Author's Note: This is a short continuation of the latest episode, 'The Sign of Three'.
Warning: Spoilers for the episode in question.
…
The Night Will Pass
…
"This is what people do; they get married."
"It's the end of an era."
"This won't alter anything."
"What about you?"
"I remember she left the wedding early. Who leaves a wedding early?"
There was a chill in the air as Sherlock stepped out of the cab in front of 221b. The night was still young. In another place, wedding guests were still partying and, he suspected, would continue to do so for most of the night.
He hurried up the stairs to the living room and without taking his coat off started to light a fire to chase away the cold. As the flames began to dance about in the fireplace, Sherlock rubbed his hands together and stared at into the bright, orange light. The bursts of fire looked like dancing wedding guests. He stared harder until all he saw was the chemistry.
"Visible, gaseous parts of a fire; caused by a highly exothermic reaction."
Silence greeted his clinical outburst. He drew a deep breath. After another minute he lifted his head, turned around, and let his eyes wander about the room.
It looked very much the same as always. Books were scattered across the small table and piled up on the two chairs. His laptop was underneath there, somewhere.
"I really should get another one," he mumbled. "One to keep in my bedroom. Saves time."
Sherlock walked over to his armchair and sat down. Thrumming his fingers against the armrest, he inadvertently gazed at John's armchair in front of him.
"Not yours, John; mine. Everything here is mine, now."
Pause.
"You can forget about taking it with you. Oh, of course you don't want to; you have plenty of furniture at Mary's place. I mean, your place; yours and Mary's place, actually; wouldn't fit in there; never belonged to you, anyway."
He sighed and stood back up, then walked over to the mantelpiece. His skull was sitting there, looking at him, mocking him.
"This. Is. Ridiculous."
Case.
"That's right, I need a case." Frantically, Sherlock dug through the piles of books and found his computer. Within two minutes, it was up and running and he was scanning through his inbox.
"Boring. Tedious. Trivial. Not worth my time." He paused. "Perfect."
For three hours he worked on the case, and had it solved before he went to bed, too exhausted to think. Bliss.
In the morning, the sun cast its' rays through the window and slowly made their way into Sherlock's consciousness. It was a new day; no more wedding feast, no more guests. John would be on his way to his honeymoon.
7 days.
Sherlock got up and put the kettle on for tea.