221B misses its boys. God, I'm so depressing. Mind you, could be for good or bad.


It was not the first time. They had both left before. But maybe it was the last.

One has moved out three times, once in a rage, once in a relationship, and once out of the worst loneliness a man can ever feel. He always came back.

The other left once. A long time ago. And he stayed away for three years, long and hard and full of pain in every way. He came back too.

The emptiness is nothing new, yet it will never be old. This time neither of them is returning.

The flat mourns for them, the emptiness crying out in the night with spaces where shadows ought to be, the hallways echoing with memories of footsteps. Dark shapes on the walls slowly fade along with the hope of their shields returning to replace the uncomfortable voids with images and mementos and anything except blankness.

In the long winter twilight the silence throbs with longing for voices, soft and low, triumphant and rejoicing, the contesting confrontation of companionship.

The scent of them has almost dissipated now, replaced by dust and must, but it goes unnoticed, uncared for. All this place holds now is suggestions.

Gone, they are somewhere else now, somewhere better. Still together, they will always be together. Just not here. And they will not come back.


Cheer me up, leave me a review...?