Trying Not to Love You.

Prolouge.

There were no words to describe how John felt after Sherlock died. Not really. You could go with depressed, angry, lonely but none of those really seemed to fit. Numb was a better way of putting it. After the Fall, after Sherlock died, nothing really seemed to matter. He didn't help plan the funeral, he'd left that up to Mycroft, who he still wasn't on speaking terms with. Nothing mattered. It was all pointless. John didn't eat much, didn't sleep much and when he did sleep there was always a nightmare of Sherlock falling.

To everybody watching, John just seemed empty. He tried to go about his mornal rountine but he just wasn't with it. He was in automatic mode, as if his body was there but his mind was somewhere else altogether. And it was, he was constantly wondering and thinking - why? Why had Sherlock jumped? There had to be a reason (John suspected Moriarty had something to do with it) because Sherlock was not a fake and John refused to believe he was, so why? Of course there were other questions floating about in there, questions and thoughts. There seemed to be a lot of time for thinking now that Sherlock was gone. There were a lot of why questions, why had Sherlock jumped? Why couldn't he help? There were a lot of what questions as well like what-if's but then there always is. There were other what questions, like 'What's the point?' That seemed like a regular one in John's head. What's the point in living without Sherlock? John had been so alone before he met Sherlock but it seemed he was more alone now than ever. Because he'd tasted it, he;d known what it was like for that short while, what it was like to have company but it had been ripped out of his hands. Only for it to be replaced with bitter loneliness. John was lonely, everyone treating him like a china doll that could break at any moment. They all kept acting as though he was so fragile. Mrs Hudson, kind old dear she was, looked at him with so much pity in her eyes. He didn't need that, she was upset too, he knew that. And Molly couldn't even look at him when they bumped into each other. Of course, Greg kept trying to socialise with him but John just didn't see the point. He just stayed in 221B, alone, thinking. It got to the point where he thought about suicide. One night around 4 months after the Fall, John found himself rolling his gun around in his hand thinking. Thinking about what it would be like. Would it be quick? Would it be painful? He couldn't do it. John couldn't do that to Mrs Hudson, the poor old woman was beside herself over Sherlock's death. He couldn't do it to Harry either, she had finally started to stop drinking and if he killed himself she'd never stop. He knew then that he had to get his life sorted. Looking at his gun, John shook his head, No, he'd made his decision and suicide wasn't it. Setting the gun aside he tried to think of what the best course of action to take was. He knew people were worried about him, namely Mrs H and Greg, but how to show them he was moving on? No moving on was painful, a lump began forming in his throat, tears threatening to fall. Why did moving on sound so painful? John closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. 'Moving On' sounded like he was going to forget Sherlock and he could never do that, Sherlock Holmes was pretty unforgettable. It was too much too soon. 'Accepting' sounded better. Yes, that was it. How to show Mrs Hudson and Greg he was starting to accept Sherlock's death? He didn't know, because he wasn't really. He was still mourning. Mourning the love of his life. 'Wait what?' John thought, since when was Sherlock the love of his life? Thinking about it, since they'd first met. Sherlock had been so brilliant, clever and amazing that John couldn't help slowly falling in love with the git. Realising he was in love with Sherlock only made his mood darker. Because truthfully he'd known all along, he;d only just had the guts to admit it. To himself. Maybe if he'd told Sherlock he wouldn't have jumped? But no John had been too scared to admit he could be in love with a man.

Suddenly the tears cam. John couldn't help but sit there . Sobbing uncontrollably - it was his fault all along. Maybe if he'd shown he'd cared. If he'd let Sherlock know he was there for him. Maybe if he had told Sherlock how much he loved him, Sherlock might still be here. John was still crying when Mrs Hudson came up to check on him, like she always did.

"Oh dear." Mrs Hudson cried rushing to John and wrapping her arms around him in a comforting hug. John carried on crying but wrapped his arms around her waist seeking all the comfort he could get. The kind old lady had been like a mother to him and Sherlock before he ... died.

"It's alright dear, let it out." She murmured over the sound of his sobs.

"I know Mrs H, I just...I loved him. I loved him so much and i never told him." John managed to get out in between sobs.

"I'm sure he knew dear, it was so obvious you two were in love with each other."

That really didn't make John feel any better. A wave of fresh tears fell and his sobs grew worse.

"Ohh." Mrs Hudson exclaimed, "I'll make you some tea dear."

It took half an hour after that to stop John crying and about five cups of tea.

"I..I just wish 'd told him, but i was so scared to ruin our friendship..and now he's gone and i'll never get to tell him."

"I understand dear. It's late and you young man have not been sleeping. I bet you're tired, you should go to bed."

"I don't want to.." John started to refuse but one look at Mrs Hudson told him he wasn't going to win that arguement. "Fine." He mumbled, giving up. He stood up and went to put his mug in the sink to be washed up before Mrs Hudson took it off him.

"No need to worry about that i'll do it, you go off to bed." She smiled sympathetically at him.

"Mrs Hudson you're a saint." John murmured before walking up the stairs to hos bedroom to sleep.

