A/N: For the prompt "The not-so-final goodbye" from an Anon on Tumblr.
He made it look like a burglary. Tossed things from their stands, ripped books from shelves, stuffed random items into his pockets to make it look like it was for money. The police wouldn't see what was there.
He chose his violin, his skull, his Belstaff (though he couldn't wear it without being recognized), and an assortment of his notes and things. The detective considered a key, perhaps his phone, but no, that would be too risky. So, in fact, was the skull- he put it back.
After a half hour in the home of a man he loved and now couldn't see again for some time, he decided he had enough and headed for the window. Then he stopped and backtracked.
He returned upstairs and stood before the man, looking down at the sleeping form who had had such a large impact on his life.
He slipped from the bedroom window seconds before the sleeper bolted upright, gun in hand. And on the wind, from beyond the gossamer curtains fluttering beside the window, floated four barely-heard words.
"I'll miss you… Mycroft."
