Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!


The next week went by very slowly and John thought he was going insane. He was trying to continue on with his daily work, but it was steadily growing harder. Sarah had to send him home after a particularly bad surgery, which his hands continued to shake. The man he was operating on had unruly curly hair and it reminded him of the man strange encounters in just that past week.

On his way home, he was witness to another. It was near Baker Street (he walked to work), where he saw him, or thought he saw him. He saw a glimpse of Sherlock in the corner of his eye. When he faced the figure, it began to retreat, but it still bore the image of Sherlock and John had to pursue it.

"Sherlock." He called, his voice coming out as an unfamiliar croak. He ran faster, but so did the man he was running after. He pushed past strangers in his rush, not daring to stop and apologize, for fear he'd lose him. "Sherlock!" He shouted, much louder.

They were on opposite sides of the street, but John was catching up. He could take notice of the way the man's hair fell in dark curls. But just as he was about to cross the street, a double decker bus drove by and the man he was chasing disappeared.

He stopped in the middle of the busy street, ignoring the honks of the cars who had places to go. He could have sworn Sherlock had been there, but now he was doubting his sanity.

Finally, a loud blaring right in his ear jolted him out of the trance he had been put in, and he moved out of the street. It was time to pay a visit to his grave again.


Sherlock was drained. He was tired of running, tired of hiding, and he hadn't slept in a week. He wanted to continue following John, but he needed to seek some advice, and after that close encounter, he couldn't risk it.

So instead of following John to the grave, he went in a different direction. He walked to a small flat on the outskirts of town, entering without knocking. He then went into the living room and saw down, waiting. It was unoccupied, but he knew someone would be there soon.

John approached the grave with a disheartened expression. "Sherlock..." He muttered, leaning on the grave for support. He knew he was going insane and he wouldn't be able to take this much longer. He was driving himself crazy and he didn't know how to stop it. "Sherlock... I-"

"Sherlock." Irene Adler strolled into the room, her hair cascading in wavy tumbles down her back. "Didn't you die?" She asked, sitting across from him, crossing her legs.

"Didn't you?" Sherlock said in reply, putting on a mask of nonchalance for the moment.

Irene smiled and inclined her head. She was one, out of two, who knew that Sherlock was alive. She had been informed by Sherlock himself a couple weeks ago. If she hadn't have known, she would have stayed out of the country. Now she lived fairly close to Baker Street.

The longer they stared at each other, the more Sherlock's mask slipped. He was in emotional turmoil and he couldn't hide it any further. Especially not if he was going to seek advice.

"Tell me, what happened?" Irene asked, leaning forward, a friendly concern in her eyes.

"He saw me..."

"I saw you." John began, looking at the grave that he had already memorised. His voice no longer carried the capability of being strong. To him, this was worse than Afghanistan. He had gotten far too attached.

"I keep seeing you wherever I go. At work. In the grocery store. In my dreams..."

"You follow him everywhere?" She asked, shocked.

Sherlock simply nodded.

"I see you when I close my eyes, and when I open them you're still there."

"Don't you realise how foolish that is? Someone could have seen you."

"He saw-"

"Exactly!"

"I can't take you off my mind and it doesn't help that everything I see is connected to you."

"I can't let him out of my sight for too long. I'll go insane."

"The flat."

"You're going insane, anyways."

"My work."

"More so."

"All of London..."

"Do you remember what you told me, months ago?" She asked.

"I suppose." He replied.

"I see you everywhere and I can't have you..."

"You're losing this game, Sherlock."

"This isn't a game anymore, Ms. Adler."

"I need you, Sherlock." His voice was shaking.

"You really do love him, don't you?" She asked, watching him carefully. A year ago, she wouldn't have thought him capable of love. She knew from the start that he cared for John, but she had never suspected that he could love this much.

"Please, come back to me." John muttered. His shaking hands were caressing the stone as if it were Sherlock's face. He wished it was. But it wasn't.

"Yes." Sherlock replied. He was sick of denying it. He loved John Watson more than anything in the world and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot.

John stood there for another hour, lost in thought. He allowed his mind to wander further than before and he lost all control of his senses.

He didn't notice the ice cold breeze as it ran goosebumps down his arms and back. He didn't notice the howling of the wind as trees bent to its will. He didn't notice the blonde haired man who watched him from a hundred yards away.


"Good evening, John. To what do I owe this visit?" The voice came from a man surrounded in shadows. They were in a small, crowded office. The man sat behind his clustered desk, where an uneaten piece of cake sat.

"I want to... talk." John replied, standing awkwardly in the door.

"Come, sit." Mycroft Holmes gestured to the single seat in the front of his desk. John approached slowly, taking in the older Holmes' appearance. To a stranger's eye, he would have looked particularly normal, but it was just these features that showed John just how off he was.

His usual gelled back hair was awry, having not been cared for in at least a few days. His eyes, which sagged from the lack of sleep, were barely containing the strain this had left him in.

John sat, instantly regretting his decision to come. He had wanted to talk to someone about it, but he hadn't known who to turn to. Mycroft was the only man to come to his mind. But he realized it was a bad idea, as they now sat for over ten minutes in complete silence.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." John finally said, quickly standing up.

Mycroft didn't say anything in response.

John left in a hurry.


I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and didn't cry as much as I did when I wrote it. Much thanks to everyone who has followed it!