Summary: Takes place three years after The Reichenbach Fall. John is moving on when Sherlock shows up and changes everything. Rated T for some suggestive content and Johnlock in later chapters.
A/N: This is my very first fan fic and I hope to be posting once a week. Please review and let me know what you think. If there are any mistakes please let me know. I don't have a beta and edited this myself. I hope you enjoy.
UPDATE: I am very sorry that I have not been updating. I have now edited the first two chapters and am working on the third. Thanks to YiQi my very awesome friend and editor.
Today was the first day of the rest of John's life. He was moving out of 221B Baker Street. Moving to a new flat far away from the one he had shared with his best friend, his colleague, and the world's only consulting detective. Three long and treacherous years had passed. For John, these were years of mourning, grief, depression, and anger. However, starting today Sherlock's death would not, could not, control his life. This was the day where John would have to leave the past behind him and move on. Moving away and cutting off all memories of his time with Sherlock was the only way John saw to be able to start living again. The doctor needed to regain the feelings he had lost when he watched his best friend jump. He would start anew; without Baket Street, without Mrs. Hudson, without Lestrade, and without Sherlock. Maybe he could even find someone to replace the hole Sherlock left in his heart. Today was going be the first day of the rest of John's life.
Cardboard boxes covered the ground in front of where John stood. To his left was a small pile ready to be loaded in to the truck and join the furniture headed towards the new flat. To John's right sat a second pile, one that was much harder to look at. These boxes were full of books, of science equipment, and the occasional skull. All of Sherlock's belongs were sitting by the road, without their owner, and on their way to storage.
Reaching within himself, John found the energy to start his task. He had convinced Mrs. Hudson that this was something he needed to be alone for and she had left to spend some time with her sister. John knew that if he didn't start now, she would return before he was gone. They had already said their goodbyes and that was not something John wanted to do again. By moving out of Baker Street he would be leaving the old woman, who had become like a mother to him, all by herself. However they both decided it was for the best. While the two of them still lived together, everyday was a reminder of the person missing from 221B. The empty space they thought would never be filled again.
It was over an hour before John took a rest from his labour and even then it was not a long one. His knitted sweater was drenched in sweat, his trousers were covered in dust and still a pile of boxes remained.
Sherlock's pile. Holding back the tears he could not let out, John picked up the first of those many, many boxes, intent in finishing the job. Maybe if John hadn't been so intent he would have realized that someone was standing in the shadows. Someone he believed to be dead. A certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Darkness was settling in and John still had a long way to go. He was on the verge of giving up, of going back inside, staying one more night, and leaving tomorrow. Had a stranger not started to help him he would have given up. But strengthened by the assistance, John pushed forward to finish loading the truck.
"That should be the last one. Thank you very much for your help. This move," his voice faltered, "this move hasn't been easy for me."
"I know John, I know."
The reply came in a voice that John would have known anywhere. A voice he would never forget. And a voice, until tonight, he was sure he would never hear again. John's heart raced, his breathing became rapid as he slowly turned around. There was Sherlock; the last box open at his feet and a skull in his hand.