John paced back and forth in the empty, nearly demolished flat. It was where he went when he needed to be left alone, it was a place of lonely solitude. His thoughts and heavy heart filled the air in the room, making it nearly impossible for him to keep his unbreakable facade up. He eventually ran out of steam and ended up curled against the back wall. The dust settled and coated his body, making him feel like a long forgotten toy. And maybe he was. Maybe Sherlock had forgotten about him in his last moments before the fall, before everything had ended. He sat up and buried his face in his hands, finally letting go. That's when he sensed somebody else in the room. His body tensed, cautious, and looked up. And then he froze, feeling almost too stunned and afraid for words. "Sherlock?"