Gently, she placed it in his hands, not taking her eyes off the broken man in front of her.

He looked horrible. The bags under his eyes only got heavier every morning after the nights of little sleep. He had grown stubble that he was too depressed to shave and was starting to grow a small mustache.  John placed the plate on the table near the door before turning back to face Mrs. Hudson. Before he could expect it, he was enveloped into a tight hug. She held him tightly against her chest, reluctant to let go, the way a mother would hug their child