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Part two to "I'm Back" because I absolutely loved this idea.
It's the same dialogue, as said before, but it's from John's POV, so there's a bit more insight into the situation. It's v fun.
TW/CW: Swearing, talk about The Fall, implications of suicidal thoughts. DO NOT read this if you're triggered by anything like that, please stay safe lovelies.
Genre: Still angst with no happy end, though I may eventually give this a happy end, if I can competently write one lol. (Fluff will be coming soon, I swear!)
Ship: Same as before, this can be interpreted as either possible romantic or platonic

Enjoy! (If you can, this is pretty angsty)
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It was miraculous, watching him be so oblivious to the harm he'd caused everyone.

I certainly wasn't impressed, though. How could I be? He had abandoned anyone who cared for him to "finish a story".  I'd hardly call that worth it. But now he's back, staring me in the face like a puppy. Well I'm not having it.

"Did we mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?" I stated as calmly as I could, staring him down fiercely. I watched as his smile dropped and he swallowed nervously. Good. He'd literally killed himself right in front of my eyes and now he was back out of nowhere.
I almost wanted him to feel bad, I think.

"John, I-" He began with a hopeless expression, but I cut him off angrily.

"I'm not finished. What about Lestrade? Huh? Or Molly? Or your own fucking BROTHER?" I hadn't meant to bring up Mycroft, or any of them for that matter, but I didn't seem to care anymore. I wanted him to hurt. To make him feel what I'd felt for the past two years unceasingly. I needed him to realise the gravity of what he'd done.

"Did you genuinely think of anyone but yourself before deciding to do what you did? Did you not consider that it may hurt anyone who had any semblance of feeling towards you?"

I watched as his face paled and his expression turned dejected. His eyes widened and his mouth opened a bit, almost as if in shock. It made me feel a bit better, knowing I may have gotten through that thick skull of his. I felt like screaming, trying to convey how he'd managed to hurt anyone and everyone close to him.

Greg seemed to lose all life from his eyes after Sherlock jumped. He'd walk into Scotland Yard every morning with a cup of coffee and heavy bags under his eyes. I'd never seen him that bad before. I thought that was the only way it had affected him, but then I'd caught him smoking. It wasn't like he was trying to hide it, though. No effort was made to put out the cigarette or even to look very embarrassed. He simply offered me a sad smile and continued on with his day. I didn't have the heart to mention it again. He and Sherlock were still betting, right up until the Fall. They were going strong together, they actually helped each other a lot; it was somehow easy for them to tell when the other was nearing the edge of relapse and they always managed to bring them right back. It was an interesting friendship they had, so to see Greg in that state was truly heartbreaking.

And Molly. Oh god, Molly. She was absolutely destroyed. I knew she used to have a thing for Sherlock, but I truly think this was more than that; she apparently got over that crush a while back anyway. But this, this was a true sadness, brought up by the death of someone close to you. She was so miserable she stopped making the effort to come back into work, apparently saying she had the flu most of the time. I tried to go and visit her but she just stood in the doorway and politely refused my entry. It was hard to see her like that, too. Bloodshot eyes and a horribly broken smile that she'd attempted to put on when I answered the door. I could see right through it, though. It was easy enough to tell that she was barely holding it together. I simply reminded her that she was welcome to come over any time she fancied, yet she had just shut the door after nodding shakily. I walked away, listening to her sniffle behind the door.

Mycroft was possibly the hardest person to watch break down over Sherlock. I think it was because he was so stoic all the time, so composed. It was weird to see him break; it was like my brain was saying "Oh, well if Mycroft's sad that something is definitely wrong!". However he wasn't one for crying. Or at least, not where I could see. We still met up every now and then; he was interesting conversation and I was his brother's ex-flatmate, so we had enough to discuss. But no, he never cried in front of me. Instead, he took up hobby-hunting. Almost frantically trying to find something to take his mind off things. He started with baking, then gave up due to his diet. Then it was painting, but he'd simply exclaimed he was "no good" and gave up after three attempts. This continued on for a while until he'd found knitting, of all things. Actually recommended by Ms Hudson. I mean, I'm glad he'd found something and all, just... It was bizarre to see him in such a state, I almost couldn't stand it.

So no. I didn't want to listen to Sherlock. Not yet, anyways. He needed to listen to me, first.

"John, please listen to me, I-"

"STOP, Sherlock." I raised my voice a bit, clenching my fists to restrain myself from knocking his damn lights out. I saw his eyes dart around the room for a moment, probably realising it was just the two of us in this area of it; I'd wanted somewhere quiet to sit, though that wish seemed to be thrown out the window now.

"You never cared. I knew that already. I always knew that. But I never thought you'd stoop this low. This has crossed a line, Sherlock. You really don't know what you've done, do you?" He opened his mouth, probably to say some stupid sarcastic comment, but I was hardly in the mood for that. I glared at him and he shut his mouth.

"Don't you dare say another word. You wanna know what happened because of you? Greg's went back to smoking. Molly's hardly been at work she's so distraught. Mycroft started fucking knitting and for CHRISTS sake you don't know how many times I've opened the drawer in our desk because of you! And for what? For you to come back and ACT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?!"

As much as I hate to admit it, that last part is true. I hadn't intended to say it; this wasn't about what I'd done, it was about the others. But I had. The amount of lonely nights I had approached that damned drawer with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes was unbearable. He wouldn't understand, I knew that much. I knew he wouldn't. He apparently faked his suicide anyway so it wasn't like I'd be joining him or anything, I know that now he's here and looking at me with a pale face and a trembling bottom lip.

"John... I..." For some reason, I paused. I wanted to hear what he was going to say. What he could possibly say to justify all this.

He didn't say anything.

Typical.

I scoffed and he flinched, clearly understanding my resentment towards his silence. I didn't care anymore, though. I'd thought I'd done enough, and I just wanted to go home. I shook my head slightly.
"That's it. I'm not doing this anymore." I watched him tilt his head and felt the urge to scoff again. He really couldn't piece together what I thought of this whole situation? It wasn't like it was hard to figure out.

With that thought in mind, I reached for my jacket which had been slung over the back of the chair. Then my wallet, which I fished out a tenner from and left on the table.
Then, not looking back at him, I walked away.
I knew that if I looked back I'd break; tell him how much I missed him, how awful everything was without him being there, how I missed 221B. But I refused. I wouldn't let him have that satisfaction yet. I heard him call my name but I kept walking, past the real waiter and out the door.

It had started drizzling outside and I stood there for a moment, taking in everything that had just happened in there. I could feel the cool breeze flow through me as I left the heat and tension of the restaurant, immediately cooling down and starting to feel a bit less light-headed.
I didn't even realise I was crying until I felt the all-too-familiar tickling sensation on my cheeks as the water dripped down. I wiped my eyes hastily, and began walking once more, trying my best to come to terms with what had happened.

It was then that I froze in my tracks, the rainwater still dripping down my face.

He was back.

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Y'all I'm sad.
Approx 1530 words
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