After that John appeared to be getting better. He went to the oub with Greg once every two weeks. They usually just watched whatever sport was on the pub tv or talked about their weeks either way they almost always left the pub drunk. He had told Lestrade about his feelings for Sherlock during their first pub meet up. Greg had not been surprised. John even started watching afternoon tv with Mrs Hudson. But he was still hurting inside. He felt like his heart had been broken into little pieces and those pieces smashed. He still visited Sherlock's grave, when his job at the surgery got too much that it really hit him and he felt like drinking himself into oblivion but John knew that would only make it worse and that he's just have to soldier on. It was only after about 4 months of the same routine day in day out that John got tired of pretending he was okay. That was when he started thinking again. He used to wish and pray for a normal life with a stable job and routine but now that he had it he realised how boring and mundane it was and how much he didn't want it. It was only then that he realised how much he really missed the excitement of helping Sherlock on cases, how much he missed chasing serial killers through the streets of London, getting kidnapped , the adrenaline rush of it all and the danger. Where to get that adrenalin and danger now though was the question. Before Sherlock it had been the army. The Army. He could always go back, his shoulder had healed well and his limp was gone. Mycroft had been right when they first met, he did miss the war. Not nessecarily losing soldiers on the battlefield or anything like that but the danger and excitement. John thought about returning to Afghanistan constantly, for a good few months. If he was busy fighting for his life and trying to save others' lives, maybe it would distract him from the grieving and distract him form the guilt. It was a week before the anniversary of Sherlock's suicide that he mentioned it in a conversation with Mycroft. Well he said conversation..Mycroft had been meeting up with him irregularly to check how he was but before now John had never really said anything. This time the were in Speedys sitting across from each other, almost exactly how they had been when he found out Irene Adler had died. John was staring into his tea, Mycroft staring at John probably deducing how John was. It was John who broke the silence.

"Listen..um, I've been thinking..." He began to say but trailed off, his mind trying to work out the best way to say what he wanted to say.

"Out with it John." Mycroft said still staring at him. John took a deep breath and he nodded though it was more to himself than at Mycroft.

"I want to rejoin the army." John finally muttered, looking up at The British Government and seeing a brief look of surprise before it was gone and Mycroft raised one eyebrow, tilting his head slowly .

"John...are you sure about this? You've thought about it?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, I'm sure, I've been thinking about it for months actually." John answered, he didn't want to tell Mycroft his reasons although he was fairly sure Mycroft had deduced it already.

"I'll see what i can do, I could have you out there before the week is over and returned to your old postion as Captain, if that it what you want. Let me know, I'll also take care of the rent for 221B - " Mycroft wa cut of by John's protests.

"No Mycroft, you don't need to do that..the rent i mean," John protested, shaking his head.

"John, I will pay the rent for you, you will need a place to stay when you're on leave and your housekee- landlady will have to rent it out at some point. Again, I'll see what i can do about sending you over but be warned, if you change your mind at all i cannot have you brought back." Mycroft said in a warning tone and standing up.

John understood, Mycroft didn't actually control the government after all and only had limited power. No, he would be treated exactly the same as an ordinary soldier and would have to finish a tour before he could quit - if he changed his mind that was. John nodded, "I won't change my mind."

You won't be saying that when you find out Sherlock is alive. Mycroft thought, nodding to John briefly before picking up his umbrella and leaving the cafe.

John left for Aghanistan 2 weeks later, he'd said his goodbyes to Mrs Hudson, Greg and Harry. He'd even spent an hour at Sherlock's grave, talking to his headstone. Saying good-bye. As strange as it was, he was going to miss being able to visit Sherlock's grave.

While he was in Afghanistan, he wasn't going to have any connection to Sherlock. He wasn't going to be able to go into Sherlock's bedroom and just lay there when he was feeling down/ He wasn't going to be able to sit on Sherlock's chair either. But he supposed it was for the best, this way he wouldn't be stuck in constant state of grief. He'd have to concentrate, he wouldn't be able to let his mind wander to thoughts of Sherlock.

It was hard at first, but he managed it. For the first few months he couldn't help but be reminded of what Sherlock looked like after her fell, everytime a soldier died while he was trying to save them. Eventually he managed to get it under control and he found that this was working, he didn't seem to think about Sherlock anymore. He wasn't so depressed. Except when he had nightmares - which was more often than he would have like. Every nightmare was the same, it would start out just like his war dreams he'd often had before the fall. He'd be desperatly trying to save some poor young soldier's life but he always failed. The young soldier always died in his arms. But they were different to his old war dreams, in his old war dreams he would be shot in the shoulder. In these dreams he wasn't shot. Instead the young soldier would turn out to be Sherlock and he would be forced to leave him behind. He couldn't tell which one of the nightmares was the most unbearable. Eventually the nightmares stopped and he was ok, untill the first time he was on leave.

Mycroft made sure that John got leave once a year, for a month. He was always back in London the day before Sherlock's anniversary.

The first time John was on leave just left him more depressed. It made him remember exactly why he'd left in the first place. Every year was the same, Greg would pick him up, drop him off at 221B. John would sleep off the jet lag then the next day he would go and see Mrs Hudson or he would go out for drinks with Greg. He would then have nothing to do for the whole month and so usually fell back into his old routine of constantly thinking about Sherlock and blaming himseld for Sherlock's death. His second time on leave though was 3 years after Sherlock died and was completely different.

Author's Note: Oh god. It's taken me ages to upload this. It hasn't been beta-ed so all mistakes are mine and i don't own Sherlock. Please review, constructive critism is really appreciated. I hope you guys like it..it's taken me ages. I don't know if i'm going to be putting the rating up yet..we'll see when i write some more. XD Please review.