Fiction: Afterwards
Title: Afterwards
Rating: PG
Pairings: John/Sherlock (pre-slash or friendship)
Warnings: None
Word Count: 221
Summary: A story written in the 221b format: 221 words, the last word beginning with the letter "b". Post-Reichenbach. John carries on without Sherlock.
Afterwards
Afterwards it's hard. Of course it is. He's on his own. Sherlock's dead, gone. Detective work; gone. Baker Street; gone. He's truly a civilian now; a normal bloke. A doctor, not a soldier. Not anymore.
The others, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft, are there for him. John knows this, and he appreciates it. He really does. They won't let him sink like he did after the bullet sent him home from the war. It had been Sherlock who'd pulled him, like a drowning man, back to the surface, back to the light. But John's in no danger now. It's been a year. The grief is still painful, but at least he feels it. He's not numb, not like before and Sherlock, that madman, irritating and seductive, woke him like a cold slap, like a hot kiss. The sear still stirs John's blood. Despite everything that's happened, it still smarts, still feels good. Well, usually.
Mornings can be hard. Getting ready for the day, it's the mirror that betrays him. It's then John misses Sherlock; the only one who ever really saw him. Because the image in the mirror is false; too simple, too plain. There's another, one only Sherlock saw, sharp and complete but hidden, like a latent photograph un-fixed and invisible, dormant within a shimmering film of silver bromide.