Striding through the front door, as quietly as he possibly could, Sherlock carried a carton of milk in his left hand. Slumped over his right shoulder, all bundled up in his favourite blanket, was little Hamish.

"John." Sherlock whispered to the poorly lit apartment, as he reached the top of the stairs. "John," he repeated, after getting no response.

John cleared his throat, before replying "I'm in the bedroom." He didn't sound himself, Sherlock deduced, he must be coming down with something.

"I got the milk"

"Brilliant"

Sherlock continued to talk to John, as he approached the kitchen fridge to store the milk. He tried his best to talk as quietly as he could, what with his son still fast asleep on his shoulder, but he had to ensure that John could still hear him, from the other side of the flat.

"we've had a fantastic day, Hamish and I. We went to the park first, and fed the ducks. Then a lovely walk before we attended the play area – let the little man burn off some of his apparent infinite energy! We had our picnic on the grass there too, before bumping into Lestrade and Molly. Hamish had a little run around with Lestrade, whilst I sat and caught up on the latest gossip with Molly. She's been promoted now, you know? Loving her new job apparently. Hamish was worn out before we even left there, I reckon – and that was before we even reached the morgue!"

"The morgue?" That certainly got John's attention. "Sherlock, I have told you time and time again, I don't like you taking him there!" John argued, as he retreated from the bedroom and headed towards the living room. "He's 4, for crying out loud! Atleast wait until he's a bit –" entering the room, John was forced to stop mid-sentence, as Sherlock interrupted him.

"a suitcase. A large suitcase." Sherlock stared at John, momentarily confused. Different thoughts were suddenly circulating around his head; horrible thoughts.

Gently placing Hamish in the armchair, and neatly covering him with his blanket, Sherlock turned to John, demanding answers. Or in fact any kind of story to explain what was going on. "John?"

Sherlock knew he didn't need to say much more than that, however. Simply stating his lovers name was enough. The reality of the situation is, they both already know the answers to any question that would now arise.

The last 6 months or so, their relationship had taken a turn for the worse. Like a rollercoaster made up entirely of loopty loops and high descents. The arguments. Oh, so many arguments. And always leading to the same issues, yet never being resolved. Leaving anger and un-spoken words to simmer until the next outburst.

They told themselves it was simply stress. The stress of bringing up a young child. But everyone could see this was not the case. After all, they have been raising Hamish for over 4 years now, why would things suddenly change now? Ultimately, they both knew the truth – thie relationship had run its course. It was time to move on.

"Sherlock, I-" John struggled to find any words to say, that wouldn't hurt his Sherlock.

Oh. He forgets.

It's just Sherlock now.

"John" Even if he had managed to scramble a few words together in his head, Sherlock grabbed him and held him close before he had the chance to share them. Sherlock continued to squeeze John tight, making him momentarily wonder if this moment will ever end. Knowing that this is almost definitely their last moment together, as a couple, John felt the need to reciprocate.

Wrapping his arms around Sherlock's skinny waist, John took this opportunity to appreciate everything he normally wouldn't have. That signature manly, yet slightly sweet scent lingering on Sherlock's shirt. The tender touch of Sherlock's arms, as they try to pull him in as close as possible. The warmth of Sherlock's hands emigrating through John's shirt and across his back.

It's been so long since the pair of them have been even the slightest bit intimate, that John had almost forgotten how safe he felt in Sherlock's arms. It made him feel at ease. It made him feel… at home.

"I love you," Sherlock whispered over his shoulder, in a broken voice. John felt his eyes suddenly begin to fill up with sadness. Heartache. Devastation. It was the voice of a man who is about loose everything he has ever believed in. Everything that kept him strong, that kept him sane.

Regardless, John knew that what he was doing was for the best. Still locked in Sherlock' loving embrace, he began to remove his wedding ring and held it tightly in his hand.

He reached behind his back and carefully un-hitched Sherlock's arms from his body. Finding it a physical struggle to even look Sherlock in the eyes, and see every ounce of pain he is causing, John simply held his wedding ring in his hand and outstretched it towards him.

Sherlock looked down at the ring, helplessly, and shook his head. "I can't," he squeaked.

John nodded, in response. He understood Sherlock's agony, or course he did. It didn't change anything though.

Walking over to the fireplace, John tried to help Sherlock understand that there is no other way. "It's for the best, Sherlock."

He places the ring in a small space, next to the skull on the fireplace. John smiles to himself, remembering how the skull was one of their very first discussion points, right here in this flat. All those years ago. He touches the ring, before stepping away – almost as a thankyou gesture, for such a loving relationship.

Walking past the fireplace, John smiles at his son still asleep in the armchair. He ticks his blanket around him a little more and kisses him on the forehead, before heading back over to Sherlock. And his suitcase.

"what about Hamish?" Sherlock asked, almost in a desperate manner. Desperate for this all to be a bad dream. Desperate for John to stay.

"You'll think of something," John responded "It's what you do best"

John grabs his suitcase and wheels it up to the door. He hesitates before leaving, turning around to see Sherlock's face one last time. He smiles sympathetically, as he can see what he is doing to the man. After all those years of marriage, john has learnt to read the emotions Sherlock refuses to physically express.

One last goodbye, he thinks to himself.

He stretches up to kiss Sherlock on the cheek, one hand resting on his muscular chest for balance. Sherlock can do nothing but stand there in shock, as he feels John's tender lips press against his cheek.

"Goodbye, Sherlock," John whimpers, stepping back down, trying his best to stay strong for Sherlock's sake if nothing else. He cant help but let his hand stroke Sherlock's chest slightly, as he retreats back to the staircase.

Don't look back. Whatever you do, don't look back. John had to keep reminding himself, as he silently sobbed, continuing on down the stairs.

Sherlock tried to call after him, but nothing happened. His lips barely moved, words refusing to rolls off his lips. Still frozen in the same position, he felt a single tear trickle down his face, as he eventually manages to whisper "John."

Within seconds, Sherlock was awoken from his daze by a small voice coming from behind him. He turned around to see Hamish stood next to him, watching his Daddy fade into the shadows of the staircase.

"Papa?" Hamish asked, "Where's Daddy going?"

Sherlock wiped the tear from his face, before crouching down to Hamish's level. Putting on a brave face for his son, Sherlock gave an explanation – just not necessarily the correct one. There's been enough heartache for one day, he told himself.

"He'll be back soon, sweetie, don't you worry. Daddy's just gone away for a little while, that's all"

"Like a holiday?"

His innocence made Sherlock smile. Until he thought of what it would do to his little Hamish when he finds out the truth. That doesn't bare thinking about. For now, it was best he lives in ignorance of the truth.

"yeah, just like a holiday"

Sherlock held his son close, as he looked longingly at the staircase. Hiding his agony as best he could, Sherlock kissed Hamish on the forehead, secretly wishing John would run up those stairs any second, having changed his mind.

He never did.