How John Managed: The Empty Home After The Fall

Lestrade:

The detective inspector is the first person that really comes into focus, after the numbing fog of seeing Sherlock bleeding out onto the pavement (head wounds always bleed a lot, but not that much, not as much as Sherlock’s had) had cleared. The grey haired man is silent, and looking tired, and so much older than he is. He passes John a cup of tea, and they sit quietly.

Eventually, he clears his throat.

"John. I know it's too early, but the chief wants your witness statement now." John nods, heaving himself out of the uncomfortable plastic chair and following Greg. Lestrade isn't the one to interview him, Sally is.

When the interview is over, the DI is waiting outside for him, and takes him to the hotel he and Mrs Hudson have been relocated to (their flats have become crime scenes). Greg comes to the funeral a couple of weeks later, a steady presence at John's side, and one of the few things that stops John going on a rampage. He helps to carry Sherlock’s coffin from the church. Greg is the one to escort him and Mrs Hudson to their car, shoving journalists and photographers out of their way. As John slips into the vehicle, he glances at his friend and their eyes meet. An understanding look flits between them, of mutual loss of a great mind and friend, and then the door is closed.

 

They don't see much of each other after that as John doesn't leave 221B Baker Street much once he works up the resolve to return, and Greg is busy with the investigation into Sherlock's involvement in the police cases. Later, when the investigation has found some people to point fingers at, Greg is demoted and transferred to someplace obscure and out of the way in the country. He's the only DI to have this done, as the others all claim that they involved Sherlock at the recommendation of Lestrade. The man loses a lot of respect from his peers, especially after he confirms that he believes Sherlock is innocent.

 

John and Greg keep in touch by e-mail and the occasional phone call, but mostly out of a shared belief in Sherlock. As time passes, the contact begins to dwindle, until the last they hear of each other is that John has a small writing job, and Greg has a new partner (a nice girl with a good country education and the patience of a saint) and a kid on the way. This was last Easter.

 

John's leg aches in cold or damp weather.

Mrs Hudson:

She's on him the moment he's escorted through the hotel room door. She flutters around him, asking if he's ok, thrusting tea and biscuits into his hands. John doesn't really notice her actions for the first few days, but when he does, he doesn't try to push her away (at least, not until the anger sets in, and even then, he is still polite and gentle, and apologises after every outburst). It’s her own way of coping with the grief of losing Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson doesn't cry until the funeral, where she weeps in both grief and anger - anger that some of the team that worked with Sherlock dared show their faces at the service, anger at the press that hounded them and wait outside cemetery for their exit. It’s her presence that stops John from lashing out at the journalists and photographers, because she was fragile enough as it was.

Eventually, her Baker street properties are released to her, and she (and later, John) moves back in. The forensics teams have placed everything into boxes, and the furniture is wrapped in cellophane. A day spent doing an inventory shows that nearly all of Sherlock's experiments and papers have been taken away, as well as the skull and a few other things. Its Mrs Hudson who finds the violin, stuffed into its case and shoved in a cupboard. They check it over, then place it gently into the case and prop it against his chair.

The rest of the week is spent putting the flat to rights. Mrs Hudson suggests that what remains of Sherlock's things be put in boxes and stored in his room.

"And while we're in there, we ought to change his bed sheets."

"Whatever for, Mrs Hudson?" John had asked.

"So that that silly young man can have a fresh bed to come home to." And there's a glint in her eye that some might call mad, but it buoys John's spirits a little, that someone other than himself should believe in his friend.

And that's how things go, Mrs Hudson changing the bedding in Sherlock's room every 2 weeks 'to keep the bed fresh', even after 18 months without the world’s only consulting detective. And even after John admits to his therapist that Sherlock is dead (Dead and never coming back), it helps that there is Mrs Hudson, with her herbal soothers, changing the bed sheets every 2 weeks.

 

She helps John find his cane.

Anderson:

John had never really had a problem with Anderson, despite his snotty and grumpy ‘better than you’ attitude. However, in the days (weeks/months) following Sherlock’s death the forensics man becomes insufferable.

He never passes up the chance to gloat about how he had always thought that Sherlock was strange and far too accurate for it to be 'simple deduction', and even willingly participates in every newspaper interview he can (which means every journalist or reporter that asks, whether they pay him or not, though John can tell by his new watch and shoes that he did make a tidy sum).

It’s a virtue of John's that he has always been a patient man, a trait that has been enhanced by his life experiences, even when he is as badly shaken up as he is now. However, Anderson pushes him way over the line at the wake, badmouthing Sherlock and commenting on whether or not the service had been organised by planners, because who would possibly care about the freak?

