Friends when you’re sad give you a hug. True friends when you’re sad give you an advice about one johnlock fic to read.
As John was swept into a dance he smiled at Mary as he waltz with her. He hadn’t realized Sherlock had left until a little later. He figured it would be fine. Everything was fine. They went on their honeymoon and came back two weeks later. Mycroft stood in front of their door with a sour look on his face, his hand held on so tightly to his umbrella his knuckles were white. His expression was dark, much darker than usual. “John… We need to talk.” John felt a knot twist inside of him as he invited Mycroft in to speak. A week later John found himself barely able to give his speech at Sherlock’s funeral. The pain was devouring him. He made it through with a minimal amount of tears and choking back his cries. “He was a good man, A great man. The greatest I’ve ever known.” Mary left John to pick up some of the remaining things he wanted to keep of Sherlock’s or anything he had left in the flat previously. John felt as if he was going to throw up as he walked through the familiar flat. He went into his old room upstairs and found himself staring at the sweater he had first gotten when he had met Sherlock. He bit his lip and tried not to look at it, to take in the memories of Sherlock patting him on the back or calling him moronic or saying how ridiculous he looked in it. But he always remembered that small smile in his voice when he said it… That one small smile, that made him flip head over heels for Sherlock, he would never see again.