Author's Note: Hi my lovelies! Since I've been totally captured by BBC Sherlock, this little idea for a fic popped into my head and hopefully you will enjoy it. If it turns out as well as I want it too, I think it has great potential. But that is up to you to decide. I'm rating it M because I am fairly sure it will happen later on in the fic, and there might be small fragments of smut here and there before that. We'll see ;) Just know that you have been warned. I will put warnings for every individual chapter if it is needed!

I love you guys so so so much and I really hope you will enjoy this!

*Less than three*

I'm always here
Waiting for you all alone
Eyes of the night
Just to see, see you home

. . .

Prologue

The silence was eerie on 221b Baker Street. If a stranger had entered the small flat that had once belonged to the odd couple that was Holmes and Watson, they wouldn't have known that one of them still remained. John Watson sat sunken in his armchair, a cup of tea resting on his left thigh as his eyes vacantly stared at the armchair opposite him. Sherlock's chair. John had thought of moving his own armchair, since this was basically what happened every time he sat down, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was supposed to stand there, opposite Sherlock's. Those armchairs represented the two of them, so different but always close to each other. John actually hadn't been able to get rid of much of Sherlock's stuff, that felt like something you did when you'd finally gotten over someone, and John was nowhere near letting go of Sherlock.

In the beginning it had all hurt so much, just walking in through the door had been painful, knowing that he wouldn't be greeted by gunfire or a moody comment about his ridiculous choice of clothes. When he'd boiled enough water for two cups of tea automatically, only to realize he shouldn't do that anymore. When he wasn't woken up at three in the morning by Sherlock talking to him from the room nearby and expected him to answer. Nowadays, he was just numb. He stared at things a lot, he talked very little. If by rare chance he laughed, it never quite reached his eyes. It was like all the joy he'd ever felt had disappeared with Sherlock. He'd not only been the best friend John had ever had, he'd also brought new life to John's boring existence. They'd hunted down criminals together, they'd been saving lives. That was what John wanted most of all and that had been snatched away too when Sherlock died. He himself had only been allowed to do it was because he was friends with Sherlock and he wasn't nearly clever enough to continue the work on his own. He went back to work at the hospital, but he was never assigned any serious work. This was probably because he seemed unable to lead a surgery. Maybe he was. It had been nearly two years and John still had trouble sleeping at night.

Mycroft came over for a cup of tea that evening (making it John's fourth cup of the day). He liked stopping by and John had stopped minding. At first he'd been more than resentful, blaming Mycroft for all that had happened. But he'd seen the regret and shame in Mycroft's face every time he stepped into the flat and he had forgiven him. After all, John had lost his best friend, but Mycroft had lost his little brother.

They chatted for a little while, Mycroft asked how John was doing and John answered the same way he always did; with a shrug of the shoulders. What was he supposed to say? That he just didn't care about anything at all, that it was all just nonsense now because when you'd lived a life with Sherlock Holmes in it, your life automatically became extremely dull when he was gone. John didn't really understand why Mycroft bothered coming around. It couldn't be much fun being around John so if it was company he was looking for, he could have easily found someone else. Maybe he just wanted to be in the place where his brother had lived and breathed, to be reminded of him and his quirks. Maybe it was the fact that John was the only person apart from Mycroft that grieved Sherlock in silence. If he had turned to Mrs. Hudson, she would've cried throughout the whole meeting and Mycroft's relationship with Lestrade was rather tense for some reason. John was probably the best he could get. So they met up for a cup of tea now and then, sat there in quiet and it was all fine.

John escorted Mycroft down the stairs when he was leaving because he needed to fetch the post, which had gathered there for two or three days.

"It was good to see you again John." Mycroft said and nodded as he left. It was rather unnerving to have Mycroft be this nice and friendly and John thought it was very sad that it had taken the death of Sherlock for his brother to soften. He grabbed the post and ascended the stairs to take his seat in his armchair once more. He flickered through the envelopes, not finding anything remotely interesting when a folder caught his eye. It was dark blue and with an official print it reminded him that "The British Army always needs another soldier!". John stared at it with an incredulous look. He kept staring at it throughout the day where he had placed it on the kitchen table, not quite sure if he should just throw it away or not.

He went to bed that night with an idea so ridiculous he shouldn't have even considered it. But he did. After all, the problem with his leg had been eliminated since long back and he could hardly remember ever being shot in the shoulder, that's how little pain he suffered from it. Surely he was fit enough to rejoin? Maybe returning to war would make him feel a little more alive? Because right now, John could see no light at the end of his tremendously long tunnel. If he was out in field again he'd get the adrenalin rushes he dreamt of, he would be able to save people again. He would actually do some good, even if it meant him dying for it. Wasn't it better to die from saving lives than slowly decaying in an old armchair? The big question was; could he leave 221b behind, with all its memories?

By morning, the decision had been made. John H. Watson would be returning to Afghanistan.

I'm always here
All alone without you now
Lights of the night
Just to see you somehow

- If You Run, The Boxer Rebellion

Author's Note: Soooo, I hope you liked this short prologue and that you want to continue reading. Chapter 1 will be up and published in no time, as long as someone shows interest for this story! You are the best for reading this and I love you all so much. If you want to follow me on tumblr, don't hesitate; benedictsvoice(dot)tumblr

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See you soon my darlings!