Chapter 3

Chapter 3

His dad left the room and Hamish was alone again.
Alone with his thoughts...
Hamish layed down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, tears were streaming down his face.
He prayed that his dad wouldn't walk in, he couldn't bare to show his dad his tears.
Even though he was aware of the fact that his dad knew how sad he was, becayse of the loss of his father.
Still there were many questions that weren't answered and Hamish realised how little he knew about his childhood, about his father...
He didn't even know about the fake dead of his father, let alone he knew about the reunion.
Altough he was angry with his uncle, Hamish knew that he was probably his only source of information.
And then there was Lestrade, who had tried to be a fatherfigure for Hamish in the best way he could, but ofcourse it wasn't the same.
He could ask his dad everything he wanted to know, but he felt like a burden.
Hamish got up again and looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes looked red and swollen and his face was pale.
He walked out of the room and went looking for his dad, who he found in the livingroom.
His dad was sitting on the couch, staring.
He had the attitude of a soldier, an attitude that only showed when his dad didn't know how to handle his feelings.
And today he obviously didn't know what to with his emotions today.
He was sad ofcourse, one year ago he lost the man he had loved so dearly, but his dad was also angry with Moriarty and Mycroft; on a day like this he regretted all the lost years even more.
Three years lost...
“Dad?” Hamish uttered, his dad looked up with tears in his eyes.
“Yes son?”
“I was wondering...” he couldn't continue his sentence, and he cleared his throat.
“You were wondering?” his dad asked, his voice trembled.
“How did you go on, after his 'fake' dead?”
His dad suddenly was staring into nowhere, it was all coming back to him now and Hamish was sorry he even asked.

---

~Flashback
“Sherlock!” John yelled, forgetting about his phone.
The falling man wasn't able to hear him anyway.
“Sherlock...” he said again.
This time more to himself than to the man he was loosing.
He started running -Sherlock must've hit the pavement by now- somany thoughts were going through his mind, he didn't pay attention to the traffic, but he should have.
He was hit by a cyclist and he hit the asphalt hard, for a few seconds he forgot where he was, but when he remembered he tried to get up as fast as he could and he started running towards the St.-Barts.
He could see from a distance where Sherlock had hit the ground, there were a lot of people surrounding him.
“Please, let me trough... He is my friend.” John uttered, though Sherlock was somuch more than a friend.
“Oh God...” he whispered when he regconised the corpse as the body of the consulting dedective.
His legs weren't able to carry him for any longer, and he sat on the ground before he knew it.
He tried to reach out for Sherlock's hand, desperately searching for a pulse, his trembling hand was moved away by another woman as they carried Sherlock away.
John still doesn't remember how he got home that day, neither does he remember how he even survived.
In his remembrance he just sat in his couch, looking into nowhere; waiting for Sherlock to come home.
That was the first year.
In the second year Lestrade used to call upon him, as a consulting dedective.
John wasn't half as good as Sherlock, but sometimes he found imporant clues, mostly because he wanted to annoy Anderson.
The third year he started going out again -that was after he realised that he had been and still was in love with Sherlock- and he found out that women still found him attractive, though he was ruined for them.
And all because of a man he never had and he was never able to have, atleast that's what he thought.
Three months later Sherlock made his return and God, John was relieved that he hadn't lost him.

---

“I didn't.” his dad concluded.