Sherlock woke up dazed and tangled in bed sheets trying to get his baring, he looked around and mumbled in a groggy tone.
"Where am I?"
He slowly began to remember the recent events of the night before. And god...he should have known…He was back at 221B.
He sat up suddenly beginning to worry if John knew he was alive, he untangled himself from the crisp white sheets before climbing off his bed.
Finally once he had sorted himself out, he walked to the door and pressed his ear against the cool wood and listened. Just listening for any movement, anything. He heard nothing, confirming John was either still asleep or had gone out.
"I better leave as soon as possible."
He muttered as he stumbled over to the trail of his clothes that were strewn across the floor.
Once dressed, he stepped out of his bedroom and began to walk slowly, quietly into the living room to see it just the same as it was three years ago.
"Has he even been living here?"
He wondered before he started to see the signs of a man who was lonely, desperate and depressed. "One dinner setting, empty bottles of alcohol and…Oh John…" He breathed, his expression one of sadness. He then continued to examine the room, taking a closer look at the desk with John's laptop on it. He flipped up the lid and saw a draft for John's blog. It was about him….
Sherlock…I never stopped believing in you. You were my best friend the only person I cared about…Still care about. I miss you Sherlock please don't be dead! You had to leave when I needed you the most, didn't you? I wish you were here. I love you, my dear friend Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock stared at the screen in disbelief, from behind him he heard a loud gasp and the sound of a teacup smashing on to the wooden floorboard. He swore and slowly turned round to see the tanned, scared face of John Watson.
"Hello John."
