Empty Space - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlock is dead.

It was true but it couldn't be. That didn't happen to him.

He's gone. You'll never see him again. Suck it up, damn it.

One did not simply get over Sherlock Holmes.

But you have to. You can't waste your life away on something that isn't going to happen.

He could be alive.

Listen to yourself John.

No. It's possible I know it.

John.

"John."

John Watson snapped out of his daydream, and looked up to see his psychologist looking at him with worried eyes.

"Y-Yes?"

"John, you're lack of engagement is understandable, but it's been a month. This isn't good for your well-being."

The psychologist said, leaning over in her chair and staring John in the eye.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose with his calloused hands, and did not respond.

She sighed, set down her clipboard.

"Alright, your session is over. But I suggest you do something. Go on vacation, see some family. Find something worth living for."

What is worth living for anymore. Nothing. Nothing at all.

The walk home was slow. John noticed the people that avoided his eye contact.
He did not care. Since Sherlock had... passed, his limp had returned.

And it was worse. The metal cane clanked on the icy pavement as John Watson made his way home. But it couldn't be called home anymore. Without Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street would never be home again.

It was the same every day. He would stay home all day, or go to his sessions.
He did not go out anymore. Occasionally people would call him but he would hardly ever answer and if he did it was unenthusiastic and distant.

When John stepped inside, as he did every time, he noticed Sherlock's deerstalker thrown hastily on the couch. John had not touched it.

He let his cane fall to the ground, and slumped to his chair. Sherlock's chair was still across from him. Not a soul had touched it since....

John's eyes were wet and hot. He leaned back to look at the ceiling. He blinked, and breathed deeply.

Television. There was a marathon of Friends playing. John did not pay attention. Only let the sound fill his mind, erasing the other thoughts that remained there.

He fell asleep there in the chair, as the laughing track played multiple times.

John was jerked awake as he heard a loud knock on the door. Who on earth could that be?

John waited until the second knock to lurch himself up, stagger to the door and open it. Standing at the doorway was a woman. A woman in a leather jacket and blue jeans, and long curly blonde hair.

"Good evening!"

Said the woman.

"Can I.. help you?" John questioned.

The woman suddenly look flustered and laughed. She had a big laugh.

"Oh, I'm sorry how rude of me. I'm looking for a Mister John Watson?"

"That's me. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well, I think it's more something I can help you with, If we're being blunt."

"I'm not following. I should really be-"

"You've lost something very important haven't you?"

John was taken aback, and a bit offended.

"Listen if this is some sort of prank I-"

"Well you have, haven't you?" Interrupted the stranger.

"Well... Yes I have actually."

"Well so have I. And I came here to see if you wanted to get them back."

For a moment, John let himself be hopeful. Then he came to terms with reality.

"He's dead. Dead for a month now."

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes I believe his name was? Well he did a good job of faking it didn't he?"

Faking. He's alive?

"W-What?"

"You've lost a detective, I've lost a doctor, and it seems as though they've met up with each-other. What say you we find them?"

John hesitated.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The woman smiled at him. She had bluegreen eyes that shone with excitement.

"River Song. And your name?"

"J-John Watson."

"Well John Watson. Lets go find your detective."

She grabbed his wrist, and lifted her other to reveal a leather bracelet of some sort.

"Hold on."

"W-What? What are you doing-"

Before John could finish, they had vanished out of thin air.