Sherlock enlists in the military.
Three Days Prior
Sherlock browses through notebooks left around the flat. Contrary to the name, they are not filled with notes. They are filled with letters.
'Dear Sherlock. Are you bored of Heaven yet? I think it's highly unlikely that there are any crimes to solve in that location.'
'Dear Sherlock. I really want to doubt that you're dead. I'm willing to bet you're traveling around, probably going to all sorts of interesting places.'
'Dear Sherlock. Mycroft stops by sometimes. Honestly, he's not very good company…'
'Dear Sherlock. You're out there, somewhere. Why didn't you take me with you?'
Sherlock hurriedly puts away the letter-books as he hears familiar footsteps come up the stairs.
Two Days Prior
"Why can't I be buried there one day?" Sherlock asks.
"You don't meet their admittance criteria," Mycroft huffs.
"Can't you pull a few strings? You're incredibly good at that, which you know I hate to admit."
"I won't, Sherlock. It would be one of the most dishonest and disrespectful things that I could ever do. As a man with a position in the government, I would never forgive myself, even if you're my brother."
Sherlock goes silent. "… When then, I guess I'm going to have to fit their criteria."
"Sherlock…"
One Day Prior
Sherlock visits the graveyard. The headstone is so plain and flat, with no decorative elements. It's been well-kept, though, the stone still shiny and new-looking with the grass all around it neatly trimmed.
It's so barren here. No trees. Only graves.
Three Hours Prior
Sherlock browses through the records that Molly has hesitantly retrieved for him. She leaves the room to give him some time and silence, though she wishes she had the true capability to stay.
[Date of Admittance: October 10]
[Fractured skull. Four broken ribs. Compound fractured right femur. Comminuted right ulna and radius. Progressing internal bleeding.]
[Date of Death: October 16]
"Six days of pain…"
Two Hours Prior
"How could you, Sherlock? I hope you're proud of yourself for breaking an old woman's heart," Mrs. Hudson chastises him, looking very upset.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Please understand that it was the last thing I wanted," Sherlock says, looking at her with an honestly apologetic expression. "Things fell out of my control. I know it sounds hard to believe… but it's true. I did what I did to keep all of you safe."
Mrs. Hudson sighs, looking out the window. "Oh, Sherlock… I could never stay angry with you. I just wish you would have told a few of us what was going on," she expresses forlornly. "John… He…"
She bows her head, bringing a hand up to her face as her shoulders begin to shake. Sherlock steps closer to Mrs. Hudson, wrapping his arms around her. She sobs into his chest, as he says nothing.
One Hour Prior
"I will be taking a cab from the train station, Mycroft," Sherlock insists, speaking to his brother over his phone. He glances out the window as the train comes to a stop in King's Cross Station.
"I would rather pick you up," Mycroft seriously protests over the phone, as Sherlock wedges it between his shoulder and ear to pull down his luggage.
"You may come from the flat and meet me there. But there are a few faces I would rather see first, before I see yours," Sherlock explains.
"Sherlock…"
"Actually, just in case John and Mrs. Hudson aren't there when I get there, wait for me to call you. Then you can come. When I tell you to."
"Sherlock, please…"
"I'm sorry, but those are my plans. Now if you will excuse-"
"John won't be there," Mycroft quickly says before his younger brother can hang up on him.
"You said he moved back in after a year since…" Sherlock trailed off as he stepped out onto the station platform.
"He did. I'm sorry, Sherlock… but John was hit by a car three months ago. He didn't survive."
Three Years Prior
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Will you do this for me?
…
Goodbye, John."