Chapter Text
Don't you dare look out your window darling, Everything's on fire, The war outside our door keeps raging on, Hold onto this lullaby, Even when the music's gone
Tick, tock, tick, tock. John stared up at the clock displayed high upon the pale, cracked wall of his office. Despite how hard he tried to deduce anything from the time piece nothing seemed to be revealed. Constant efforts to figure out how it was manufactured or even why it was two minutes slow proved fruitless, heck he’d even settle for being able to figure out why it had a chip on the left hand side, more than likely there was a correlation between the damage and the speed issue but he was unable to imagine a detailed reason why. Sherlock would be able…no, he would’ve been able to figure it out…past tense….the blonde cut off that train of thought almost instantly. Sherlock wasn’t here, no his eccentric flatmate was…gone, long gone. With a sad sigh John settled back into his uncomfortable leather chair waiting for the day to end.
A small cough directed the doctor’s attention back to the front of his desk where an old almost owl like woman peered over her spectacles watching him with a mixture of irritation and concern. “Are you okay Doctor Watson? You seem…distracted…again.” Mrs Jenkins asked. John coughed and sat forward, his arms falling to rest on his mahogany desk, spacing out had become far too often an occurrence. “Sorry Mrs Jenkins, yes the chest congestion can be a side effect of the new medication. I suggest you refrain from taking the new pills for a week and then come back so that we can assess the situation further.” He flashed a false smile at the woman as she stood from the desk and departed the room.
Dull, Boring, Normal. The three words reverberated around his mind merging with the constant tick-tocking of the fractured clock, fractured like John. He groaned in irritation and rubbed at his tired eyes, the product of yet another night disturbed by images of a raven curled man crashing down through the air and slamming into the cold, hard ground, the dreams as always accompanied by the familiar warring emotions of anger and heartbreak. For the first few weeks after the fall he’d been certain the despair would always win out, the doctor barely even exiting the flat to do anything less than visit the black tombstone that heralded the death of the most brilliant man he’d ever known or to make his enforced (and unwanted) visits to his therapist. Yet over the last few weeks he’d been waking up more feeling more, angry, more confused. Why?. What possible reason made Sherlock think John should have been put through that?. Why did he have to see his best friend die? And for that matter why did his best friend jump?.
“Come on Watson. Get it together” he hissed to himself. Use the work as a distraction. Swivelling around he turned his attention to the ancient ‘best the NHS can afford!’, computer which stood on his desk. As he waited for the sluggish computer to process he found himself glancing at the frustrating clock once more. Maybe it fell…no too obvious Watson…stop this, you aren’t him. He cursed under his breath and turned his face back to the screen, keep yourself occupied, hmm updating the patients file, that would be a good start, he moved the mouse across the desktop to click upon the required file. No movement. “Oh come on”. Another swipe, nothing. “This is /just/ what I need today.” A third more furious swipe followed, the pointer on the screen flickered on and off in an almost mocking way. “Not going to work are you. Fine!” John ripped the mouse from it’s connection to the computer and threw it across the room. “Oh for fucks sake” he muttered dropping his head into his hands, his frustration bubbling over to the surface in a manner he was fairly certain he’d be embarrassed about later.
A knock on the office door brought his attention back to the present. With his best impersonation of a smile in place, something he always put on as it was rarely genuine these days, ever the improving actor he was these days. Sherlock would be...would’ve been proud. He pushed the thought away and sat up straight. “Come in”. he murmured his tone more tired than he’d wanted it to sound.
The diminutive frame of Sarah Sawyer crossed the threshold, the corner of her lips turned downwards and her eyes sympathetic. Oh no, John knew this look, he didn’t need to be a genius like Sherlock to see the pity radiating from his boss/one time on-off girlfriend. Automatically his posture became tense, his back rigid with the discomfort. He could handle the anger of those who felt betrayed by Sherlock, he could manage the disgust people aimed at him thinking that he was involved in the deceit, heck he was just about managing to withstand his own crushing guilt for not being on that roof to help Sherlock fight, but he could not and would not allow himself to become a pathetic, worthless has-been crying on the sofa and letting himself waste away.
“Look Sarah I know why you’re here. I’m fine. Everything is fine” He closed his eyes for a moment, what was it Sherlock had taught him about body language…..being closed off was often indicative of a liar. With great effort he relaxed back into the chair, though his hands stayed clenched and out of sight as he forced his eyes open and smiled at the woman. “I really am okay Sarah”
The sceptical look that filled the woman’s eyes scuppered John’s attempts at keeping calm, with a groan he sunk back into the chair to await the shower of verbal pity that he knew lurked behind the tightly pursed lips. “John……I saw the paper this morning. I know what day it is…” She raised a hand defensively to silence John as the man opened his mouth to protest. “Just hear me out okay? It’s six months to the day since Sherlock died, I know how close you were to him, perhaps you should take the rest of the day off”
John huffed in agitation and ran a hand through his shaggy hair, he should probably get it cut, but simple things like a beauty regime just hadn’t seemed as important these days. “Sarah I do not need nor do I want to take the time off. I would much rather be working” Perhaps it had been a bit sharp but he was more than a little tired of the constant storm of pity that seemed surrounded him. He’d been through a war and got shot for God’s sake, he could handle this.
Sarah crossed her arms and stood straight, a stern look forming upon her face. “Well I’m not asking you I’m telling. It’s already sorted, now you have no more patients for the rest of the day so you might as well just head home”. She only stayed to watch an incredulous look on John’s facebefore she’d disappeared out of the door.
The blonde growled in irritation and clambered up from his seat, Sarah’s intentions may have been good but they were also downright infuriating. He ripped his coat off the hook and stormed into the reception, ignoring Sarah’s attempts at an apology as he stomped out into the thumping rain.