3: Heidelberg, Germany
December 24, 2012

It's a white Christmas. Much like the last one he spent at Baker Street (with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Molly and John— and there was Irene and her— no, irrelevant to the task at hand).

Sherlock pops his coat collar as a shield against the icy cold, and snow flurries cling to his eyelashes and sleeve. This coat is a poor substitute for his beloved Belstaff. Then again, everything nowis a parody of his life from before.

He leans against the alcove of a building and smokes his fag. The acrid taste and burn does little to warm him. Especially when he unwittingly thinks back to the low-tar one offered by Mycroft. Utterly vile— not to mention the cigarette itself.

Mycroft will want him to check in soon. Sherlock will put it off. Until after the new year if he can manage it.

Across the street, his target exits a row of flats. Sherlock stomps out his smoke and follows. As predicted, the target is headed to his local just a few blocks away.

But something is wrong— out of place. Sherlock's mind screeches noisily as it races to reconcile the discrepancies. For one, the 1960 British police box standing outside the pub across the street.

It hadn't been there yesterday or the day before.

Another group exits the pub just as his target enters. A red-headed woman, who doesn't look dressed for the cold, simultaneously leaning against a tall, brown-haired man and another shorter, blond man clad in a garish Christmas jumper. The last man following behind them bellows out a Christmas carol in a mix of German and something entirely unfamiliar to Sherlock.

The woman picks at the jumper's hem and declares so loudly that the words can be heard across the street. "It's hideous!"

They all laugh, and Sherlock categorizes the high and low registers of the sound, tries to isolate and pinpoint what he remembers of John's laughter. His feet move forward before his mind can register the action. Then a lorry screams from his right, forcing him to jump back to avoid an inconvenient accident. When the vehicle finally clears the stretch of street, the pavement outside the pub is empty.

The blue police box is nowhere to be seen.