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April 24 – 312 Days After

John Watson wakes up to his alarm clock blaring at 6:30 in the morning.

It’s late April of 2013. Summer is just around the corner and John hates it.  He hates the warm and he hates the sun and he especially hates the month of June.

The ex-army doctor pulls himself out of his small and uncomfortable bed in his run down flat that he could barely afford. He showers and dresses and heads to the surgery, just like every other day in his horrible life.

 

May 19 – 337 Days After

It was Sunday which meant another awkward dinner at Harry’s. John hated the dinners, but it was the only thing that kept Harry from drinking and it kept her from calling every weekend, which was worse than the going over every week.  John got to his sister’s house at the usual time, and went through the motions. Greeting and a hug, asking how she is, commenting that dinner smells delicious.  They eat in mostly silence, and afterwards watch whatever is on the television – tonight is a rerun of one of the Doctor Who episodes from last August.  He used to love the show, but now he can barely watch it.  He remembers sitting on the couch with him watching it, and barely hearing anything from the episode because he kept commenting in how ridiculous and impossible the show is.  He stares at the screen, reliving the moment, and wishing more than everything that he could have those moments back.

 

June 14 – 363 Days After

It’s Friday and John hates the idea. He should decline, but it’s Greg, and he hasn’t seen him in months.  That’s how he finds himself at a strange pub far too close to a place he hates.  It’s still early but John wants to go home.  He sits with Greg and a few other people from The Yard, not really listening to their conversation, just laughing when everyone else laughs or offering a few words where it’s appropriate.  After an hour, John excuses himself, saying that he’s exhausted and needs to go home.  He smiles and says goodbye, the stumbles out to a cab.  Soon enough he’s in a cab and on his way home when he realizes what street they’re on.  He finds himself panicking, telling the driver to turn around and take a longer route, but it’s too late.  They’re driving past it where he jumped and John can’t help but stare and suddenly finds himself in a horrible flashback.  He’s standing on the ground looking up at him on the rooftop and John’s saying words, trying to convince him to come down and he’s saying that he loves him (Which isn’t a lie, John had wanted to tell him for so long but he never could find the words to do so) and then suddenly he’s in the air and it’s too late too late too late.

John snaps back into the present when the cab driver is saying they’ve arrived and is asking for payment.  He pays him and runs upstairs and it’s not until he’s in his room lying on his bed that he realizes he’s in 221B and not his own home.

 

June 16 – 365 Days After

John does not remember moving once in the past two days.  He only remembers his bed and his room and his smell and his clothes and him him him;John is absolutely drunk on his things.  But somehow he finds his old gun in his hand and a note that reads “I can’t do it anymore, not without him” in the other, his phone set aside after he sent an “I’m sorry” text to his sister.  It was cold and he was tired, and he was so relieved to know that the pain would soon be over.  Life without him had been a terrible one.  John does not know how long he sat staring at the wall, but he knows that the final things he heard before a bullet went flying into his brain was a door being knocked in downstairs and a voice that sounded too much like his yelling “John!” and then the trigger was pulled and everything was over.

 

* * *

 

Bright light. High pitched ringing. Loud, very loud.  It’s cold. Too cold, he can’t feel anything. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hands fly to cover his ears.  He moves like he’s in molasses; he can’t get his hands to his ears quick enough. The ringing increases in pitch, hurting even more. Then everything is fading. Slowly at first, and then all at once. The ringing has stopped, and heat is returning. And then it’s hot, too hot. He’s sweating, clawing at something. He’s being held back by some cloth. He’s tearing at it, trying to get loose. It’s hot, he’s burning, he wishes for the numbing cold to come back, everything is black. He can’t see, he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t-

John jolts awake, tangled in the sheets in the bed he’s in.  He pushes himself into a sitting position, swearing and breathing hard. Looking around, he recognizes that he’s in the place he stayed after he was shot and before he moved in to 221B. Confused, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, only to cripple back onto the bed as pain shoots up his leg. He sighs, grabbing the cane resting on the bedside table. He’s about to stand up when he notices the calendar hanging on the wall beside his bed. It says its mid-January, of the year 2010.

Two weeks before he even met Sherlock Holmes.