"It's been eight months, dear," the sweet, concerned voice said at nine am. "Are you sure you don't just want me to send the boxes over to you? It would save you all the trouble. Or Mycroft could deal with it. Just say so."

John clutched the phone as if it were a lifeline. "No, Mrs. Hudson," he said, as gently as he could. "I promise I'll come by and take the things I want and let you donate everything else."

John knew he was lying. How could he let Sherlock vacate 221B? What would Sherlock say? Where would he go? John realized that he was asking himself the Questions again and it did not help his attempt at the sounding normal. "I'll be there," he tried to sound reassuring.

"When is that?" she asked, uncharacteristically cool.

"Mrs. H, soon," John sighed, letting the exasperation color his voice. He didn't feel like playing games. She knew that he was nowhere near ready. It didn't matter how long ago they made the day his best friend left him sound. It was too soon.

Too soon, he was alone again. He never wanted to get used to it.

"Can it be as soon as next Friday?"She asked, knowing exactly what she was doing. "I've got a tenant ready to move in then. If you can't, Mycroft has said that he will deal with it."

John froze. "A tenant," he repeated. "Moving in? Into our flat?"

John barely heard, but Mrs. Hudson very softly said, "No, dear. It's not your flat. Not anymore."

"Yes, Friday," came the mechanical response.

John put the phone down very tenderly.

An intense sinking feeling came over John Watson immediately. He felt as if everything within him was being sucked away. He would have cried if he could. Mrs. Hudson was wrong. He could not bear to come back, and take care of it again. He could not even afford it, but 221B, Baker Street was still their home. That flat was still theirs. The stories that the dust, the bullet holes in the walls, the stench told was theirs. It was theirs! How would someone move into their flat?

Why would Mrs. Hudson let anyone do that in the first place? She knew what it meant. She knew who he was. She knew everything and yet, she was putting John through this. He took care of her. She knew that he loved her. Why would she do this? What happened? Why would she do this? She took care of them. She used to take such good care of her boys.