The worst part of grieving someone is that it sometimes hits you when you least expect it. Triggers can be small. Maybe you’re out on a date and the mug your coffee is served in resembles their favorite cup. Maybe you’re walking past an obnoxiously blue bar, now under new ownership, and without realizing it you’re reliving every moment the two of you had together. Maybe you see someone wearing a blue scarf out of the corner of your eye and you turn, expecting them to be there, and it’s a stranger, instead.
Maybe it hits you on a random Thursday afternoon for no reason at all and with no apparent trigger, which is how John found himself sitting at his desk, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes, trying desperately not to remember all the things he was trying to forget. Time, his therapist said, would soften these moments, but Sherlock was right about her being a useless provider.
((Continue - Completed Work))