Four Months Passing

                                    

                                          
Author's Note: (This chapter jumps around the time line of 4 months switching in between John and Sherlock's view points, so just hang with it. *WARNING* Sexual Assault)
                          
John: Month One
                          
The taxi ride back to their flat seemed to last a painful eternity as Mary lay limp against John's side. He put his arm around her to try and provide some comfort, but he wasn't sure how much good he was doing. He looked at Mary, seeing a cold nothingness pour from her stilled eyes. He wondered what his life would be like now that so much had changed. He had lost his daughter, and his best friend who was now so much more than just. He still had his wife, but this was a woman who he had been thinking about leaving, but was not forced to stay with. Before leaving, he promised Sherlock that he would take care of Mary, and he was going to. Not because he loved Mary, which he did no longer, seeing her just reminded him of his dead daughter, but because he loved Sherlock.
                          
Mary moved a little against his side and John was jolted out of thought. He looked over to her, but nothing had seemed to change beside the position she was sitting in. It was raining now, so John looked out the window, watching the water droplets collide with the earth.
                          
John scarcely noticed when the cab had stopped, not realize he had arrived home until a sound from the front seat showed the cabbie's annoyance at John and Mary for not getting out and paying him. John tapped Mary on the shoulder, and she looked up slowly.
                          
"We're home." Not my home. John said gently, running a hand through Mary's hair. Not as nice as Sherlock's... Mary nodded and sat up. John opened the door, and gave Mary a hand getting out. He slipped the cabbie some notes before assisting Mary in getting into their flat.
                          
"I'm just going to lie down." Mary said, making her way slowly to the bedroom. John heard the door close gently behind her as he sat down at the table near his kitchen. He held his head tightly in his hands, using every muscle to resist slamming his head down on the table until he fell into unconsciousness.
                          
Beer will help. John thought to himself as he stood stiffly and walked over to the fridge. Much to his dismay, upon opening the fridge he found he only had one bottle, and that simply would not do.
                          
"I'm running out to get some shopping and maybe some take-away. I'll be back soon." John said against his bedroom door. He heard a slight noise that he assumed was Mary saying okay, so he grabbed his wallet and left. There was pub not to blocks away, so he figured he would just walk through the rain. Gave him a chance to clear his head, and try to make sense of the mess that was now his existence.
                          
As John walked closer to the pub he could only think of that night, it seemed like a life time ago, where he and Sherlock had gone to a pub, relaxing and drinking, then... John sighed. It was the best sex he had had in a long time, even drunk. Why? Because it was Sherlock. It was always Sherlock, and now he would never get to be with him again and that thought was just to painful to dwell he walked inside the door of the pub he had been so deep in thought that he had not realized he had gotten there. He looked around at the patrons. Sherlock would have seen so much, but John just saw people. He walked over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a stiff beer. Tonight he drank to kill his emotions.
                          
"I will need more of these, just keep them coming." John said to the man behind the bar before turning and looking around. He saw someone familiar sitting in a corner near the back of the establishment.
                          
"Lestrade?" John asked, slipping of the stool and walking over.
                          
"John?" Lestrade asked, words slurred with inebriation. He had obviously been here a while. "Come on over here."
                          
John walked over to the small table Lestrade was perched at, sitting down in a chair across from the drunk D.I. The last time John had spoken to Lestrade had been several hours ago, and he had been bashing him on his relationship with Sherlock.