A/N: Holy cow, you guys. Nineteen follows. And eleven reviews. AFTER ONE CHAPTER. *faints*

Thank you for reading this, and being awesome. Because you are awesome.

This is still dedicated to my Valentine. You know who you are. Love you. :)

In the meantime... Enjoy.

..."Guess you'd better keep your pants on
There's no more tables left to dance on
I used to carry you home
I don't anymore
Won't anymore
What have they done to you now?

Old familiar
Friends to fill your
Heart with grief
And agony

A little friendly conversation
Character assassination
I just don't care anymore and
I don't wanna know
I don't wanna know
What have they done to you now?"

-Daniel Knox, "What Have They Done to You Now?"

DAY 1

Sherlock and John had spent the rest of the day after John's announcement of his imminent departure much the same as they had in the past few months- in uncomfortable silence, doing nothing except watching what little remained of their friendship decay.

That night, when Sherlock went to bed, he went over his plan again. It wasn't a plan in the step-by-step, stage-by-stage sense- it was more of a plan in which he had a general idea of what needed to happen, and a deadline by which they needed to be accomplished.

He didn't sleep that night.

When John went to bed, he thought about what he was doing.

Sherlock is, was, his best friend. Even now, he was the first person that came to mind when he thought of a best friend.

But there reached a point when things became too damaged to he repaired, and relationships were no exception. When things reached that point, the best option was to just leave before things exploded.

Then why was he staying for two more weeks? Why didn't he just walk out the door tomorrow?

Because, he realized, he didn't want to leave Sherlock. And he knew that Sherlock was planning something to get him to stay.

And he hoped, with every fibre of his being, that he would succeed.

When John walked down the stairs the next morning, he fully expected Sherlock to be doing what he had doing for the past few months- on his computer, sitting silently.

He wasn't expecting Sherlock to be in the kitchen, hands deep in what appeared to be a pig's head.

John stared blankly at him for a few minutes, before Sherlock noticed his presence. "Morning," he offered, before returning to the pig's head.

"Sherlock," John said slowly.

"Hmm?"

"Why is there a pig's head in our kitchen?"

"Experiment."

"Ah." Of course. John went to go sit on the couch. Morning tea could wait.

He didn't realize until much later in the day that the pig's head was the first animal organ or part they'd had in the flat since Sherlock had come back.

John left a few hours later to get some groceries from Tesco's (because many things may have changed, but the fact they were eternally out of milk hadn't, and John wasn't sure how he felt about that), and when he returned, he returned to Sherlock find Sherlock arguing on the phone.

It only took John a moment to figure out who it was.

"No, Mycroft, I don't care where this place is, or how scientifically strange it is- if you lost one of your men there, then go after him yourself!"

John couldn't help but chuckle as he listened to Sherlock banter with Mycroft. He put the groceries away, still chuckling to himself as he went to go sit on the couch.

Sherlock hung up, half-flinging, half-setting down his phone in the table, letting out a puff of air, his way of letting the world know of his exasperation.

"Sorry about that."

John shrugged, not knowing what to say. And silence filled the flat once more.

The silence, John thought, was what was killing them. Before the silence that had filled the flat had been a healthy silence, the sort that falls after a good laugh, a filling meal, or simply the silent companionship of two men who meant the world to the other. Now it was unhealthy, festering, the kind that makes one want to speak up, say something, break the silence, but leaves them unable to do so.

He eventually turned on some telly just to add background noise.

It didn't make the silence between the two men any less deafening.

Later that night, as John went to bed, he wondered how he was going to make it through the next thirteen days.

Sure, Sherlock had acted a tad bit more like he had used to today. He'd had a body part, an experiment, and an argument with Mycroft, all things 221B had gone far too long without.

That didn't change the overall atmosphere of awkwardness and tension in the flat.

John turned over in his bed, thinking to himself, thirteen more days. Only thirteen more days.

Sherlock, when he went to bed that night, contemplated what had gone wrong.

His attempt to restore a bit of normality, more like what they had been used to before, apparently hadn't gone remiss- but overall, his efforts had meant little to nothing. The day had still ended in silence, and John was still leaving in fourt- no, now thirteen days.

Sherlock rolled over as he tried to think of something to help get John to stay.

As the gentle hold of sleep embraced him, he tried not to imagine what a life without John would mean.

A/N: Hopefully another chapter will be up before the end of the next weekend. *crosses fingers*

Kudos to those who catch the shameless WtNV reference.

You have discovered my secret. I am a dragon (who can operate a computer remarkably well, considering the talons). And reviews are my treasure. Help me hoard my treasure, and I may spare your village. Possibly.

If that doesn't motivate you to review, I don't know what will.

Love, Rainy