Hello! Okay so first of all, I am so sorry to anyone who was reading this story before I stopped posting. Personal reasons meant that I had no time to carry on with the story. I also realise that chapter 8 and 9 weren't up to the same standard as previous chapters. I may re-write them at some point... although for now I want to concentrate on finishing this story. I'm hoping you will (if you are still reading - I won't blame you if you're not) enjoy chapter 10 as much as you enjoyed some of the earlier chapters.

Chapter 10 – Fights, Heart break and Dust.

Every inch of him was aching, he was definitely getting too old for this, it had been a while since he'd been in a fight; but the majority of the pain he felt at that particular moment wasn't physical. He kept playing the scene over in his head, how had he fallen for it? Of course it had all been a lie. The last 3 years of his life had all been built upon a steaming heap of lies. His hand throbbed as he took the ice off his bruised and bloodied knuckles.

He sat back resting his head on the back of a chair he'd fallen asleep on so many times, but that was so long ago, he hadn't stepped foot in this place for years – too many ghosts, as Mrs Hudson was always saying. He'd just left it as it was, after… took a few of his own things and just left it all to get covered in thicker and thicker layers of dust. Even the violin still stood leaning against the wall by the window overlooking Baker Street, a violin that hadn't been played in over 3 years.

He wasn't sure why he'd come here after he'd hit him, it was just the first place that came to mind. As he'd hailed a cab and said the words "221B Baker Street" it had felt like an almost unconscious decision. Although it was the place where he'd faced the most danger, even more so than in Afghanistan, being there made John feel safe and at home, and that was what he had needed. Just somewhere he could think things through and be alone.

"How's that hand? Will you be wanting a cup of tea then dear? I don't mind just this once. Oh it is nice to see you back in that chair, just like old times." Of course he hadn't banked on Mrs Hudson being at home.

He hoped she wouldn't ask why he was there, though he could see every detail of what he'd witnessed replying in his head; it felt as though hearing himself say the words would make it real in a way that would mean it was all over.

"I do wish you hadn't moved out, though I understand why you did, too many ghosts ay. You know I swear sometimes when I'm sat downstairs at night I can hear him playing his beautiful music on that violin,"

Was he really alone again? There had been a time, the last time he'd sat in this apartment that he'd felt like he'd always be alone, that he'd never be happy again. But slowly she'd helped him come to terms with it all, everyone else was so careful not to mention Sherlock whenever John was in the room, it made him feel like a sick, weak child that they all felt they needed to protect, but not his Mary; she was always mentioning Sherlock, asking John questions about him, wanting to know more about this brilliant man that she'd never had the chance to meet. At first every time she said his name, it had made him angry, a few times it made him cry but eventually he found that he could tell her stories of all the things they'd gotten up to, and each time it seemed to hurt a little less. She'd been the one to help him heal.

Maybe that was why seeing her wrapped in her bosses arms had felt like he was simultaneously drowning in icy cold water and being punching repeatedly in the gut. Maybe that was why punching her boss in the face a few times had made him feel a little better, for a few minutes.

How could she do this to him? To them, to what they had been building for the past 3 years.

"'Course I suppose it could just be the medication I'm taking for my hip, it does make me a bit doolally. But it is just so clear and loud, I've even wandered up here a few times, silly I know, but I just had to check. It's always just sitting there, in exactly the same place all these years."

Mrs Hudson was bustling round the kitchen, as she mused John hadn't really been paying much attention. All he could think about was Mary and where it had all gone so wrong, but at the same time there was something in the back of his mind that was telling him what Mrs Hudson was saying was important.

"John? I said do you still have sugar?" Before he knew why, he was up on his feet and crossing the room to the violin.

"Oh John I really do think Sherlock would have wanted you to have that you know. Please take it, and then at least when I imagine that I can hear it at night I won't have to come up here and check it isn't really Sherlock standing there ignoring us all for days on end playing those silly Christmas songs." John picked up the violin, and stared at it. His brain was telling him something, he couldn't stop looking at the violin as he turned and twisted it in his hands.

Dust

"Mrs Hudson, have you tided in here?" Mrs Hudson looked perplexed.

"Really John does it look like I have? I've never seen dust so thick, it's probably a health violation or something. I really should but I just don't want to disturb anything, he was always so particular on where his stuff was and not wanting anything moved."

John wiped his fingers up and down the smooth surface of the dust free instrument in his hands. "But you haven't picked this up?" He asked holding up the violin, "or dusted it or anything?"

Mrs Hudson placed a tray with tea and biscuits on the coffee table, causing dust to disperse in every direction, "No, dear I haven't dusted anything – as you can see," she laughed as she blew off some dust that had settled on the biscuits. "Why do you ask?"

John put down the violin and headed for door. "I have to go Mrs Hudson, thanks for the tea."

I hope you liked it? Next chapter will be up today or tomorrow... I promise!