Author's Note:

This fanfiction is a project I've been doing for a little while. I absolutely LOVE Sherlock and thought I might try to write one. I'm not sure if it's worked or not so a review would be really appreciated. Although I am the writer of this fanfiction, my friend has helped me come up with the storyline and characters. So please check her out: GalleonEye.

On another note, no hate please! Unless it is constructive it's a waste of my time and yours. :)

You should probably know that this is set about sixteen years from where Sherlock Series 2 left off although in my head none of the characters have aged. (Who needs logic?:D)It's also been written around John's life although this may change for certain chapters that I cannot write John into.

Enjoy :)

B.C White

John watched his best friend standing alone beside the freshly dug grave. His raven black curls rustled in the harsh winter wind, flailing his navy blue scarf. John approached the man, lifting his hand to pat Sherlock Holmes' shoulder. But Sherlock simply shrugged it off.
"Don't be sympathetic John. People die. People leave. People go. I'm used to it." He muttered, and with one last sweeping look at the ground, he pulled his silver ring from his finger and threw it to the foot of the gravestone before walking off in the opposite direction. People muttered at he pushed them aside, faces belonging to strangers and friends glared at him before turning to look at John. John sighed and began to walk quickly after Sherlock.
"Sherlock! Sherlock!" he called as he did so. He was about to break free from the crowd of mourners when a black umbrella was thrust against his chest. Mycroft.

"John." His best friend's brother warned the Doctor. "Let him go. He just needs time to adjust."

"No, Mycroft. He needs friends. And Family." John replied, watching the dark shape trudging away in the snow.

"I know my brother, John. Right now he needs space. Just leave him be."

John sighed and walked back a step. "What about Rebecca?"

"What about her?"

"Mycroft, her mother has just been killed! Don't you think you should be looking after her? Helping her get over it?"

"Can't Sherlock do that?"

"I thought you just said that he needed space? Does that include his daughter or not?" John waited for an answer, but it didn't come. Instead, Mycroft turned slowly to stare at the spire of the old church currently plunging them into silhouette.

"We're being watched. It isn't safe to talk. Meet me here-" Mycroft slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. He held it out to John who took it, confused. "-at... shall we say, six o'clock?" And before John had a chance to say anything, he was gone. John glanced down at card. It was a coffee shop about ten minutes from his apartment. He tucked it into his pocket and walked back to the crowd which was no dispersing. Only one girl was left, kneeling in the snow by Irene's grave.

"Rebecca." John said quietly as he walked over to her. "Rebecca, you need to leave now. You'll freeze." Rebecca sighed and got to her feet.

"I know. Where- where's Sherlock?" John smiled slightly. He still found it hilarious that Sherlock refused to be called dad. After fifteen years, John thought Sherlock might have got over it.

"He's gone back home."

"I guess I should go after him. Are you coming back?"

"Me? No, no. I need to get back home. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will get you back though." He looked around and found the small woman carefully dabbing a tissue under her eyes. "Mrs Hudson, would you be able to take Rebecca back? Sherlock left in rather a hurry and..."

"...Forgot me."Rebecca finished. There was an awkward silence.

"Of course." Mrs Hudson nodded, blowing her nose again. "Silly Sherlock. I've never seen him like this before..." Mrs. Hudson seemed to go off for a second before snapping back to reality. "Right, let's go and see if we can get a taxi." She said and hurried off with Rebecca following slowly behind her. As they reached the gate, she looked back at her mother's grave. John saw a tear trickle down her cheek which she smeared away immediately.

John grabbed a can of coke form the fridge and sank down on his tatty sofa, naked except for a towel he had pulled on after getting out of the shower. He turned on the TV and flicked through the channels. The news was the only interesting thing on and even that was just about Irene Adler's death. Absent mindedly, he pulled at the top of his towel and mopped up his wet hair. He was just beginning to nod off when his phone vibrated. He opened his eyes and picked it up to scroll through his messages.

I'm waiting. MH.

"Shit!" John exclaimed and jumped out of his chair, allowing the towel to fall to the floor. Before he was able to grab it and wrap it around his waist again, he heard a scream. Looking out of the window, he saw a group of teenage girls squealing. It took him a minute to realise they were screaming at him. He hastily shut the curtains which plunged him into darkness. He hands searched for the lights. Then his foot tripped over something and he went flying, groaning as he collided with... the lamp? He switched it onto find the apartment in a state. He'd have to tidy when he got home.

As he pushed the door open, John saw Mycroft immediately. Sherlock's brother looked up at the little shop bell rang and raised an eyebrow before looking at his watch.

"You're late."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I lost track of time." John said as he sat down on the plastic chair.

"I gathered." Mycroft replied and looked down at the table. A waiter came over and took their orders before bringing back two mugs of coffee.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"About Ms Adler."

"What about her?"

"Less about her... more about her death."

"Mycroft...can this not wait? She died three days ago. Leave it for a while alright?" John tried to get up but Mycroft stopped him.

"Don't you want to know how she died?" John sunk back into his uncomfortable seat.

"It was an accident... Sherlock said..."

"Sherlock lied."

"What? No, no... He wouldn't."

"Tell me John, what were your feelings towards Ms Adler?"

"Sorry? What are you implying? That her and I...that we...?"

"Not at all, John. But did you approve of her?"

"Of course, Mycroft. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because she replaced you."

"What? No she didn't- what are you talking about Mycroft?"

"She replaced you in Sherlock's heart. She left you homeless."

"I was going to move out anyway."

"But-"

"Mycroft, I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Not so soon after the funeral."

