It was then, as he sat with his legs against his chest, that he realised quite what he'd sacrificed. He'd never had a problem with keeping his own company, he'd often gone for days without speaking to another soul, and that had been fine. But that was before. He never realised how much he'd changed until he'd lost his companion. It was the end of the first week, and it was the first time that he'd had chance to sit down and have any rest. Moriarity's men were still after him, and he could not stay in one place for too long. Soon, he'd have to be up and running again. There was no way he could have asked Watson to accompany him on this, his most dangerous mission yet, but he yearned for his company, his solidarity, his unending loyalty. Watching him call Holmes over and over at the falls and the way he broke down when he realised that Sherlock Holmes was not going to call back was nearly enough to undone all his ideas to run away and leave him. But inside he knew it was already too late.
And so he ran. And he never looked back. He thought it would have been the way it was before, he would be fine alone. But Dr Watson had ingrained himself so deeply that Holmes could not be complete without him. He could not go back to his own company, there was a void where Watson's voice called out to him, to come home. But he would not answer that call, not for a long three years, in which time he never forgot the sound of his voice, the smell of his tobacco smoke, and the fond look he would get on his face when Holmes figured out where he'd been walking due to the mud splashes on his trousers.
And most of all, he never forgot the way that Watson would drop everything, even the company of his wife on a cold night to accompany Holmes on one of his mad dashes. Holmes had never appreciated how difficult and demanding a companion he truly was, until he had no companion himself.
Holmes stood slowly, and stretched out his cold and aching body. It was time to move on, and to ignore that nagging voice in his head that called for rest and food. That would come later. And with a furtive look over his shoulder, he was gone, melting into the night.
