John felt proud of himself that he didn't lose it in the cab; he wasn't sure how he had done it but he was glad he hadn't become a sobbing mess in front of the cabbie. It was raining now and John watched it out the window without really seeing it. He felt weary and he couldn't even begin to process what he had seen. He didn't want to begin to process it; not until he was alone.

John was glad when the cab made its way back to 221b. He tried to walk quietly up the stairs, but Mrs. Hudson was waiting for him. "John, you're back awfully soon" he heard Mrs. Hudson's voice say worriedly behind him.

John really didn't want to talk to her, to have to talk about what he'd seen. But he couldn't be rude either. He turned toward his landlady who was standing in her doorway, clutching a dish towel and spoon as if she had been interrupted during cooking. Worry was clearly written on her face. "Sherlock's not ready for visitors" John said flatly.

"You didn't go to the hospital?" the way that she said hospital it was obvious that she was deliberately avoiding calling it asylum.

"I did….." John started but his voice cracked. He hated that his voice was betraying him.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to read between in the lines in the motherly way that she always did. "Come in have some tea John" she prodded. John went forward into her flat, wanting to be able to talk to her, but at the same time fearful he might not be able to hold it together.

He followed Mrs. Hudson into her warm kitchen where the smell of baking biscuits filled the air; normally it would have been delightful but right now it make him want to vomit. He sat down at the kitchen table as Mrs. Hudson poured them some tea and took the seat opposite him. "So John, what happen?" she asked gently.

John sipped his tea and looked down at the tablecloth. "It was horrible…..he's completely gone Mrs. Hudson" he said, a tremor barley controlled in his voice.

"He's not any better then?" Mrs. Hudson asked gently. "He's not talking?"

John kept staring at the table to avoid Mrs. Hudson's sympathetic eyes. "He hasn't spoken since it happened. He wanted to….." John put his hand to his eyes, pressing hard to avoid the tears. "He…..would have attacked me again if they hadn't had him restrained."

Mrs. Hudson put her hand on John's and he looked up at her, her eyes showing deep concern. "John, Sherlock's had a very difficult life. I really think whatever has happened to him must have just been the last thing that he could take, pushed him over the edge. His mind is trying to cope with not only his new pain but all the pain that he's ignored. You know what he's like…..he never talks about nothing, buries it all in the big head of his. Eventually, that'll catch up to you. And I think that is what must have happened to Sherlock"

John stared down at Mrs. Hudson's hand on his; she had a point, a good one. It made complete sense; Sherlock never faced his emotions or the pain he'd been through. He buried it so far down inside he never had to face it. Now it was coming to the surface, demanding to be seen and acknowledged. John didn't know exactly what all Sherlock had been through in his life as Sherlock rarely talked about his past. But John knew that he hadn't exactly had it easy.

"I just wish there was something I could do" John said in despair, staring down into his tea cup. "What if…."

"John, don't go there" Mrs. Hudson cautioned. "Sherlock is brilliant and stubborn….he'll make his way home."

Over the next week, John tried to carry on as normally as he could but it wasn't easy. John wasn't aware of how much Sherlock had come to affect every part of his life until he was gone. He came to spend the majority of the time in the flat puttering around trying to find something to occupy his mind and time but it was difficult. He would have been ashamed to admit that he spent nearly all the time at home with either the radio or telly on; the silence alone was enough to remind him painfully that things were not as they should be. He had no work to do without Sherlock on a case and he didn't speak to Lestrade; after he had spoken to him the day he'd went to the asylum he'd heard nothing. John didn't call him; he figured if there was a change he would call him.

A new, unpleasant change in his daily life was the reoccurrence of nightmares. John didn't have regular nightmares now; he had had them in the days after he'd come back from Afghanistan in what he often referred to as his dark days. The days before Sherlock, before solving cases when he was alone and left with images from the war. He was plagued almost nightly with horrible nightmares. But after meeting Sherlock, those dreams had become less and less an issue. He still had them every once and awhile but not very often. But since the attack John had been plagued with nightmares; images of Sherlock coming at him with a knife, Sherlock running at him, his wild eyes from the asylum. He supposed that a psychologist would say that he was experiencing more PTSD but he hardly thought that the issue with Sherlock warranted such a strong reaction. Sherlock was, even after all this, his best friend and he refused to be afraid of him.

John didn't attempt to go back to the asylum for a week. As much as he wanted to see Sherlock, Lestrade had been right that he didn't want to see him like that. It was too hard; the Sherlock he had seen had not been the one that he knew and that knowledge was too much for him to accept. It had been so painful the first time around he wasn't keen on repeating it until he knew the something had changed.

John waited a week to call Lestrade. He didn't ask him about how Sherlock was doing; John knew that no news was bad news in this case. He called this time to try to get some details about the case Sherlock had been working on. He knew next to nothing about it and yet there had to be something that had set this whole thing in motion.

