John Hamish Watson was sitting in his favorite chair. Sherlock's chair. He had a cup of tea at his side and the telly was muttering some nonsense, but John wasn't paying attention to any of it. He was staring at a skull over the mantel. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away, no matter how creepy it was. John couldn't bear to throw away any of Sherlock's things. It had been 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since Sherlock had jumped off the roof, 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since John had died inside. He had not shed a tear, neither had he cried, nor moaned. It was as if the man had simply turned to stone and crumbled. John didn't leave 221 B Baker Street anymore. Mrs. Hudson would bring him his groceries and do his laundry. Sometimes, Molly or Lestrade would pop in for a visit, and they would chat for a while. Mycroft even came to visit once, and gave John some money to help him continue living in the flat. They all looked at him with such sad eyes, like he was broken. John wasn't broken, he was dead. John heaved himself out of his thoughts and got up out of Sherlock's chair. He took his tea, now cold, and dumped it in the sink, something he found himself doing more often than not, which was strange for the tea obsessed, little man. He then went to the fridge to look for some food, sighing as he opened the freezer.
"Sherlock, why didn't you clean up your experiments? Leaving heads all over the place," John mumbled as he pulled a frozen turkey from the freezer and moved to throw it away. A hand suddenly grabbed John's shoulder, and he jerked away.
"John, dear, why did you throw away the turkey?" Mrs. Hudson inquired. He looked at her with a dazed expression, then glanced at the rubbish bin. He slowly pulled out the turkey and took it over to the sink, where he washed the grime off of the plastic coverings. Mrs. Hudson gently took the turkey from him and replaced it in the freezer, then led him over to the sofa.
"Oh John, you need to see someone. You're ill," John pulled himself away from her and scowled.
"I'm fine Mrs. Hudson, just a bit out of sorts. It will pass in a few days." John gingerly patted her hand and she sighed.
"You've been saying that for three years now dear," Mrs. Hudson stood up and began to pile up dirty clothes and rotten newspapers from the floor.
"2 years, 11 months, and 26 days," John muttered.
"What was that?" Mrs. Hudson paused and sat beside John again as he sighed.
"It's been 2 years, 11 months, 26 and days since…" Mrs. Hudson patted his leg.
"I know it's difficult, but he would want you to move on, to find something or someone that makes you happy. I bet if you got rid of a few of his things-"
"If I find one of his things missing, so help me I will…" John fell silent, and Mrs. Hudson put her arms around him.
"Of course, I wouldn't dream of doing anything to make you uncomfortable. Would you like me to make you some tea?" John wiped his brow on his oatmeal jumper and sighed.
"No, thank you. I think I would just like to be alone now." Mrs. Hudson gave him one last squeeze and left the room.