Yeah, well, the hiatus was a fuck of a thing to do to somebody, and clearly it did do some significant damage to John.
Also honestly growing apart from Mrs. Hudson over it is one of the more understandable, not particularly dickish things John has done. I mean…hell, I can understand how it might’ve felt in his shoes. Mrs. Hudson is part of Baker Street, for John. She’s a part of that life. The idea of calling her up and talking to her, if I were in his shoes, would have felt like lifting 500 pounds. Missing her, missing him, all the times they’d had and everything that might have been.
John had a family, for two small years. A real one, that was always there for him, that saw him and cared about him (and that very possibly may have been something he’s never had before). And without Sherlock…Mrs. Hudson still cared, but sometimes in a situation like that the ache of the empty spot is so big that all you can do is avoid it or hurt.
If he did call, small talk would be one thing, but he would have feared: what if she wanted to Talk About It? What if she needed support herself, and John was too fragile to give it to her? They’d either end up breaking down together, or, worse, John would have to turn her away, or he’d let her talk and then come away that much more fractured.
And…Sherlock didn’t just die. Sherlock committed suicide in front of him. That’s not just grief and mourning all the things lost. That’s guilt. Especially for John, who was so devoted to being there for Sherlock, to helping. Who must have asked himself for those two years: did the last thing he ever said play into it? He called Sherlock a machine. If he’d cared, if he’d stayed, if he’d listened…could he have done something? Could he have headed it off?
So honestly it made total sense to me to find that John hadn’t talked to her since he’d moved out. In his place, I’m not totally sure I would have been able to do it either.
So that one I don’t hold against him. He did, after all, come back to see her when he finally felt strong enough to face it.