So far in this verse:

When his hour will come

John Watson has been trapped since the moment he left Sherlock's funeral. It just took him a while to realise it.

Paved with Love

Five year old Ava Watson's life is changed forever when her Daddy's old friend comes calling.

Rocks of Salvation

Moriarty's games and Sherlock's own arrogance have cost him the battle, but the war for Sherlock's soul plays on. Who would have thought that the shattered army doctor and the tiny girl could put up such a fight?

Tea and Coffee

Mycroft and Sherlock have never managed to agree on anything, let alone how to drink tea and coffee. But there are a few rare times when they can put that aside. Side along fic to "Paved with Love" from Mycoft's pov.

The Bet

Ava's present to John is not received well by Sherlock. Which of course means John and Ava have to bet Mycroft that they can change his mind... Silly sequel to "Paved with Love"

I do warn you that this is an angsty prologue. It's set at what will be the end of this fic and then will jump back to where Rocks of Salvation ended and then be lighter and fluffier! I just wanted to post this while people might still be looking for it so you can alert it!

"But even if you soar as high as eagles and build your nest among the stars, I will bring you crashing down"

October 26th

The first time he'd met John Watson, Sherlock had told him that he could be silent for days on end. He'd never understood how that could annoy someone, why his previous flatmates had found it so unerring.

But sitting in the deathly silence of the flat he understood it now. Now he could feel the weight, the oppression of it. The vast emptiness of it.

Gone. All gone.

Sherlock sat in his chair and surveyed his work between deep sips of whiskey.

The mirror had been smashed to pieces. He couldn't stand the sight he saw every time he passed by. Shards of glass littered the empty mantelpiece and scattered across the rug. The side table had been thrown against the wall and was in pieces on the floor, the wallpaper chipped and torn at the point of impact.

Everything on the desk had been shoved off, books, papers, photo's. All of it. What remained of his attempts to start work now sat soggy on the floorboards among the broken parts of the laptop he had hurled through the glass dividers.

The kitchen hadn't been spared either.

"I'm done."

He couldn't get the words out of his head. He couldn't tear them up and throw them away in the manner he had with everything else in the flat.

Staggering from the mixture of drugs and alcohol, he made his way up stairs. He utterly ignored their room, had done ever since they'd returned and he'd discovered the scent of John had faded.

Upstairs Ava's room sat silent and still, as if waiting. A doll lay on the floor and a pair of Wellyboots in the silver and purple his daughter had requested, lay mud stained and carelessly strewn by the bed.

Sinking to the floor he picked up one single boot. They'd gone round the corner and shopped for winter things and then Ava had asked for ice-cream.

They'd eaten it at the park where John always took her for her birthday and she'd tried to explain how John created a narrative for the ducks play.

It was tiny. But she'd been so proud to have gone up a shoe size.

He took another swig, wanting to dull everything. But the smell of the alcohol was quickly overpowering everything else.

It wasn't fair. Ava was his, his in everything but blood. They had no right-

"They had every right."

Mycroft's horrified tone echoed round and round until Sherlock's head felt as if it might burst from it all.

The look that John had given him today…he'd never seen it before in his life. He'd never dreamed he'd be the one to put that look on John's face.

He couldn't do it.

Standing he staggered out of the room, trying to stay upright as he stumbled down the stairs. He stopped at the top of the bottom flight, staring down without seeing it.

Mycroft had suggested Mrs Hudson leave. He'd heard the conversation three days ago, back when everything had seemed the worst it could get.

It always got worse.

And now, now he had nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing to lose and nothing that was within his reach to fight for.

How had he lived like this? How had he survived before John? How had he managed for five years? How had he smiled before Ava, how had he felt anything before John?

How had he managed to destroy it all?

He tipped the bottle, watching as the amber liquid splashed out, adding to the reek that was already coming from the stairs.

Then dropped the object in his other hand.

In the end he sat in his chair, pumping more of the drug into his system that made everything float away. The memory of the day that John had come home from the hospital all those months ago drifted in his head.

If he could go back…if he could change it. Save them both from the hell of his own making…

There were no magical fixes, no white knights riding to the rescue. He'd used them all up. Like Moriarty before him, he was the villain of the piece.

And the villains were never saved or forgiven.

But he could pretend, just for a moment, as the haze thickened and clouded his mind, that he was back with them both, at a time when the two people he loved more than anything in this miserable world had smiled at him and loved him back without limit.

"I hate you."

The fire in the landing cackled and burned.

Enjoy!