Author's note: I had originally planned for both John and Greg to be there when Sherlock returned, but I realized it would make for a better story if one of them remained unchanged. More dramatic, and I love dramatic. And bromance. And... pretty much everything to do with this show.

Also, more Grolly. But, don't worry, only for a short while, then it gets angsty again.

I don't own anything, please review.

Sherlock all but ran out into the night, utterly confused. John had never talked like that to him; apparently he didn't care much for his company anymore – but he had, once, hadn't he?

Would he move out? He couldn't; he wouldn't; he –

Something, why he wouldn't move out, but it passed again –

He knew it was important John didn't move out, but he couldn't – then it struck him.

He couldn't remember why he didn't want John to move out.

He couldn't even remember properly how they met. He could remember their first case, but only after they'd come back from Angelo's, and he didn't remember why the memories had meant so much to him before he'd received the gift.

And then the thought came to him: Was it a gift or a curse? He didn't feel cheerful, or happy. He felt strange and empty, devoid of –

Devoid of what made people human.

And apparently he was doing the same to all people who came in closer contact with him. Suddenly he was rather glad that he'd stayed in the shadows when Greg walked past.

But wasn't it a blessing, too? Not to remember that he'd ever suffered, not to recall pain or sorrow? He supposed it was, and he'd made the deal, so there was no use in thinking about it.

Still, he wouldn't go home. He'd spent nights walking before, it wouldn't do him any harm. He didn't want to go back to where John was, and that thought caused him a slight bit still noticeable unease he didn't understand. He stood up and started walking.

By the time John woke up, still feeling annoyed and angry, he'd made the decision to move out. There was an annoying old lady downstairs; there was a sociopath living in the flat who couldn't even keep the bloody kitchen clean; there was a DI coming and going at all times; in short, there was nothing holding him here; although – although –

Some remembrance, some faint echo –

He shook his head, took a shower and dressed himself, before deciding with a satisfied smile to tell Mrs. Hudson before breakfast that he would be moving out at the beginning of January. If he hadn't found a new flat by then, he'd go into a hotel, there was enough on his bank account (thanks to the annoying brother of the sociopath, another reason why he definitely needed to move out). He should have done this years ago. Why hadn't he –

Years ago... Something in him tried to tell him that this was wrong, that he'd forgotten something important, the most important thing of his life, in fact, but he didn't listen. He couldn't listen. So he simply went down and knocked on the old lady's door, greeting her with a look of annoyance and boredom that was mirrored on her face.

Greg woke up around seven am on Molly's couch, feeling well rested and rather happy. She'd prepared a good dinner, and they'd talked until two o' clock. Remembering his promise to John, he decided to leave a note and get a cab to his place, so he could take a shower and put on a different suit.

But just as he was searching for a piece of paper he heard her voice.

"Leaving already?" It sounded teasing, and he turned around with a smile.

"I promised John I'd be at Baker Street at nine, and I want to go to my place and get dressed first."

She nodded, smiling back. "Good. I hope you get through to him. We need him back. It's not the same without him dashing around the lab, doing everything he wants with the instruments – even Mike says so."

She was wearing a dressing gown, and he was very pointedly only looking at her face.

She brought him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she surprised by kissing him – not on the cheek, but a real kiss. He responded enthusiastically.

She drew back and smiled. "Call me, will you? I want to know what happens."

"Of course" he replied, grinning, kissed her one more time, drove home, dressed and got into his car, all while feeling the happiest man in the world – though, as he came nearer to 221B, he couldn't help but feel worried again. Sherlock had to talk to them about what happened; they had to get through to him.

He didn't know what he had been expecting. He had probably expected Mrs. Hudson to be her usual loveable self, and John to be worried; he had expected Sherlock to sit on the sofa, completely quiet (the thought was still disconcerting). Maybe he had expected Mycroft to be there, giving advice and looking calm, while being very concerned about his younger brother.

He hadn't expected to hear shouting, he was sure about that, at least.

