AN: good morning everyone! :)

I'm still on holiday, but here's the new chapter! I hope, as always, that it'll be an enjoyable reading for you all!

And, as usual, I loved your reviews and comments, they are always so nice and kind-hearted, I love you all for that :)

Sherlock's past two weeks at the hospital waiting for John to get better had been a nightmare. Mainly because John hadn't wanted to see him and he had wanted to stay there nevertheless. So, when John had started to walk around the hospital, he had to hide himself in order to give his friend some peace of mind and to give himself the sensation of being near him. Never in his entire life he had felt so close and yet so distant to someone. And this wasn't a random "someone". This was John. Yet he had no right to claim that John should just accept the fact that he was alive. He understood him, his confusion, his anger. But stupidly enough he thought that John would've eventually forgiven him by the end of the first week. Never in his life he had been so wrong.

And it hurt. More than everything else it hurt so much his brain could barely think properly.

All he wanted was to apologise to John, all John wanted was to never see him again. Sherlock wasn't just feeling hollow, he felt defeated, ruined, for he had been so stupid at not letting John know he was alive.

He tried to persuade himself that there was no other way. That if John had known he was alive, people might have killed him. But he knew for a fact that he was the great Sherlock Holmes, a genius. And if he had wanted to let John know he was alive, he could've done it easily. And he hadn't done it. And John had almost died for him. And John didn't want to talk to him anymore. He felt like he had written "failure" all over his body.

Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson pitied his state, but were kind enough to not say anything discomforting. They kept him informed about John's condition, brought him food, which he accepted to eat in the end, chatted with him about useless matters, which nevertheless provided some distraction from his thoughts. But he refused to leave the hospital. He managed to sleep now and then in a very quiet corridor on the fourth floor. He did it during the day, while Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson were down with John. During the night, instead, he went down to John's room and sat on the floor near the door, mostly asking him for forgiveness inside his mind. It was like a sacred chant in his head, which he kept on repeating, never saying it out loud.

Then the day of John's leaving arrived. Sherlock had been talking with Lestrade.

"He's definitely not coming back to Baker Street.", said the DI pityingly.

"That's…ok.", he managed to say, despite the pang in his heart.

"I know it's not ok, Sherlock. You're a bloody awful liar sometimes!"

"No. It's really ok.", he tried to say.

"Yeah. It's as ok as my wife going out with that yoga instructor. It's not ok, Sherlock. Spare me the fact that I'm an idiot, just this once. Because I can see how it hurts through your eyes. You may be good at lying in any other situation…but you can't fool me on this, you know."

And of course the DI was extremely right. There was nothing ok in all that.

"Maybe you can try to talk to him once he's at home.", continued Lestrade.

"He won't listen. He won't even open the door.", he sighed.

"Alright. But it's worth a try."

Sherlock didn't believe that at all and yet he found himself in front of Lestrade's house. He rang. He clearly saw John through the curtains standing up and looking out to see who was there. He was sure the doctor had noticed him, but obviously he didn't come to the door. He returned back to Baker Street and ducked into the sofa.

The flat was quiet, quieter than he remembered for there was no John in it. John had always made some noise. His fingers tapping on his laptop, his hands moving through the pages of a book, his steps to the kitchen to boil some water for the tea. He missed those moments, when everything was normal, before he had to throw himself down to save John's life. And now he couldn't even explain him what had happened. Nice, Sherlock. Really nice, he thought. The worst part of it was that now he had lost the occasion to let John know how much he was important to him. Essential, even. To be completely honest with himself he had lost the occasion to tell him how he…god, no. He sighed and closed his eyes pretending that he was able to sleep even with all that noise in his head.

He eventually managed to sleep a couple of hours. Then he decided to go to Lestrade, mainly because he needed some distraction, but mostly because he wanted to hear about John. He called the DI and they arranged to meet at a pub near 221B, since Sherlock couldn't just walk into Scotland Yard, being officially dead. And he was amazed that the news of his fake death hadn't already leaked out. He suspected that he had to thank his brother for that.

When the time came, he went to the pub, being really careful he was not being seen by anyone. It wasn't that hard anyway. It was a pretty cold windy day and the streets seemed deserted. Lestrade was outside the pub, waiting.

"I thought it would be better if we don't go in. I'm quite sure the owner will recognise you."

Sherlock nodded and they started to walk.

"How's John?"

"You should know that."

Sherlock's gawked at the DI.

"How am I…"

"Don't pretend you didn't go there this morning."

Since when the DI had become so observant? He was completely astonished.

"No, don't look at me like that. I've not become a genius all of a sudden. I have an agent keeping an eye on my house. I don't trust John that much at the moment to leave him alone the whole day."

Smart Lestrade, thought Sherlock. He actually remembered a guy on the other side of the road. He hadn't paid attention for he was obviously focused on other problems, but now he got it.

"Well," Sherlock stressed "then you also know he didn't open the door."

Lestrade nodded.

"I don't think I really know how he is, Sherlock."

Sherlock still looked at him astonished.

"Don't do the look again. I mean: I know for sure he's happy to be at home. I know for sure he's sad for what he has done. I know for sure he's angry with you. And I know for sure that I haven't got the slightest idea of what's going on in his mind. Something is bugging him and I wish I knew if what I'm suspecting is the truth."

"What do you suspect?"

"That he's torn."

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.

"About what?"

"Oh god, are you serious? About you, for the heaven's sake. He'll never admit it, obviously."

"I think you're wrong, DI."

"Might be. Anyway I'll keep an eye on him."

The two men departed, each taking a different road.

Sherlock arrived home some time later. Lestrade had told him that John might have been torn, but he knew it wasn't true. Had that been the case, John would've talked to him. Instead he had constantly refused even to see him for a second. He felt once again turned upside down. His whole world, his knowledge of human beings, his great intellect weren't really helping in that precise moment. He wished John were thinking about him, only to face the truth that the doctor certainly wasn't.

He waited for some hours, while the day slowly ended and then took the mobile he had got from his brother some days before.

I'm ready to leave again. Tomorrow will do. – SH

Three minutes later the mobile buzzed.

Ok. A car will be waiting for you at six a.m. – MH

He sighed. It was the best decision. John didn't need him anymore and he couldn't stand the situation. Going back to destroying Moriarty's web was what he needed to forget everything. Would he get killed in doing that, the better.

At half past ten p.m. he was standing once more in front of Lestrade's house. He rang the doorbell. The DI appeared seconds later.

"Evening.", Sherlock said.

"Oh, it's you. I'll see if John…"

"Don't. It doesn't matter."

But Lestrade had already called the other man.

"John?"

Sherlock thus heard John shouting from the other room.

"I've already remarked a million of times that I don't want to see him!"

"I'm sorry", said the DI, returning to him.

"Don't worry. I came here just to tell you that, now that he's better, I'm leaving tomorrow. He'll be happy to hear that."

"Wait…What? Where are you going?"

"Can't tell."

"You can't just leave this way…"

"It's the best solution. For him."

And he turned his back. He heard Lestrade closing the door and went back to the flat.

He lay on the sofa, the tips of his fingers placed on his lips, the mind full of thoughts he couldn't control. The idea of never seeing John again. The idea of living a life alone without the other man. The idea that everything, even the happiest thing in his life, eventually came to an end. A while later he sat on the sofa and lit up a cigarette, losing himself in the rings of smoke coming out from his mouth. It was around midnight when he heard the front door opening.

AN pt.2: The song for this chapter is Far From Heaven by Dream Theater (I think Dream Theater fit too much for these last chapters o.o)

If you have in mind another song which fits, drop a word!