Note: I've just started sixth form and I'm going to have loads of work to do so probably won't be able to update as regularly, but I'll try to at least twice a week or something. Keep reviewing :)

John

I arrived half an hour late to find Louise sitting outside her flat, smoking a cigarette, bathed in the little sunlight the winter sky offered. She only glanced up at me when I stood directly in front of her, after being completely lost in her own thoughts. She somehow looked different than I last remembered her - more tired. Her skin was very pale, so pale that the the purple veins under her eyelids were extremely prominent, and washed out with not a fleck of colour in her cheeks. It was obvious that she had been working late night shifts again.

"I didn't know you smoked." I said, gesturing to the cigarette between her fingertips.

She looked up at me, wearily, but said nothing. A sudden breeze blew, so cold that it almost knocked the breath out of my lungs as if I had jumped into a frozen swimming pool. I shivered.

"Shall we go inside? It's cold out here."

She shrugged, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette onto the concrete until it finally stopped smouldering, stood up and went inside knowing that I would follow. I could sense that there was something wrong; Louise always greeted me with a wide smile and a bottle of wine. I rarely saw her dressed in anything less than an expensive dress, so it surprised me to see her still wearing her slightly crumpled nursing uniform.

Her flat was a state; clothes everywhere, takeaway cartons littering every available surface, countless ashtrays overflowing with butts. Louise was a very cleanly sort of person, unlike Sherlock - I think it was being a nurse and all, she always obsessed about the state of her flat and never let me come up unless it was tidy. Now she sat amongst it all, overwhelmed. She just did not seem to care anymore.

"Louise, listen. I want to talk." I cleared my throat.

She stared up at me, her face blank. "Kettle's just boiled."

"I...I don't think I'll be staying that long actually." I said, thinking of Mia. "I have plans tonight."

She snorted. "Sherlock taking you out? I hope you have a nice time together."

"I'm sorry I missed our date the other week. You know I wouldn't have cancelled if it wasn't something incredibly important." I was lying, despite myself; I didn't dare tell her that Sherlock had basically never required my help in the first place.

"I understand." She said, and for one moment I believed her until I saw her eyes darken. "Perhaps you should consider dating Sherlock. You spend so much time together, after all."

"Louise, please. I'm...I'm sorry."

She averted her gaze from mine and kept her gaze fixed on the blank wall ahead. Her voice was not angry, but dull. "No, I'm sorry. I have been working for twenty three hours, tonight I will get two hours' sleep and then I will have to return to the hospital for another six. I took that evening off especially so that we could go out. I've been working longer hours to make up for the time I missed. So don't tell me that you're sorry, because you're no way near as sorry as I am; sorry for bothering in the first place."

I bit my lip. I wanted to apologise again but knew it would do me no favours.

"I think it's over, John." She said, wearily. "I don't think I can do it anymore. I'm too tired, too sick and tired of it all."

At Baker Street, having not seen her in so long, it had all seemed to clear. I had wanted to break up. I had wanted to move on. But now, I felt doubtful. Guilty. Perhaps this wasn't the right decision after all...Louise didn't look in the best of states.

"Maybe...maybe we could just take a break." I said. "See how it goes."

She shook her head and it was then I knew that it was all too late; the sadness in her eyes spoke more than words ever could. I cleared my throat, trying to maintain a state of composure despite the fact my heart had slowed.

"Perhaps I should go." I said, quietly.

She lit another cigarette and said nothing.

"Will I..." I paused, my question suddenly seeming ridiculous. "Will I ever see you again?"

She dragged her eyes from the glowing embers. For a moment I thought she was about to tell me that I was being foolish, but the words never came. Instead, she sighed. "I don't know. I just don't know, John."

I nodded, as if I understood and saw myself out without saying another word.

Mia

John finally arrived back at 221B. He could only have been gone an hour and a half, but the duration itself seemed endless due to the fact I had been on my own for the remaining length of time since Sherlock had left without so much as an explanation for his maddeningly strange behaviour. I had been reading a book I had found on the bookshelves - The Portrait of Dorian Gray, the only book that did not entail any sort of factual study of science - but had not really been able to concentrate on the words it contained.

"Sherlock isn't still at the morgue, is he?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No." I swallowed. "I mean, I don't know. He came back but then...he left again."

"He does that." John remarked and sat down in the armchair across from mine with a long sigh.