John loses his temper, stalks up to Anderson, and proceeds to kick his legs out from under him, grabbing his head on the way down, smashing the forensic investigator’s face against his knee. The crunch of the taller man's nose breaking and the small explosion of blood make him feel better. He tells everyone to piss off and leave, and they do, a groaning and bloody Anderson being hauled out by Sally and Molly.

The next time John sees Anderson, it’s been months since the funeral, and it is the conclusion of the investigation into Sherlock Holmes. The ex-soldier is pleased to see that the taller man's nose is crooked, and he's willing to bet his regimental mug that he now snores uncontrollably. Anderson holds his tongue, only giving John a curt nod as they pass each other. John notices that his wedding band is gone, and the tan line is faint. His wife must have found out about the affair. Good.

Towards the start of the second year, John hears that Anderson has been sacked, or severely demoted, for tampering with forensic evidence in a case involving a city crime lord. A little later, Anderson is arrested and jailed. He’d fancied himself a forensic Moriarty.

John guessed that Sherlock’s comments about Anderson’s IQ were correct after all.

Cold days almost exclusively require the cane.

Sally:

John doesn’t see Sally until the interview immediately after Sherlock’s death.

She sits across the table from him; back straight and neutral face barely hiding her grim joy in being proved right about the ‘freak’. She regards the grief stricken doctor with pity, obviously remembering the warning she gave him when they first met.

Its pity that is not welcome.

She conducts the interview in a superior tone, pushing at John to give more detailed answers, to reveal not only Sherlock’s behaviour before he jumped, but also about him as a whole. She had to stop the interview after John provided a litany of ‘No comment’.

John doesn’t see Sally again until the funeral, and is glad to see that she at least has some common decency to behave. At the wake she doesn’t approach John, and seems a lot more preoccupied with looking after the Yarders in attendance, particularly Anderson. John pays her little notice when she hurries past carrying half the weight of Anderson on her way out.

She appears on the TV and in the newspapers a few times, and once the investigation is completed, she and the yarders working under Lestrade are declared innocent, as it was their superior who allowed Sherlock into crime scenes.

When John next meets her in person, he’s at Scotland Yard because some over-zealous anti-Sherlock group has shoved lit fireworks through the letter box of 221B, and tried to assault Mrs Hudson.

Sally is now DI Donovan, and looking a little older and wearier.

“Dr. Watson, why did you break the boy’s arm in three places?” She asks calmly.

John gives her a look worthy of Sherlock.

“I was a soldier, medic or no, Sally. That boy is lucky I had enough wits about me to not snap his neck.” He pretends not to notice the way the two officers across from him flinch.

“I was asleep, when they decided they were going to break in and try to burn Baker Street down. That particular lad had a bit of metal pipe, and he was trying to attack Mrs Hudson.” The officers shrunk into their seats when John pinned them with his eyes, the steel behind them hot, and cold and sharp.

“You know Mrs Hudson, Sally. You know she has difficulty moving around the flat, let alone defending herself or attacking anyone. There is no way on this earth that that stupid boy can claim self-defence.”

Sally tries to stare back at him, but buckles under the pressure and flicks her eyes away.

“I take it we’re done then? Not unless you have any other questions, Detective Inspector?” She shakes her head and moves to turn off the tape. “Oh, will you do me a favour? Can you make sure his parents know that he tried to cave in the head of a woman well into her 60s? Just in case they decide to press charges.”

She nods silently. Sally isn’t used to this John, all hard edges and sharp eyes.

He’s not bothered by the yard after that, except to inform him of the compensation all the kids had to pay him and Mrs Hudson.

The last he heard of Sally, she was arresting Anderson, and struggling to manage her new role. There was a fierce drop in the success rate of solved cases, and Sally was getting the flack for it.

His hand starts shaking again.

Mycroft:

Mycroft is perhaps the smartest of all of them, leaving John alone until he has to plan the funeral, and when he arrives at the door of their hotel room, John is feeling suitably numb and disconnected that he simply steps to the side and lets the man enter.

There is little said, and the conversation remains firmly on the funeral. Mycroft has little argument with John’s choices, and only opposes him when it comes to the matter of the church service, the cemetery, and the gravestone.

“The Holmes family may not have been the most cohesive unit, but we have always stuck by tradition. We are exclusively buried at this cemetery, there is always a church service, and the gravestone will be polished black marble. Other choices are yours, John, but on this neither myself nor the rest of my family will be moved.” He states blandly, his expression similar to the time he admitted to the army doctor his younger brother’s childhood dream of becoming a pirate. It is only this, and the emotional exhaustion he felt that stopped the angry tirade at the tip of his tongue. He bites back the angry words he wants to scream at Mycroft, and it feels like swallowing glass shards.