John fiddled with a pen in his hand as he dialed Lestrade's number with the other hand. After a few rings Greg picked up. "Hello?" he answered. John noticed that he sounded slightly better than he had a week ago and wondered if the fallout from Sherlock's melt down was starting to calm down some.

"Hi Greg, its John" John said pleasantly. He knee that Greg most likely didn't want to talk to him; he was glad he answered at all.

""Hi John" Greg said. "How are you?"

It was an awful question to ask, but a simple pleasantry so John simply said. "As good as can be expected" he paused before he launched into his main purpose. "Greg, you were going to try to dig up some info on the case Sherlock was on before he…..you know, his last case" John said awkwardly. " Did you find anything."

Greg paused. "Not really John" he said. "Let me get the file" he paused and the sound of shuffling papers could be heard. "Okay, here it is….really it was an open and shut case. The murder victim was 34 year old Olivia Massie. She was an extremely wealthy woman; her husband owns a car dealership. She had a string of lovers and naturally most people thought the husband killed her. Jealousy and all that….but it wasn't him. He had a rock solid alibi. He was unveiling a new car model at the time of her death. There were a hundred witnesses to prove that. Sherlock said from the get go it was a break in; the officers didn't believe him at first because there was so little evidence but he was able to prove it in those little maddening details he does. You can look over the report if you want….but nothing strange was reported"

"What about the officers he worked with? Did they say anything happened? Anything at all strange?" John asked, desperate for information.

"No" Greg said. " I interviewed the forensics team he worked with and they said that nothing bad or strange happened. Nothing of note. They all remarked that he was difficult to work with, but what's new about that? They said he knocked heads with the DI there, but again, what's new with that either?"

John felt defeated that there was nothing of note but he didn't want to give in yet. No one lost their mind so completely for no reason whatsoever. "Who was the DI?" John asked.

"Garret Sydney" Greg said. "Been on the force there for 35 years. I've known him a long time. He's a nice guy but stubborn. I'm not surprised he and Sherlock didn't see eye to eye"

"Can I phone him?" John asked. "Maybe he can shed some light on something no one else has covered."

"Sure" Greg said before giving John the phone number. His voice changed to slightly darker when he spoke again. "John, listen…..before you go digging too deep, you have to at least entertain the possibility that Sherlock got himself into some trouble."

"What?" John was confused.

"John, when I asked Garret why Sherlock was helping with the case for so long, he told me that he was only there 5 days. When I checked with his hotel they said he stayed for 5 days and then never showed back up to check out"

"What are you saying?" John asked, anger bubbling up in his chest.

"John, Sherlock had a bit of a wild past, you know, the drugs and all" Greg said, sounding uncomfortable. "When I first met him it wasn't uncommon for him to go off on his own for a while."

John was angry at the assumption that Sherlock had somehow done this to himself. The look in Sherlock's eyes when he returned was enough to tell John that he was damaged, not on drugs.

But John bit back his response; he wasn't going to change Greg's mind so he let it drop. "Thanks for the help" he said curtly before exchanging goodbyes. John hung up angrily and began to punch in the number for Garret Sydney that Greg had given him, praying he had some sort of answers for John.

"Hello, DI Sydney" the man on the other end of the phone picked up pleasantly.

"Hello, this is John Watson. I work for Greg Lestrade. Some of our people helped you on a case recently, especially Sherlock Holmes" John said.

"Ah" The man said in recognition. "Yes, Sherlock. He was a big help in the Massie case. Well, what can I do for you Mr. Watson?"

"John, please" John said. "Um….I'm Sherlock's college and I was wondering if you could give me any information about you and him working together on the Massie case?" For some reason John didn't feel comfortable about calling Sherlock his flat mate. He felt he'd get further if this man didn't know they were friends.

"Sure…." Garret said in a slightly confused tone. "What do you need to know?"

"Well, shortly after Sherlock came back he….." John thought about the best way to phrase it. "Had a bit of…..nervous breakdown. I'm trying to figure out as to why he might have"

"Well, that's awful" Garret said with slight horror. " No, he was fine while he was here. He didn't seem sick or anything"

"Greg said that you two had some arguments" John said.

Garret gave a small laugh. "Well, you know what he's like right?" he asked. " He butted heads with everyone here. Nothing serious though….I run my station a certain way and he didn't like to be told what to do. But after the first day or so we got into a routine and things ran more or less smoothly the rest of the time he was here"

John felt deflated. "Well, I appreciate the help Mr. Sydney" John said.

"No problem, call if you need anything else" Garret said warmly before hanging up.

John sat back on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair, frustration filling him. Six days…..six days where Sherlock fell off the face of the planet and when he came back to earth he was damaged. A thought nagged John in the back of his head that maybe Greg was right. Maybe Sherlock had run off, done drugs. It wouldn't have been the first time. But then John saw in his mind Sherlock's eyes, dark and empty when he'd come home; they spoke of trauma and pain. It had to be something else…..John just didn't know what yet.