Most people didn't understand John and Sherlock's relationship and John was okay with that. If he cared what people thought he might not have ever even met the consulting detective. He'd been warned on their first case that Sherlock Holmes was a psychopath, but John knew better. Sherlock was a hero. John had made him one since day one when he was able to assess him in full just upon meeting. Sherlock had tried to confess that he'd researched him online, but John didn't believe it. He would never. He would always believe in Sherlock Holmes.
Even now as he knelt near his friends body, he believed in him. Even if the rest of the world did not, he believed. That was his job you see, he was the one who cared. Sherlock was the brain he was the heart. Together they were complete. Separate, well John was at a complete loss. He didn't know how to cope with Sherlock's death. Didn't know if he cold.
He didn't blame Florence for not knowing how to help him, he didn't know how to help himself really. It was obvious the way he held onto the body he wasn't ready to be alone. Not for a second time.
Sherlock kept a lot of odd things around the flat that Florence would notice when cleaning. John didn't ever touch Sherlock's things usually, so to have Florence try was just something he wasn't ready for yet. He had a lot of science equipment that John wasn't sure what to do with yet, he had a couple of skulls on the mantle. Whether or not they were real was uncertain, but John had long since stopped questioning these things. He found it was better that way. There were still case files strewn about from Sherlock's last case, Sherlock's laptop was still open, and his tea cup was ice cold near by.
John actually did appreciate Florence being there even if it was silently, he'd never appreciated her more in fact then he did as she just let him grieve without so much as a word against it. He couldn't voice it yet, but he didn't push her away like he had everyone else, he just cried. He cried for what seemed like ages, heart broken tears that slipped down his cheeks until he was too exhausted to cry anymore.
It was the first time he'd cried since Sherlock was taken from him, he'd spent much of the last twenty four hours in shock. Unable to cry even if he'd wanted to. "I should have been with him." John whimpered as Florence came closer and he sat back with her, finally letting go of the corpse and leaning against her instead.