With a groan John sinks to the floor, his hands over his face as he sat in the middle of his bedroom feeling numb.

He'd just had an overwhelming urge to sit, and so he had.

His whole being felt numb. He wasn't sure if he could get up. No, that's a lie. He knew he was physically able to stand. The numbness was inside.

John felt empty.

He didn't know who to trust, who to listen to, who to confide in.

Sherlock was an obvious answer. But he didn't know the man, at all. All he knew was what he'd been told and frankly he was having doubts.

In ten years he'd supposedly reconsidered his sexuality, befriended an odd man, went on to date said man and even go as far as marry him. Although he hadn't married him because he was kidnapped by some lunatic with a grudge against Sherlock and shoved out a tree causing him to forget all this.

It all sounded a bit far fetched to John.

He'd been straight for all his life. And now he wakes up to be told that he's in love with a man? Surely, there was something going on here.

However, John also couldn't deny that there was something between him and the tall man. A spark, a force, a feeling. There was something. He could see it in Sherlock's eyes, the way he watched him as if he were ready to jump in front of a bus or off a building for him. He could feel it in the way Sherlock gave him space and always seemed to unconsciously move with John.

Maybe, it was possible. A lot can change in ten years.

"Fuck.." John whispers the curse, a hand sliding through his hair as he looks down at the carpet.

He was desperate to remember. He didn't like seeing the way he was causing Sherlock and other pain. Sadly, John knew he was powerless to help. He was the problem, he couldn't comfort them.

He'd forgotten them. He didn't know them anymore. If those facts were hurting him then he didn't want to know how this was affecting Ms Hudson, his landlady who treated him like a son last night, and Sherlock, his supposed fiancé and love of his life.

With a shakey breath John looks down at his hand and the ring that sat there, a perfect fit for his finger. It was a simple band, nothing flashy or overly expensive. It was a simple display of true love and affection.

Carefully he slides it off to look at it properly. He lifts it up, twirling it around in his fingers.

He could feel a sob building up in his chest, threatening to take over his body. He didn't even understand why he was upset.

He didn't love Sherlock. He didn't know Sherlock. He had forgotten him. He'd met him yesterday. Yet here he was, the military man who was good at hiding his emotions, was nearly in tears over a ring he'd gotten from a man he didn't know.

Stupid. John mentally spits the word, frowning inwardly.

He shakes his head then, no. He stands, forcing his body up and into his usual military hold. He turns to his bedside table and opens the draw, ignoring the numbness of his fingers and heart. He drops the gold band into the draw and closes it with more force then needed, making the sound echo and bounce off his bedroom walls.

"I will not fall apart over this" John tells himself, eyes closed as he takes a large breath.

He'd survived war, he can survive forgetting ten years of his life. He can survive the awkwardness of his flatmate being his previous lover.

Lover...

John turns to his bed then with a frown. Had he and Sherlock made love in this room? Had they had their first kiss here? Was this where they confessed their love? When they got engaged? How had their relationship started? When did John develop feeling for Sherlock?

He knew nothing and asking himself these questions were getting him no where, obviously.

He wanted to know. He really did.

John wished there was a way for him to say something or do something to make it all come flooding back. John was a medical man, however, and he knew enough about how the brain and body works to know there was little he could do other then be around familiar people, places and things in hope his memory was restored.

With a final sigh John trails out of his room. Part of him wishes he could be like a teenager and hide away in his room for the day, possible spend most (all) of his time online or reading his new book.

John pauses for a moment, wondering if this 'new book' was a memory or if he just knew himself well enough to know that he had a new book. He doubts ten years changed his love for reading.

Blinking, John finds himself standing in Sherlock's-- his kitchen, in front of the kettle.

He picks it up and fills it enough for three cups before he places it down and flicks it on. While it's bubbling he searches the cupboards for cups.

Oddly enough, all the cupboards are either perfectly organised or empty. John didn't see Sherlock as the type to organise his cupboards (if the state of the flat was anything to go by) and guesses that it was him who did all of that.

It kind of sadden him to know that he didn't know Sherlock. It'd been less then a day, for John, and Sherlock had already came quite the impression. He seemed so cold at times, but then he'd smile at John and seem like the happiest person ever.

After finding some cups, John places one beside the kettle, his mind still turning.

He felt something.. But was he feeling it because he'd been told he feels it or because he actually feels it?

Does that even make sense? John snorts at himself.

John makes his tea, not really paying attention to what he was doing. He was soon sat in the red chair, the union jack pillow behind his back as he sipped the tea.

He looks around the flat, wondering if this was where he usually sat. He could see the black chair opposite him being Sherlock's chair, it reflected his character. Dark, subtle and by far as the most elegant thing in the room.

John shakes his head, feeling stupid. Who the hell compares a person to a chair? Him, obviously.

Silently, his shoulders shake in a chuckle as he laughs as himself.

John takes a sip of his tea and sinks into the chair, relaxing.

Even if his memory didn't come back soon, he'd get through. He could make this work, because he was anything if not stubborn.