There was one thing that Doctor John Watson was good at knowing, and that was when he was about to explode. He had a temper that was worse than most, in fact it was bloody awful, but he made sure that no one saw it because before the overwhelming need to pull out a gun and shoot someone neatly between the eyes overtook him, he would put on his coat and walk away. Taking a moment to cool down had saved him many embarrassments and possible murder sentences.

He knew that now his home would be safer without him there. Murder, rape, strangulation, all of these things passed through his mind. It made him angry, their expectations. The way that Mary had stared at him with eyes that cut like knives while smiling at the guests and passing out Christmas punch. Sherlock with too little desire and Mycroft with too much, not to mention Molly, still pining after all of these years. He walked alone through the streets of London, finally settling on a lonely park bench to review his options. They were few.

Mary was his wife, a beautiful, loving, compassionate woman who had given him more than he had any right to ask for. She had also given him a look that conveyed more guilt than he had felt since looking down at the face of a dead afghan child soldier that he had killed. One of the stories that he still, despite their marriage and long courtship, had never told her about, and never would.

Sherlock Holmes was his best friend and lately his lover. He had dreamed...(God what fantastic dreams they were!) of Sherlock admitting his undying love; Of them living happily ever after; White tuxedos and domestic bliss, but then reality had kicked in. Sherlock's callous remark about coffee had put a damper on those thoughts, forcing him to remember that Sherlock Holmes was still Sherlock Holmes: Brilliant, beautiful, thoughtless.

John had built his life around Sherlock and Mary. What life did John have without them? What good was an unemployed former doctor, former detective, former soldier? John had left Sherlock to make a life of his own, but what kind of life had he made for himself? Not much of one, actually. It was time for some hard thinking about who he was and what he wanted out of life, but if he spent another minute sitting on this darned park bench, then he would be frozen to it. John stood up and started to walk again.

The people streamed around him, eagerly getting in some last minute shopping before the stores closed. Listening to the Christmas music spilling out of storefronts lit by fairy lights as he walked among streets full of happy people rushing home to their happy wives and happy lovers made John wish that he could torch the city and burn it to the ground. He couldn't go home, but where else could he go? Who else would take him in? Who would accept this darker side of himself? Not Mike. Not Greg. Then he realized, there had really been only one choice after all.

John walked up to the wooden door and stared at it. His feet were freezing. His cheeks felt like rock. He knew that it was warm inside, but he was still hesitant to knock on the door of the flat that he hadn't entered in over a year. But home wasn't an option now. Neither was 221B Baker street. He knocked.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The sound of loud voices and music filtered through the door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Footsteps and chatter and then the door opened to reveal a woman: Big shouldered, red hair (dyed), nose ring, pierced lip, and a shocked expression. "Hello Harry," John said.

"Oh, why are you here?"

John frowned. "Nice to see you too sis. Can I come in?"

Harry looked over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. "I'm entertaining, if you understand my meaning. Can you come back tomorrow?"

"No."

Harry looked puzzled and then stepped back, looking John over from head to toe. "Mary finally kicked you out didn't she? I knew that couldn't last."

John's anger flared. "No she didn't. Damn it! I'm your brother let me in before I freeze to death!"

Harry crossed her arms and glared at him. "You haven't visited, called, or written since the wedding, so tell me one good reason that I should feel compelled to give up a pleasant evening to deal with one of your tantrums?"

John stood at attention and licked his lips nervously before he said. "I've come to evoke The Runaway Pact."

Harry's mouth fell open, and she laughed. Then she stood aside and let him in.