Work Text:
John Watson, blogger of no small amount of fame, wakes up gasping from another nightmare.
They come every night without fail, and he supposes he should be grateful that Afghanistan is not a prominent feature in them anymore, but watching Sherlock fall over and over again isn’t much better.
He should really tell his therapist, but he doesn’t particularly like being psychoanalysed.
(Especially when the conclusion is usually “You’re gay for Sherlock.”)
~~~
John Watson does not have a psychosomatic limp.
He just stubs his toe a lot. No, really.
He got rid of the limp a while ago, back when he first met Sherlock. Back when Sherlock was alive, when he needed to be able to run, to keep up with him physically, if not mentally. Now he’s just clumsy, falling over things for no particular reason.
His therapist (really, what does she know), says the limp has returned because of the shock of losing Sherlock. John says that’s bullshit.
(If John hears another “You’re in love with Sherlock,” he’s going to kill something.)
~~~
John Watson is not in love with his dead flatmate.
He’s in shock because he lost a good friend. The ‘kicked-puppy’ looks he apparently sends Sherlock’s armchair every time he visits the flat are perfectly normal for someone who’s lost a friend, as was the fuss he raised when Sherlock’s violin went missing.
In his defence, it was perfectly possible for Sherlock to have faked his own death and come back for his violin. The fact that it was later found under the table means nothing.
John does not watch the news religiously for strange incidents. He does not visit farms with beehives on the off chance that Sherlock might be there because he once said bees were ‘interesting’. He does not check Sherlock’s blog every day just in case there is a new entry. Above all, John does not believe Sherlock is alive.
Because that would be stupid.
(If Mycroft gives him one more pitying look, he’s going to steal his umbrella. See if he doesn’t.)