Still feeling rather happy, he parked his car and walked up the street to 221B. He heard the shouting as soon as he'd put a foot on the doorstep. He tried to hear what the voices were saying, but it was impossible to do so through the door. He could tell that it was John and Mrs. Hudson who were shouting, almost screaming, in fact, and swallowed, feeling scared. What had happened? He'd only heard John shout a few times, and he only knew that Mrs. Hudson was aware that you could shout through Sherlock. So why would they scream? And who where they screaming at?

He rang, but the shouting continued, so he pressed the button until it stopped and Mrs. Hudson opened the door, still with the same strange hostility on her face that had been there the night before. "What did I say about you coming here even more often?" she spat, and Greg was struck speechless for a second. Then, she turned around, leaving the door open, shuffled back inside, and the shouting recommenced.

Greg walked in, and saw something he'd never have thought he'd see.

Mrs. Hudson and John shouting on each other, disdain on both their faces.

And now, he could understand what they were arguing about.

"I am not going to pay the rent for another quarter when I am going to move out at the beginning of January – "

"I have every right to ask for more – you can't just leave me here with the weirdo without a warning!"

Greg's knee suddenly felt weak.

Had John just said that he intended to move out, once and for all?

Had Mrs. Hudson just used the word "weirdo" to describe Sherlock?

He took a deep breath. Something must have happened last night; something big. He had to stop them from screaming at each other any longer, he had to get John in the flat, where they could talk in peace; so he slowly walked towards them and decided to simply put an end to the fight by standing between them.

John stopped shouting as soon as he realized someone was blocking his sight of Mrs. Hudson, and glared at Greg, who had to remind himself not to take a step back.

John's face was red, so they must have been shouting at each other for quite a while; and... the glare which he fixed on Greg was nothing short of vicious. He was angry, and didn't care to let it out on anyone who came into his path. He'd never seen the doctor like this.

"Lestrade!" he snarled. "What is it?"

Greg didn't know what to say. That wasn't the John Watson he knew, but he blamed it on whatever had happened in the night and on the fight he'd just witnessed. Even if hearing him spitting out his surname like that hurt a little. Before they became friends – which had been almost immediately – he'd almost always called him "Inspector", and when he said "Lestrade" it hadn't sounded so indifferent, so wrong.

He swallowed. "John, I was supposed to come over. You remember? We wanted to talk to Sherlock..."

Suddenly, there was a strange look in John's eyes – Greg didn't know how to explain it. He swayed from side to side a bit, too, and Greg grabbed his arm, hearing the door of Mrs. Hudson's flat slam behind him, but not caring. At the moment, he had to make sure John was alright.

John, who shook of his hand as if it was an insect, and Greg flinched. John looked on, apparently completely indifferent to the fact that he'd just hurt his friend. Something serious must have happened.

Greg swallowed. "John – did something happen last night? Did Sherlock come home?"

"Yes, he did. Though he did go out again almost immediately, thank God."

Thank God? And was that annoyance in John's voice when he spoke about Sherlock – not the normal annoyance with more than a trace of fondness, but the annoyance one usually reserved for people like Anderson?

"Why don't we go up?" he suggested. "Then you can tell me everything."

"If we must..." John grumbled, but he turned around and led the way. He didn't have anything against the DI, they just weren't very good friends. True, they talked now and then at crime scenes (not that that would ever happen again, he would certainly not follow Sherlock around like a pet anymore), but other than that...

Wasn't there – didn't they –

Weren't they close? Shouldn't they be close? Was there –

Greg grabbed his arm again, and John realized he was leaning against the wall. He shoved the DI away and opened the door to their flat.

Greg followed him, more concerned than ever, and wondering what had got into John. The doctor he knew would never be happy that Sherlock had left the flat the night before and not returned.

When John let himself fall in his chair without offering Greg a cup of tea, the DI had had enough. He grabbed his phone, sent a text to Sherlock – just a simple Where are you? – and walked over to stand before John.

"John, tell me why you're acting like this. Sherlock hasn't been home the whole night, normally, you'd be worried – "

John laughed, or rather snorted, and Greg shuddered. He had never heard his friend laugh like that.

"Why would I be worried about my sociopathic flatmate?"

