I did it. I looked at all the old case files today. Not on purpose. They were in a box I didn't remember packing, and I had to open it to see what it was… I'm not sorry I did. They were good times.

It just feels like, well… like that part of my life is over, now. I'm ready to settle and move on with things. So I put everything back, and I wrote on the blog that I still believe in him – in you – and now… now I'm putting this journal in that box, and moving on.

This is good.

This is a good thing.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will stop feeling like I'm betraying you, somehow.

Hermione,

Please don't let John move on without me. I'm coming back. Six months, and it will be done. I… Please. I want to have something to come back to. I need something to look forward to.

SH

"Hey, John!" Hermione waved cheerfully from a table near a window as the man in question entered the restaurant. He slipped past the greeter and joined her, hanging his cane from the back of his chair.

"Hermione, long time no see," he smiled. It was a running joke – they ran into each other at least once every other week. John was secretly convinced that Mycroft was somehow manipulating their schedules to get them alone together for unofficial therapy sessions. He also secretly suspected that Hermione was in on it, but he had never asked. He preferred to pretend they were just friends, and she seemed happy to do the same. "Where's Miri?"

"Oh, Molly's baby-sitting so I can get a bit of proper shopping done. She said she'd rather spend her day off teaching anatomy to a two-year-old than get dragged off to the shops again, sooo…"

"You're letting Molly teach Miri anatomy?" John had to raise an eyebrow at this.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe. I'm getting a free sitter, and like I said, I'm pretty sure they're at her flat, not the morgue. But I think she was just making a point. So, how have you been?"

"Oh, you know, all right. I've been going through some old things, you know, getting ready for Mary to move in."

"Ooh, I was wondering if that's what it was, when I saw you updated the blog, you know."

"Yeah, well, that was a kind of down day, but on the whole, it's been really exciting. I'm… ready to move on, I think. Maybe type up some of the old cases if I have the time, but…"

"You're over him?"

John wasn't sure what to make of Hermione's tone when she said that. "Well… I don't know that I'll ever really be over him, I mean, it's Sherlock… do you think anyone really gets over Sherlock? But it's like I'm… awake, again. Like I can live my life now. D'you know what I mean?" he asked, hoping rather desperately that she did, and wouldn't get angry at him on Sherlock's behalf.

She just nodded and said in a rather sad voice, "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Listen, John, I… I have to go. I… I can't do this. Not today."

"Wha-?" but before John could articulate his question, she was gone.

John: Are you alright?

Hermione: Yes, of course.

John: Why did you run out like that?

John: Hermione?

Sherlock,

I can't do it. I can't stop him from living his life. He thinks you're dead. It would be cruel to stop him from healing. I… I just can't. This is what happens when you fake your own death – the world moves on without you. I'm sorry.

I'll be here for you to return to, and Miri and the Weasleys, and even Mycroft. I expect your mum and Mrs. Hudson will forgive you eventually. John will, too, you know. But I'm not going to force him to wait for you without even telling him why. I honestly don't know if I could.

If he knew you were alive, he would wait forever, you know that. You were his world. He still believes in you. But you did your job too well, and he thinks you're gone, and it's better for him to move on.

Telling him you're alive with no proof... I think it might break him. Either that or he'd think I'd gone mad.

I'm so, so sorry.

Hermione

I know you're waiting, but it's not the same. You're family. John is John.

He's the only close friend I ever had. He's the only person outside the family I've ever managed to live with for more than two months. He's the only person other than you (and Mycroft, regrettably) who gets anywhere near understanding me.

You told me once that you needed me to say you hadn't done the wrong thing with your parents, leaving them in Australia. That's what John is to me. He's the person who tells me when I've gone too far. He accepts me for who I am, without being related to me, and without being a grifter or a psychopath himself (Adler says hello, by the way – when did you two even meet?). The only normal person.

Ugh, that looks so ridiculous and twee written out. I swear, your psycho-babble is contagious. Why can't I erase anything in this book?!

It is every bit as cruel to leave me wondering if John will have changed too much to let me back into his life as it would be to give the poor man some hope that his lost best friend is really alive. It's not as though I won't be back.

SH

First off, John will never have changed too much to let you back into his life. This is John we're talking about, he's a little bit in love with you, and I'm pretty sure he always will be. You're right. He understands you, and he'll understand why you had to leave, eventually. It would hurt him just as much if not more if I told him now that you lied to him and were still alive as it will when you come back and tell him yourself.

Secondly, what you're doing is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. There is a very real chance you won't come back, and we both know it. He's moving on. I'm not going to tell him you're alive, and then have to tell him you died again, for real this time. He'd never believe me. It would drive him round the twist.

Also, the boys like you well enough; I met Irene on one of the nights you blew her off for dinner, but she didn't realize who I was until well after you rescued her in Karachi (we've been keeping in touch since then by post); and you can't erase things because it amused me to charm the notebooks so you couldn't erase things. Think of it as a conversation – you can't un-say anything.

HG

I hate it when you're right.

SH