I couldn't help but notice the pained sadness in his eyes, the weary slump of his shoulders as if the whole world was weighing him down.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"I will be." He mumbled. "Eventually."

I bit my lip. I wanted to question him further, but it seemed as if he did not wish to talk about it. But then, suddenly, he turned to me and proved me wrong.

"My girlfriend and I...we just broke up."

I stared at him. He had a girlfriend. Or, rather, he had done. Something about that fact struck me as unusual. It did not seem as if John had the time to have a girlfriend due to his demanding work with Sherlock. Before I could stop myself, I had told him that.

"I don't have the time really." He smiled weakly. "I shouldn't really get involved with anyone. I always end up letting them down eventually...it's not fair. I just -" He shook his head. The words he had been about to say evaporated into emptiness, only emphasising the fact they had been left unspoken further. "Don't worry. I shouldn't bore you like this with my meaningless troubles."

"I'd like to hear them." I paused. "I'd like to help you."

He smiled at me. "I suppose I just don't want to be alone."

"Alone?" I stared at him in surprise. "But you have Sherlock."

John sighed. "I know...Sherlock is my friend. My best friend, in fact. I just sometimes feel distanced from everything. Even when I'm surrounded by a sea of people, I can feel alone."

"I think I understand." I said, quietly, and I thought of the life that I had left behind in Richmond. At the very beginning, I had wished to have it all back; the normalcy of it all. But now I realised that I had never been truly happy. Not when I had still lived with my parents and not when I had lived alone. I realised now that for the first time in years, despite the otherwise unfortunate circumstances where Moriarty was concerned, I was happy. John finding me and allowing me to stay at 221B had saved me, and not just from Moriarty...but from myself.

"You're not alone." I said, suddenly, jolting us both out of the silence that had fallen.

John glanced up at me and smiled. "Thank you."

"No, really. You don't need a girlfriend to compensate for loneliness when you already have friends; Sherlock and Mrs Hudson and...and me."

It was then and only then that his face actually brightened; as if every inch of him had been filled with light. I couldn't help but smile myself.

"Well, isn't this touching."

I turned, surprised, to find Sherlock standing in the doorway for the second time that day. I wondered if he purposely crept up the stairs in order to scare people.

"Louise and I broke up." John murmured and the smile faded.

"I never did particularly like her."

John sighed. "Do you ever particularly like any of my girlfriends, Sherlock?"

Sherlock paused to consider this for a moment.

"No." And then he glanced purposefully at me, his eyes dark. "I don't."

I was about to open my mouth to argue but he had already began to speak again. "I studied the letter at the morgue. Moriarty, if he is the sender, used a Hermes typewiter, rarely found in good condition nowadays so therefore would have cost a significant amount to obtain. I suppose he used a typewriter because it almost gives nothing away."

"Almost?" John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock smiled knowingly. "The typewriter may be untraceable, but the ink isn't - he will have had to have purchased special ink from a certain shop. And as typewriters have practically become obselete, typical shops do not stock typewriter ink; in fact there is only one in the whole possible seventy mile radius that the letter could have been sent from in London."

"Which is?" John prompted.

"The Owl and the Pussycat."

He sighed at our blank stares. "It's a small book and coffee shop in Marylebone Road. The man who owns it has a passion for collecting old typewriters and therefore stocks ink for others who do also. It's therefore likely that Moriarty could have bought the typewriter itself from there too."

"All that information from a single brand of ink?" John's tone was incredulous.

"Of course not, John," Sherlock said with a yawn. "There's more."

"Well?"

"I'll enlighten you on our way to the book shop." He replied, and turned for the door.

"I'm not allowed to come?" My voice trembled, but I couldn't help it. I was so sick of Sherlock's cold cruelty and blunt remarks. He had no reason at all to hate me so much but did so anyway.

"Your presence will not be required." He said, coolly.

"Perhaps I can assist you in some way." I offered.

Sherlock was just about to utter another cold remark when John interrupted him.

"Yes. I am feeling a little...weary, shall we say." He paused. "Mia can take my place for tonight."

Sherlock just looked at me coldly and then walked out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time. John winked at me but it did nothing to cease the doubtful unease blossoming in my stomach.

"Go." He whispered. "Maybe you can influence him to be a little less stubborn."

"I doubt it." I whispered back, but followed Sherlock anyway.

Outside, a black cab was waiting. Sherlock was already sitting in it, an impatient expression staining his face. We drove away in silence as the sky began to darken above.