Old habits (Johnlock)

Chapter 9

How can the grass bear its regimental stillness without a witness. There is no answer, even the most unknown corners of the earth stand. John had considered escaping to one of these corners, but there is no map to help him find his way this time. Seeing the grass doesn't make it grow any faster. Seeing these corners of the world doesn't change them and seeing your own pain will not stop the burning.
It was burning, it was a fire fanned by misfortune. It was agony every moment with him gone was agony and there was no painkiller that helped.
The dead roses on the marble were only a reminder that all things have their time. All things have their end.
John couldn't help but feel that Sherlocks end was premature.
He felt robbed of his future and he saw his end. He saw it curled up on the wet ground grasping at memories of the man he loved. He saw himself alone with his ghosts. He saw himself alone. Completely alone.

Mary was gone now, her husband's grief had been too much for her. She packed her bags while John visited Sherlocks grave and was gone without a word. Just a note that said 'Im sorry, your misery is plaguing me and Rosie, we had to get out.'
Having lost the love of his life, his wife and his child, hope was dwindling for John.
He often felt an urge to join his lost love but he feared death. He hated it for taking his Sherlock but he was terrified of its uncertainty and cruelness.
His nightmares were back, the blood splattered tiles, Sherlock's glazing eyes, his fading pulse, Mycroft's voice deciding to switch him off. He saw him everywhere. Every game of cluedo he played with himself in the dark; he heard Sherlock willing him not to be so stupid.

Mycroft had continued his daily routine. The metal man did not shed one tear at the funeral, for fear of rusting. Mrs Hudson missed Sherlock almost as much as John did; she still made 2 cups of tea every morning. John drank neither. Molly was distant now, she was even quieter. Even more isolated. Lestrade was unable to solve as many crimes without Sherlock, and therefore faced demotion. Even Anderson of all people suffered in the aftermath. All struggled but they all had someone or something that eased the pain. Just something small, smoking or a glass of whiskey, a song or a hobby. John had nothing. Absolutely nothing to ease it, absolutely nobody to assist.