He was still very much cut and bruised, and generally in miserable shape. But Martha and Simon had done a great deal of work on the injuries they were able it seemed to attempt to give him a better level of comfort. Just things like that took a while to heal, he was only human. Despite how much lately he'd wanted to deny it. Being human only got him hurt, and finally he'd been hurt one to many times by to many people. He wanted to keep moving on with his life, hell he tried and then he found himself in a basement being tortured again for it. What was the point?
Everyone else was allowed to cope. Why did his nightmares keep coming back to haunt him? He knew he was supposed to be dead once over, maybe several technically but once at least. Was that it? Was it punishment from cheating Death? He didn't know anymore but he was tired. So emotionally tired and dead to the world he didn't notice the door open. Or if he did, he didn't react.
The bright lights on the ceiling were hard on his eyes, and that eventually was the thing that caused him to catch a glance of an all too familiar presence. Sherlock's ghost revisited. For a while John could only stare at him. As if trying to decide whether or not the image was real or not. But words finally fell from his lips none the less "I can't do this anymore Sherlock..I.." And words failed again, he didn't trust his voice. It was hoarse from machinery that had been only recently removed.
God he'd finally gone mad. Talking to ghosts out loud, seeing Sherlock everywhere. He looked stubbornly back up at the ceiling lights and flinched at the movement.