After leaving the cemetery and heading toward the Diogenes Club to make the final arrangements before disappearing , Sherlock found himself in a turmoil of feelings. Suddenly his heart went topsy-turvy .
Peculiar, that.
The grief on John's face had gripped his heart, compelling him to rush forth, embrace John and divulge every last part of his plan. The other, rational part had just stood there feeling helpless.
The strength of the overpowering feeling of wanting to placate John, to scoop him up, take him somewhere safe, somewhere, where Sherlock was going.
It was a novelty, all this. His previous thoughts, when he pondered such trifles, on empathy were demeaning to a whole range of emotions, them being categorized as useless and time consuming, but now… Now Sherlock hoped he'd have that time. If only to wipe away the tears brimming the eyes of the man he'd come to love and respect, where the two emotions often mingled, making Sherlock gasp at the realization
It made Sherlock's heart sink, thinking of the vast distance, the time he's have to stay hidden, without so much as a text for John, to put his mind at ease. Even with Moriarty dead, his eyes were haunting.
And once those eyes were blinded for good, Sherlock vowed to return, and grovel for forgiveness.
Yes. He felt John's sorrow as if it as his own. John wasn't the only one who ha to live without his loved one.
Sherlock felt cold to the core of his soul, freezing further with each step taking him further from John. Unfamiliar with yearning, Sherlock had a long way to travel, a path upon path, where he will learn the depths of it.
But, as they say; Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Perhaps there's some truth in that.