The Adventure of the Empty House
Chapter I – London Rain
Rain was drenching his hair, his jacket. Hypothermia was already taking over his senses, despite his fast walking pace.
It was late evening, with London drowning in fog, in moistness, in an unhealthy shade, creating an atmosphere that made respectable people flee to their warm flats and dubious creatures coming out of their holes, lusting for mystery and mischief.
How very Victorian, he thought. There were times when you were a rational man of science, remember?
But then there was no reason why he should still believe in rationality. There was no rational way to explain what had happened. Not that his most desperate plea had been heard. Not that his best friend had returned from the dead. And most certainly not that he couldn't forgive him for that.
Twenty months have passed since Sherlock Holmes jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. Twenty months in the shadows. Nightmares, useless discussions with his therapist, Mycroft, Lestrade. Twenty months of trying to restore his friend's reputation, only supported by the Irregulars. Twenty months of searching for clues that could lead to Moriarty, the real Moriarty, not the phantom he had created. But the criminal mastermind and his mighty organisation seemed to have vanished and not even Mycroft had the power to bring them back. He couldn't accept it but in the end he knew it was his duty to go on. To live. For Sherlock's sake. And for his own. He managed to open his own surgery and he fell in love with a woman he didn't need to impress constantly. Although this fact pained him, he started to come to terms with his loss.
He had experienced this before. Nothing ever happened to him and then, in only a few seconds, everything changed once more.