"Your what?" Greg was baffled. Completely and utterly confused. What was going on? Why – he let himself fall on the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands. "John. Just tell me if you have any idea where he is, please."

"No." Greg nodded. "Good, then. Do you mind if I wait here until he returns?"

John waved a hand, not really caring. "Be my guest".

Greg nodded and settled down to wait, ignored by John who had picked up a book and wondered why the detective should care so much about his crazy flatmate.

Sherlock had run around the town all night, never stopping, not talking to anyone, not looking at anyone, though he couldn't really say why. Finally he decided to return home – if he was lucky, John would either be more polite or out.

Mrs. Hudson opened her door when he walked up the stairs, and he sighed, but she simply said, "Just so you know, you're going to have to pay the whole rent – and a real one too. He's moving out". She closed the door again, and Sherlock didn't understand why he felt uneasy and strange again, and slowly walked up the stairs.

He didn't understand the panic when he opened the door and saw John in his chair and Greg on the sofa, either, he simply sprinted past them and locked the door of his bedroom.

The DI looked up when he saw his consulting detective return and wanted to smile, but found he couldn't when he saw the expression on his face. Something was wrong, more than it had ever been. Then he started to run to his room.

"Sherl – " Greg wanted to grab him as he passed the sofa, but there was this strange dizziness he'd felt the day before again, and he fell back.

He heard the key in the lock and tried to remember why it was a bad thing.

"Good friends, are you?" John asked sarcastically, and Greg shook his head trying to figure out what was wrong about that question –

John wouldn't ask such a question. That was what was wrong. Right. Sherlock had just run past him and locked himself in his room. Sherlock –

He ran to the bedroom door and started pounding on it with his fists. "Sherlock! Sherlock, it's me" of course he'd know that, but he was too concerned to care what he said "please open the door. We need to talk. Sherlock, please – "

He turned around and saw that John was looking annoyed and utterly unconcerned again. "John? Don't you want to know what's wrong?" he asked, scared for his both best friends.

John shrugged. "I suppose he has a reason, though I doubt we normal human beings would understand it".

Greg stared at him like he'd just hit him, then turned around and started pounding on the door again, and John sighed. There went his plans for a quiet morning.

Sherlock sat on the bed, briefing heavily, wondering we he felt relieved that the change hadn't come upon Greg – apparently the door was thick enough to protect him from his influence – but feeling it was somehow important to keep it that way.

So he called out, "Greg, please leave. I'm not going to open the door."

"Then I'll kick it in" Greg answered, and Sherlock started to feel uneasy again, just as John said, "But you are paying for that, Lestrade."

"No, Greg. Please. I need to be alone. I" and he paused, searching for something that would make Greg leave and finally settling on "I'll explain everything, I promise. Later. I'm alright, I swear. Just... leave."

Greg turned around and saw that John had no intention of helping him, as the doctor was just making himself tea in the kitchen. He sighed, defeated. "Good, then. But I'll come back, and you better have an explanation ready."

Sherlock was sure he could be out every time the DI decided to visit. He could climb out the window as soon as he heard his footsteps on the stairs.

"Alright."

"Bye, Sherlock" Greg answered sadly and called a goodbye to John, who only grumbled in response. Almost in a trance, he moved out of the flat and down the stairs, where Mrs. Hudson's door was open and she glared at him suspiciously. He walked out without a word and stood on the street for several minutes, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Then he knew what to do. There was only one person in the UK who could help him now.

As he was walking back to his car, he remembered the promise he'd made, and he took out his phone with a heavy heart, knowing that he would make the young woman he cared so much for unhappy.

Author's note: May I say that I love the scene between Greg and John, without sounding too conceited? No? Anyway, I just adore how it came out. Sorry.

Oh, and John doesn't remember how close he and Greg are because, in my world, they have grown closer after Sherlock's death. And, not to forget, he met the DI for the first time when he still suffered from a psychosomatic limp, which he can't remember. Good God, four chapters in and this is easily my most complicated story.

Also, this is going to be the only update for today, I fear. But at least it had Grolly, and Sherlock and John who don't really care about... wait, that's not a good thing, right? Well, it was a chapter.

I hope you liked it, please review.