Mycroft leaves without a word, quietly greeting Mrs Hudson as she passes.

John doesn’t see him again until the funeral, and it is thanks to him that the actual service is private, that no journalists or photographers get past the barricade. When the church service ends he joins John and Lestrade as they lift Sherlock’s coffin and carry him to his grave.

Mycroft doesn’t attend the wake (his brother may be dead, but the rest of the world isn’t and he really can’t leave it alone for too long. The last time he did, the coalition got elected), but there are no charges brought against John after he assaults Anderson, and the release of the Baker Street properties moves a lot quicker than normal.

Mycroft tells John that he will pay Sherlock’s half of the rent, his only condition being that Sherlock’s things be put into storage. John tells him that he is grateful for the offer of the rent but Sherlock has a lot of things he won’t need anymore, so if some bits get given to those in need (mostly schools and charity shops) then that is what's happening.

They meet each other every now and again, although the motions are no longer routine. The last few times John actually flinched when the black car slid to a stop next to the pavement outside of the Tesco.

The most recent visit is a few days after the 2nd year anniversary of Sherlock’s death. Mycroft invites John to the Diogenes Club, where they sit and have tea in silence. An hour later John leaves, and they haven’t exchanged a single word.

In the car on the way back to Baker Street, Mycroft’s assistant still taps away at her Blackberry. Jokingly, John asks her once more about her name. She looks up and smiles knowingly.

“Hmm…Today I am Elizabeth.” John laughs, and when he gets out of the car and thanks her, it feels like goodbye.

He doesn’t hear from or see Mycroft for the rest of the year.

John stops writing his blog.

Sherlock:

John spends the first few weeks in a state of shock. He remembers very little, except for the pain and grief and anger. When he comes to, he spends another few months trying to escape from the mention of Sherlock; a hard task, as the papers and the news are buzzing with the story. Reporters and photographers hound John and Mrs Hudson whenever they leave the hotel.

It’s going back to the flat and seeing all of Sherlock’s things that get to him.

His chemistry set and his microscope, the wardrobe filled with his clothes and disguises, the violin. John tries once to clear up some of the things on his own. He looks at Sherlock’s microscope, which he knew was heavy and very fragile. He’s holding it thoughtfully in one hand and contemplating what kind of sound it would make on impact with the wall (a dull, heavy thud punctuated by the satisfying tinkling crunch of shattered glass) before he realises what he’s doing.

He hastily but carefully puts the microscope down on the table and leaves the flat for a few hours.

He doesn’t move anything without Mrs Hudson being there.

The months come and go, until it’s the first anniversary of Sherlock’s death and everyone suddenly remembers the ‘fake detective’ and flock to Baker Street. It takes all of John’s willpower not to attack them with his cane on his way in and out for the following weeks.

The grief that he’d been holding back for the past year comes roaring back relentlessly, all sharp edges and pain that burns like an ache at the base of his spine.

John has never felt so broken since he got shot, since the fall.

A few months later John finally checks his blog again, and is overwhelmed by the sheer number of people supporting him and Sherlock. He spends a few moments silent with shock, and then laughing uncontrollably. If he wasn’t laughing so hard he would recognise the hysteria for what it was.

He eventually blacks out, and wakes up with a headache although he feels inexplicably good. He snorts and rubs a hand across his face. Even when he’s dead, Sherlock is still having an effect on him.

And then they reach the second year, and John is finally able to admit to his therapist that yes, Sherlock Holmes is dead, and John Watson is missing his greatest friend. When he visits Sherlock’s grave, and pleads with the cold slab of marble to please, don’t be dead, just begs for one more miracle, just one, he really does expect the devil himself to come whipping through the other gravestones, his great coat billowing behind him.

Of course, nothing happens (and for a sharp moment John is taken back to the dinghy little flat nothing ever happens to me) because Sherlock Holmes is dead, cracked his skull open like a bloody egg on the pavement outside of St Bart’s, and John leaves.

The third year approaches, and John is as close to over it as he ever thinks he’ll be. He’s just coming back to the flat after going down to the shops and struggling through the door with shopping bags and cane when –

“Hello John.”

And his world crumbles again.

Later, after the shouting and the pain and the anger, two men sit side by side on a couch.

And in the morning, John makes tea and toast and Sherlock tries to avoid eating.

Mrs Hudson pops in to check on them both and reminds them that she is not their housekeeper.

Later that evening, when John has finished getting ready for bed, it hits him like a ton of bricks.

Sherlock is alive.