Most definite Winter. Snow flutters at random times of the day.
Tumor shrinking? Hopefully.
Forgetting? Definitely.
A couple of times at night, panicked phonecalls which are just ramblings and crying.
How else do you help someone who won't answer your texts? Who won't communicate at all. I've seen her run past Baker Street with Gladstone but never has she stopped in, even when John's car was parked. Gladstone's getting big, I might add. Not as slim as Redbeard. Probablly with all the running and the muscle building.
I, myself, have contemplated tipping up to see how she is. If she is coping. Mycroft is very brief on how she is in work.
'Surviving'
'Getting on with it'
'Head always down and busy'
Were few of his favourites that were often on loop.
John misses her. She's never in her house when he calls. There's nothing I can do but wait for another call. Just wait.

Tucking away his diary in the early hours of a Sunday morning when the skies were still deep navy, Sherlock yawned quietly by the firelight in 221B. Dressed in his blue silken robe and a flannel pair of pale blue trousers, he sat in his chair and twirled around his pen. For what felt like years, the weeks Victoria was out of touch scared Sherlock more than anything. Right, fine, fair enough she was dealing with it herself but Sherlock never actually believed on her own. Alone in that large house, rattling around with only a puppy for company. From the night she left, Sherlock struggled to sleep. Normally, it was cases that occupied his brain to this extent but now, they took a back seat.
With an urge to get some fresh coffee to fuel his thinking for both him and John, Sherlock swapped his robe for his jacket and made way out to the nearest Sainsbury's after leaving Mother and Father, who had stayed longer than both Mycroft and Sherlock expected, a note as to where he had gotten off too if they were to wake.
He walked in the dead of night, half dressed, and left with his thoughts. His phone was kept in his hand the entire time it took to get to the supermarket, just in case, those phonecalls came through. They didn't.
Sherlock grabbed a bright orange basket and made his way through the bright halogen store to the Tea and Coffee section which was always restocked at midnight. He scanned for him and John's regular whilst watching for Mary's decaf, just in case they stopped by tomorrow. She always picked at Sherlock for not getting decaf. He got it. Finally. Putting both jars into the basket, he browsed for a little while longer. His eyes roamed the bakery aisle and the confectionery but nothing attracted his fancy. Not even the stray peach and cream dress that lay in the corner of the aisle. Assuming it was out of place from the clothing section upstairs, he continued on with his browse.
With his mother and father finally leaving tomorrow evening, Sherlock thought it nice to buy some fine ingredients for their leaving soiree. Sherlock stocked some brie, bruchetta and parma ham into his basket on top of the coffee. All organic of course. His mother would kill him if it weren't. He walked up the lonely centre aisle, which had a bag and some shoes lying scattered, to the bakery once again for a splendid dessert when there she stood. Stark naked and facing the cheese counter. Sherlock placed down his basket next to some boxes of oats and approached quietly. One employee was stunned at what to do. A woman of mid-forties stood in her orange apron with her arms wide, as though to catch the streaker who was standing perfectly still. One leg in front of the other like she was ready to walk. But with her stance model like, she was going nowhere. Sherlock was stealthy when he came into point blank range. With her tumbling brown locks over her shoulder, Sherlock brushed them off and stood in front of her directly. The lights were on but nobody was home. Hery eyes so vacant it broke his heart.
"It's so hot outside." Her gentle voice was so innocent. She repeated those words quietly to herself. It played on Sherlock's ears. He looked up as he unbuttoned his coat to give to her, as if he was praying to a higher power. Despite having no pyjama top on and the store was so chill, Sherlock wrapped his heavy woolen coat around her shoulders and buttoned it once again. "I'm too warm with this."
"Do you know where you are? Do you know what time it is?" Sherlock asked with his hands on her shoulders.
"I'm in Hyde Park at Glastonbury. It's so humid. Best summer of my life." Victoria smiled so calmly and the shop assistant was frantic but paralysed with shock. A naked woman just standing in the baked goods section and Sherlock Holmes helping her. Sherlock hung his head and picked up her basket of groceries which was just bags of white rice. Sherlock looked at her, confused. Deeply. "For John's wedding."
Sherlock turned to the assistant and ordered for the rice to be placed back into its rightful aisle.
"Victoria. Listen to me. It is November 2014. You are in Sainsbury's at one in the morning. Not Glastonbury. You're going to come home with me, now."
"You're that man from the telly. Shag-A-Lot Holmes." Victoria was now chuckling, ignoring everything Sherlock had said before. Sherlock disagreed and went to turn her around but she fell into a squat and startched to scream in a high pitch. Sherlock rubbed his eyes. He couldn't get angry. It tore through his ears and swirled around his brain as though it was a fine point knife. "Victoria!" Sherlock yelled over her scream which knocked her into tears on the spot. He knelt with her and attempted to stand her straight. Eventually she did and she was quiet about it. The way it seemed to Sherlock, she was scared of him. But he knew this wasn't her.

