A/N: This will be a collection of stories about The Doctor coming to live a normal life as John's flat mate after Sherlock's death. It is set a couple of months before the start of When Evening Falls So Hard.

It's based a few years after The Angels Take Manhattan and it will mostly be a series of angst/hurt and comfort one shots, with a little bit of humor mixed in, as both Doctors learn things they have forgotten and help each other through their dark times.

Warning: No slash, but of a lot of tears and angst from both Doctors, so a tissue warning may apply.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or DW, I'm just visiting around with them.

Cover created by Allison Rose

When he opened his eyes that morning, the familiar shades of gray greeted him, the gray ceiling, the gray undecorated walls of his bedroom. Through the window the presence of gray clouds threatened oncoming rain for the gray September morning and the wind was softly blowing through the trees that were starting to lose their golden brown leaves.

He forced himself to get out of bed and put his feet on the floor, everything he did now seemed to hurt even more these days since Sherlock's death and as the months passed it felt like his spirit was also passing and he dreaded when he had to get up and get himself moving.

Still in his tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms, he made himself walk to the bathroom and wash away the sweat left behind from the nightmares that had come to him in the night. He splashed water on his face, ignoring the tired and washed out blue eyes that stared back at him in the hollowed and pale face in the mirror's reflection.

The stillness and silence of his flat greeted him and reminded him of yet another day he had to face alone, but John had grown used to it and it felt it was a part of him that he accepted without question, not that he didn't have any questions for it, he was just too tired to ask them anymore.

He walked into the tiny kitchen area to make himself some tea and attempt to eat something. A few minutes later, as he sat at the bare kitchen table with his tea and an untouched piece of toast, he pulled out yesterday's newspaper and saw the ad he had reluctantly agreed to have published for a flat mate.

He had done it unwillingly of course, finally giving in under Mycroft's firm threat of either getting a flat mate to live with him or to have John taken and treated under observation for his disinterest in life whether he wanted to or not. Mycroft's reasoning was that if John had a flat mate, it would help him at least to keep moving on with his life even though he was just pretending.

He had done fairly well as to be expected the few months after the funeral and moving into the new flat, but it seemed the harder John tried to pick up living again, the more colorless and cold the world seemed and nothing felt the same. His psychosomatic limp was back and so was his PTSD eating disorder, although John didn't suffer from post-traumatic stress syndrome as bad as some soldiers, it did not completely pass him by and after he was released from the RAMC he developed a depression linked eating disorder that was common among PTSD sufferers. John knew they had crept up on him again but he just didn't have the strength or will to fight them and they came back to him like old familiar friends.

He remembered the night when Mycroft came to see him about the possibility of a new flat mate. Mycroft paced the small sitting room, his face lined with worry he as tried to talk to him and John sat, and nodded blankly while pretending to be listening.

John wasn't the only one that had changed for the worse since Sherlock's death and they both knew an end was coming soon. But the guilt of the elder Holmes made him more determined to never see that end happen, while the guilt of the soul shattered doctor silently longed for it.

The last thing Mycroft Holmes wanted to do was bury John next to his brother, no one's little brother should die before him and he knew he could not leave John to the same fate and to watch him give up and stop. Sherlock cheated, and they were the ones that had to stay behind to suffer in silence and play by the rules.

The next day Mycroft submitted the advertisement and told John he would interview the applicants and send the one he approved. He told John to behave himself and to at least try, if not for himself then for Sherlock. John calmly replied that Sherlock didn't try for him so why would he care, he was dead, then John rose and left Mycroft behind in his office with his head in his hands and the burden of the casualties that his brother left behind.

John folded the paper and shut his eyes, giving into the nagging feeling of betrayal, of Sherlock and what they used to have as flat mates, but something inside him knew that maybe Mycroft was right, maybe having another body around would help him even for few more days to keep on. Even just for a little while before that would eventually fail like everything else did. John just wasn't sure if he wanted to keep on, he just didn't want to surrender and admit it out loud to himself or to Mycroft.

A knock on the door interrupted him and his internal battle. Sighing and taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and silently hoped that it was the postman. He went and opened the door to the most unusual looking man John had ever seen. The man had his back turned to John, with his head tilted back and he was gazing up at the sky and was letting the rain fall softly upon him, his arms were raised as if receiving a present, as if the rain was one of the best gifts he had gotten in a long time.

"Yes?" John asked gruffly, annoyed about being intruded on and that he could do nothing to stop it as Mycroft's words echoed in his mind. The man whirled around with an ungraceful air and he stared at John for a few minutes, like John was someone he had heard about and this was the first time to meet him. John noticed the man's eyes were bright, but they also had a bit of sadness around the edges, like the look you see in an older person who has felt the heavy hand of time. "Hello, John Watson..." the man spoke softly, his voice trailed off and he began to look John over slowly, then he smiled softly and a bit sadly, as if John reminded him of a bittersweet memory, and he had come back to check to see if it was still where he had left it.

He suddenly shook his head as if he seemed to remember the reason why he had come, and with an excited "Oh yes!" He dug like a little boy into his pocket of his coat, the touch of sadness around him now vanished and John thought he had imagined it as the trick of the light as the man pulled out a rumpled looking piece of paper from his pocket and with a flourish showed it to John, "I'm here about this, your advertisement for a flat mate, I have been approved by a My... Mycroft Holmes? is that it? Yes, well him, I have been approved by him and here I am."

He fell silent for moment as if his speech blew over too quickly and he didn't know what else to do and John just stared at him as he looked back at John with calm expectancy, then looked quietly down at his shoes and waited for John to say something.

Silently John took the piece of paper, nodding as he looked at it, he replied cold and stiffly, still rather unsure and skeptical of the man that stood before him like a happy stray dog who decided he had found a new home. "Yes, this is… mine, I mean, yes, it's for me."

"Good!" The man looked up, his eyes shining and clasped his hands together in glee as he smiled at John. "Well then, hello, John Watson. My name is The Doctor and I'm your new flat mate." As John opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "I don't need you or want you, and it will just be a waste of time so just go away and leave me alone." The man- The Doctor - turned back to gaze wistfully up at the sky like he had forgotten something up there.

"Nothing like a good September rain." He stated in a bit of a sad way and after turning and flashing John another smile, he waltzed past him into the flat. John heard his voice, filled with almost childish excitement, float back to him from the living room. "This is perfect! Bit grayish but I like the color gray, it has a feeling that no other color can offer, it's like rain.. I like rain, rain is good..."

John looked warily up at the nothing special to him gray clouds and sighed, as he folded the paper into his pocket, he turned and followed to see what he had just gotten himself into and the strange man he already resented and very deeply hoped would not stay long. John wondered if pretending to be alive would actually turn out to hurt worse than to accept that he was dead. And John didn't think that this unwelcome, strange-looking, lanky man with a crooked bow tie and a crumpled piece of paper would change a single thing.

A/N: Well, I hope you liked the beginning of my little Wholock drabble.