The Doctor was running, as he often was, straight into danger. Bounding along the roof tops; he was worse than Sherlock sometimes but yet the complete opposite.
John reflected sadly on the memory of his best friend. It had been two years since Sherlock had died but John was still unable to bring himself to return permanently to 221B. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade tried to talk to him and Mycroft was the worst always trying to apologize but he had just wanted to be alone. He had traveled for a bit coming back occasionally to visit Harry and Mrs Hudson. After a year Mrs Hudson had put out an advert for the flat, it got a bit of interest from those who wanting to see where Sherlock Holmes had lived. Then seven months later The Doctor had arrived. The doorbell, which had long since been fixed, had rung whilst Mrs Hudson was making tea so John had got the door and that was the day that things finally began to look a little brighter again.
'Hello I'm The Doctor I'm here for 221B here's the rent I don't know how much there is but you keep it, buy yourself some sweets, jelly babies are good. Jelly babies are cool!' He babbled and thrust a paper bag full of twenty pound notes at John who tried to protest.'Can I come in and look around, it's important that I do you see, of the utmost importance.' he just kept talking and John was struggling to keep up. Eventually John just couldn't take anymore of his rambling.
'I don't live here anymore!' he shouted at the man spouting words at an almost immeasurable pace. It had the desired effect stopping him in his tracks.
'Sorry.' The Doctor stepped back and his smile faltering. 'I really am. But it's okay.'
'Sorry.' John apologized; tired. Ever since the day he had helplessly watched his best friend fall he had struggled to keep going. He wasn't okay. He motioned to The Doctor to come inside. 'Come in, Mrs Hudson's upstairs she owns the flat.'
'I know.' he responded which only added to John's confusion with this mysterious Doctor, he was wearing a tweed jacket and bow-tie with black boots floppy hair which bounced when he walked. He found himself wondering not for the first time what Sherlock would have said because no matter what anyone said he would always believe in him. There was something in his green eyes that reminded John of him, a sort of wisdom despite his eccentric appearance and demeanor. The Doctor never said anything else as John lead him up the stairs of his old home. All the times he'd walked up the stairs to the sound of boredom also know as gunfire, having to shout over the noise to prevent getting shot when he entered. From the first time John had met Sherlock he had trusted him it was unexpected but he knew it was right, The Doctor radiated a similar energy which had caught John surprise.
On entering Mrs Hudson flat The Doctor started his speech once more and soon he and Mrs Hudson were talking as though they had known each other for years. John rested his crutch up against the wall and slumped into a comfortable green armchair watching them analytically. He couldn't deduce anything useful so instead read picked up the nearby newspaper flicking directly to the crimes before shaking his head and putting it down once more. When John looked up he found The Doctor staring at him curiously. John raised an eyebrow questioningly.
'What is it?' ...he waited.
'I was wondering if you could give me a tour of the flat?' The Doctor asked. John looked to Mrs Hudson who gave him a look as if to say, you go it's time. John felt nervous inside he didn't want to go, he knew that it shouldn't be this bad, it was just a flat but no matter how much he tried to talk it down it crawled its way back onto its pedestal. He had always known he'd have to go back so today was as goo as any. 'Well my flat now I suppose.' The Doctor said awkwardly. John smiled at him half heartedly.
'Right. Yes. Okay let's go.'