Johnlock Oneshots (Requests are closed)

Amnesia

Sorry, my darlings. It's ANGST.

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Johns POV

After I had blamed him for Mary's death he had to go and do something stupid. He tried to catch Culverton Smith. I had been too late. They caught him. But right after they caught him he passed out. We had forgotten to stop the drug. He had amnesia. I had let Harry, who stopped drinking and got back with Clara, take care of Rosie. I had to deal with a detective who partly lost the last eight years of his life. He forgot me. At the moment he was yelling at his brother. "What do you mean I don't live with you?" Sherlock shouted, "you forced me to. The only way you would let me leave was if I got a flatmate. Which I won't do."

Mycroft groaned. "Sherlock for the past six years you have lived in 221b Baker Street. I however now live with my husband Detective Inspector Lestrand." Mycroft said.

Sherlock froze. "You got married!?" he said, shocked.

"Yes, and you got a friend." Mycroft retorted.

"I don't have friends," he said disgustedly.

I felt my heart shatter. "You have one," Mycroft said and pointed to me.

I waved half-heartedly. "Him!?" Sherlock cried, "He's so ordinary though. He's nothing. Just an army doctor. What could he mean to me?"

"Actually I meant quite a lot," I said and walked out of the room.

Shouts came from behind me. I ran out of the hospital. I ran all the way to 221b. Mrs Hudson greeted me at the door. She looked at me sympathy and pulled me in for a hug. I started sobbing. He wasn't my Sherlock.

For the next few weeks, I avoided him. It wasn't that hard. He didn't want to be near me at all. One night he stopped me from running up the stairs. "Watson?" he asked looking at me.

"Yes?" I asked.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"It's my last name," I replied.

He blinked and looked at the paper in his hand. "Why would I write a waltz with your last name in it?" he asked.

"You wrote it for my wedding," I said,

He looked really confused now. "Could you tell me what happened?" he whispered.

I sighed. This was bound to happen eventually. "Read my blog," I said with a dismissive wave.

I turned to walk up the stairs. Trying to block out the disappointed look on Sherlock's face.

The next day I didn't have work. I also didn't have to visit Rosie today. I sighed. Nothing to do which meant I would have to deal with Sherlock. He wasn't even like when I first met him. He acts like he hates everyone. The only time I've seen my Sherlock was when he played the violin. He never caught me watching. I made my way downstairs. Sherlock was on his laptop. He turned to me. "You do know that the solar system is a useless thing to know. That's why I deleted it," he said.

"So you read it?" I asked, "Do you remember anything?"

He looked sad for a second. After that, he put on his emotionless façed. "No," he said flatly.

I looked away. "You stopped writing suddenly two months ago. Why?" he asked.

I froze. I had stopped writing when Mary died. "My wife died," I whispered. It hurt to talk about Mary.

I knew he was going to ask what happened. I glared at him. He looked as though he was about to say something but stopped. "I did it, didn't I?" he whispered.