"Fine. I needed to give you something anyway." Mycroft reached in his briefcase and pulled out a file. "Don't let anyone else see this. Especially Sherlock. It's top secret. I'm breaking about fifty laws just giving it to you. So look after it." And with that he stood up, nodded at John and left, opening his umbrella so as not to get covered in snow. John watched him leave and then hastily opened the file. 'Top Secret' was printed on the front in red. He looked shiftily around.

He remembered what Mycroft has said to him earlier that day. "We're being watched." Was he being watched now? He quickly put the loose papers back in the file, took a sip from his coffee so as not to appear rude and left.

Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

John lifted his head of the pillow in confusion. The thumping continued. Someone was knocking on the door. He pulled himself out of bed and whisked on his blue tartan dressing gown and matching slippers.

"Coming!" He called as he ran a hand through his messy bed hair. Shoddily, he shoved the key in the lock and hauled the door open, only to be hit squarely in the chest...by a girl? A crying girl? Rebecca Holmes.

"Please...John." She said in between sobs, still clinging tightly to his torso. "You have to help me."

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to reach over her shoulder to close the door. If there was one thing John Watson hated, it was a draft.

"It's Sherlock. He's...gone." John let go of his Goddaughter.

"Wh- What?"

"He's packed his things and gone. No note. Nothing. He's gone!"

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean he's just vanished?"

"I woke up this morning and he was just gone. Everything was gone as well."

"Have you told Mrs Hudson?"

"No...I...I panicked. I thought maybe he would be at yours."

"Right, come in and have a seat. I'll ring Mrs Hudson and tell her I'm coming over." He gestured to the sofa before realising that he'd left his dirty underwear there. He hastily shoved it in the pocket of his dressing gown, creating a bulge. If Rebecca noticed, and she almost certainly did, she didn't say anything. She sat down silently and stared out of the window. "Can I get you anything? A drink? Some food?"

"A drink would be nice." She croaked.

"Right... beer? Wait, no. Not old enough. How about a coke? You look like you could do with some caffeine." She nodded and John threw her a can. Then he awkwardly picked up the phone and dialled Mrs Hudson's number.

"Hello? Mrs Hudson? Hi, yeah. It's John here. Yes, it's..." He glanced at Rebecca. "Well, the thing is, Sherlock's gone missing...Yes, I know... Yes, that had crossed my mind... Yes I-... Right, I was going to suggest that... Yep, we'll be round in five...Ok, bye Mrs Hudson...Ok bye...Bye." he hung up and sighed. "That woman... I couldn't get a word in edgeways!" Rebecca almost cracked a smile. "I told her we'd be there in-"

"Five minutes. Yeah, I heard."

"Ok, so are you ready?"

"Yeah." Rebecca got up slowly and walked to the door.

"Ok... Well, let me get dressed and then we can go. "

Two minutes later John was dressed and ready to leave. He was about to call for Rebecca when his eye caught sight of the file lying unopened on his desk. Hesitantly he picked it up and slid it under his coat so the fifteen year old wouldn't see.

"Rebecca! Come on, we don't want to be late!" he called as he fumbled around inside his pocket, looking for his keys, before remembering he had hung them on the hook Sherlock had got for him last Christmas.

"It's lovely to see you again John." Mrs Hudson muttered as she led them up the stairs John knew all too well.

"Mrs Hudson, we spoke only yesterday."

"Oh, goodness! Silly me, I could have sworn I hadn't seen you in weeks."

"I went to Germany for a month. You remember?"

"Of course, you sent me that tea set."

"Yes..."

"Well, here we are." She said as she unlocked the door to John's old flat and to Rebecca's home. John breathed in the sweet smell that he had secretly missed for fifteen years. The truth was John had never really gotten over the fact that Sherlock had fallen in love and forgotten about his friend and colleague.

"See, I told you everything was gone." Rebecca said stiffly as she entered the room. John took in the sight. It was bare. Every piece of rubbish that had piled up over the years had gone. Even Sherlock's favourite chair had vanished. John didn't even want to think about how Sherlock managed to sneak that out. The most painful absence was the skull which had sat on the fireplace. John had begun to feel rather fond of that skull.

"We need to contact Lestrade. Tell him what's happened." John said. "Then we need to work out what we're going to do with you." He looked at Rebecca. "You can't stay with me; the apartment isn't big enough... Mrs Hudson?" Mrs Hudson looked at him for a second in confusion before realisation hit her.

"Oh no, John. No. I'm sorry but I can't. Not in my flat. No."

"Then can she stay here?"

"Not without an adult. I'm sorry, but laws are laws. She can't stay here. Unless..." She looked at John.

"Oh no...no no no no! I can't Mrs Hudson! I have my own apartment! I can't!"

"Then sell the apartment!"

"I can't! I can't pay for the rent."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Sherlock always pays six months in advance. Doesn't trust himself."

"Right. Well..." He looked at Rebecca. She'd kept silent this whole time, watching the situation. Observing it. Just like her father. John sighed. "Fine! I'll move back in!"

"Really?" Rebecca looked up.

"You knew I was going to say that. Don't pretend to be surprised."

"Oh alright, I knew as soon as you walked in that you were going to say yes. You miss this place to much. Although I can't think why. It's a dump."

"You should have seen it when we first moved in." John smiled.

"I'll just go and put some tea on. Rebecca dear, why don't you go and sort out your room?"

"What's wrong with her room?"

"Sherlock turned it upside down when he was packing apparently. It's a real state." Mrs Hudson explained before exiting the room, leaving John alone, suddenly aware of the file inside his tweed jacket. He pulled it out and began reading.

The Death of Irene Adler.

Did you enjoy it? I've already got Chapter 2 written so I will post that soon. Please review, it will improve my writing and the storyline!