He walked around the store with her until she was calm. Still not knowing what was going on, Victoria accepted going to Baker Street but not before visiting Gladstone. Sherlock nodded and made it clear that Gladstone would be coming with them. She associated Baker Street with John and was more than willing to go. After gathering up her dress and accessories, Sherlock lead her to the bathroom where she could change. Strongly, Victoria refused and had already left the store before he could try again. Sherlock paid a quick apology to the store manager before rushing after her on the icy pavement. So they went against the winter winds, one without a coat, and one without clothes. Sherlock chittered whilst Victoria calmly strolled in his coat. After all, she thought it was mid July. He tapped on his phone to Mrs Hudson
Put kettle on please.
Get some towels and blankets.
Bringing Victoria and Gladstone.
This is important.
SH
He watched her the whole way to her house where Gladstone lay at the front door on his blanket. His tail manically wagged whilst Sherlock attatched his lead. Victoria stood on the doorstep as though this place was unfamiliar and foreign.
After walking for a bit with an over excited puppy step, they came to 221B and were welcomed by Mrs Hudson puffing away on a menthol with worry on the bottom stair. Victoria stood idly in the centre of the foyer of 221B with Gladstone's leash in her hands as Sherlock locked the door and Mrs Hudson almost wept. "I got the text. It was a bit difficult to understand. It's off just this minute. There's a bowl of some dry food she left behind a while ago. I didn't know if he had eaten. I heard the door slam shut so I was already awake. Tea bags are in. What's happened, Sherlock? Where's your shirt?" She asked in a frizz and took a towel from the radiator which Sherlock had requested also. He took the arm towel from her and put it around Victoria's shoulder over Sherlock's jacket.
"Didn't have one on. It was an impromptu outing." He stated and stood behind Victoria as she climbed the stairs, Gladstone pulling her up. Mrs Hudson followed suit.

In the kitchen, the Irish Setter munched on the dry food whilst his owner sat in front of the bright, warm fire, wrapped in blankets aplenty with Sherlock's coat still on. Her eyes fluttered and Sherlock could barely keep his eyes off of her. Back in his robe, Sherlock sat in his chair and tried to explain delicately Victoria's situation to a tired Mrs Hudson. She sat and intently listened before arguing that John should be informed. "Mrs Hudson, please. I've said before, John cannot know- it's what Victoria wants. He's been hurt enough. This will kill him!"
"Before or after it kills her, Sherlock?!" Mrs Hudson yelled.
"Thank you for everything but go to bed. It'll be clearer in the morning!" Sherlock demanded once again. And Mrs Hudson, didn't retaliate this time. Happily, she rubbed the top of Victoria's head and went downstairs to her own little home to mull over Sherlock's detailed explanations. Alone they sat together, with Gladstone now up on John's chair. Victoria rolled her neck and gave a heavy hearted sigh. "I think it's time you went to bed." Sherlock said from his chair quietly so that only she could hear. She turned her head and nodded.
"Where is it?"
"I'll show you. Come on." He took her hand and the blankets suddenly shed from her body. Leading her through the dark corridor, past the stairwell where his mother and father slept above, to the dimly lit bedroom with the one glowing lamp on the bedside table. Victoria sat upon the edge of the bed as Sherlock searched for some suitable clothes for her to wear to bed. He had never felt so domesticated and empathetic towards someone but needs must. A dying woman has a severe black out and is stark naked in the centre of a supermarket in the middle of the night. Not once piece added up in his head but it all rooted from the one thing that nibbled away at her brain. Eventually finding some old shorts and a worn out tshirt from his uni days, Sherlock handed them over to an ever so sleepy Victoria. "Would you like me to leave you or help you or-?" Sherlock questioned and got no reply. She just unbuttoned the coat and started to dress. Immediately, he turned his back and rocked on his heels until he heard the duvet be pulled back. Turning again and taking her in, Sherlock breathed quietly whilst kneeling down beside the bed. Her head was already on the pillow and her eyes were still fluttering. "Do you know who you are?" He quietly asked and stroked her hand which was out of the duvet.
"Victoria Rebecca Watson. Sister of John. You are Sherlock Holmes and I am in your bed."
She was back. Finally. Sherlock didn't wonder how or even think about asking. He just accepted that she was confused, tired and completely oblivious to what had happened only hours previous. "Is Gladstone okay?" Victoria asked. Sherlock hung his head and laughed for a second or two which brought Gladstone prancing through to the bedroom, his tail wagging wildly causing a draught. She smiled at the noise of his panting which slowly turned sour into tears. "I'm slipping away, Sherlock!"
"You're not. It was just one big blur. That's alright." He tried to console her and Gladstone started to whine, as though trying to comfort her. Sherlock knew fine well that what was once a forgotten appointment had completely and drastically snowballed into a lost night in a supermarket.
"It's coming to the time, Sherlock. Soon, John's going to notice I'm not all together. He knows I'm being distant and I'm running out of excuses!" She was now full on weeping with her back to Sherlock and her dog.
Sadness filled the room. Sherlock felt a hitch in his throat seeing her so upset by something she couldn't help. What were once flowing waves of hair now became stringy and ratty. What was upright and proper now lay shivvering on a close friends matress, soaking the sheets with tears and mascara. All Sherlock could do was move close to her and comfort her as best as he could. Not with a pat on the shoulder like he would give to John if he was upset. Not with a firm shoulder hold like he had given Mrs Hudson many times previous when she got into a tiz. But this time, real comfort, would come from a tight cuddle.
Victoria scooched to the centre of the bed and Sherlock moulded himself around her. He smoothed down her hair before nuzzling his nose and mouth into the back of her neck and putting his arm over her abdomen to bring her closer. "I want to host a funeral for John. A quiet thing just for him and Mary and Harriet to say goodbye at. I want to hear the things they would say at my actual funeral. Maybe this time next year. Just a thought if I survive that long." Victoria spoke with gentle words.
"Okay." Was all Sherlock said.

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