December, 5th
A few wintery sunbeams searched its way through the window and played over the face of a sleeping man.
His short hair was a mix of dark and blond and had got a bit messy from his uneasy sleep, he had dark circles beneath his eyes and an almost empty teacup stood on the table before him. The room he was sleeping in looked like a normal English living-room apart from the many boxes that stood piled here and there just waiting to be moved to a new location.
The man grunted in his sleep and rolled over to his other side on the small couch, revealing the scarf he was holding firmly pressed against his bosom.
"Sherlock", he mumbled, silent tears wetting his cheeks even in this dreaming state. "No. No, please. Please."
The man would soon wake up to the sound of his alarm, he would instantly look towards the doorway as if he was expecting someone and then he would get up, take the cup of tea and with a sudden feeling of rage he'd smash it against the patterned wall before he'd fall down onto his knees, screaming to himself – no longer caring about whoever happened to hear him.
Not a minute later he would collect himself, as always, and by the time the movers came he'd be his usual, calm self and act as if nothing had ever happened.
There had been over a year since the fall.