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Summary
There was a speech. It would start out with his apology, obviously. John always hoped for an apology whenever he thought Sherlock was doing something a bit not good, and well, this could be considered a bit not good. Lying. Faking a suicide. Sherlock had known it was going to hurt John, but really, it was for the best. It was for John’s safety. And Sherlock would explain all of that. Sherlock would be a hero in John’s eyes and just as soon as Sherlock saw that John was overwhelmed with relief and love and joy, he would confess those pesky three words that every person so longed to hear. Those pesky three words he so longed to say, because he knew in those moments he was no better than any other human when it came to love.
Everything reminds him of Sherlock. The couch, the skull, the smiley face on the wall. Experiments left unfinished in the kitchen, the dust on his desk. His chair manages to look the same, like its waiting for Sherlock to come into the room and sit down. John knows he’s certainly waiting for that to happen. The only difference now is the chair looks so blatantly empty, and John can’t help but wonder if he looks the same. He most definitely feels like it.