A/N: Oh dear... my first attempt to write a Sherlock Fic (I know, i'm a little late to the party)! Little nervous about it, though...
Chapter 1 – Letting Go
Days, I've been locked in my thoughts
I keep swimming against waves of support
Darling, I don't know where you've gone
But my shoulders, now they're steady and strong
Letting Go - Dotan
John sat in his chair and stared outside. The little drops of rain where gliding down the windows. The sky was grey with large, dark clouds hanging above sea. The sea itself was stormy, with rough waves hitting the coastline of Fairlight Cove. Just like it had been for the last couple days, or even weeks. On days like this, John could really appreciate the village.
John loved Fairlight Cove. He had to admit that it felt a little strange in the beginning. After all, he was used to London. The turbulent, busy London. Fairlight Cove was in no way comparable to London. It was small, quiet and calm and everyone knew each other.
Soon after John moved from 221B Bakerstreet to the small coastal village, he found work as a doctor. The local practice offered him enough distraction. There weren't many interesting cases, but he didn't care. He needed rest and being on his own. And that was exactly what Fairlight Cove could offer him.
He took a small sip from his steaming cup of tea and looked through the living room. It was a cozy, small living room with a comfortable couch, an old leather armchair and a large bookcase full of medical books and journals. All the walls were painted off-white, except for the one on the side of the couch. Three large paintings in calm gray tones hung on the forest green wall.
On the other side of the room was a sideboard with some photos of his family and friends and an old radio on it. A violin hang above the sideboard. It was one of the few things John had brought from Bakerstreet and one of the few things which reminded him of his former friend.
His eyes even lingered at the violin. The pain and sorrow he had felt for so long had given way wistfulness.
6 months. That is how long he would go on a mission in Eastern Europe. John had been waiting, along with Mary. For months he had wondered if he was still alive, if he would see him again. But as the months progressed, his hope faded away. Instead, he started to feel empty. It was a downward spiral from there, with the result of him and Mary getting a divorce within the year they got married. Mary took Rosie with her too, but that was a mutual decision. John was okay with it.
After 9 months John could not bear the pain and the emptiness anymore and decided to leave London, on recommendation of his psychologist. A month later he gave up his rent and moved to Fairlight Cove, with nothing more than a suitcase full of his belongings and an old violin case.
He didn't think about him as often as before. And when John thought of him now, he no longer had those unbearable thoughts, but memories of their past. He didn't allow himself to think of those memories for too long, he couldn't bear those yet, but they were there and that was quite some progress.
His trail of thought was interrupted by someone knocking at his front door. He looked outside his window. There was a woman on his doorstep, but he didn't recognize her. He stood up, walked to the front door and opened it. Immediately, he wished hadn't.
Anthea stood there, holding an umbrella above her head. John knew what it meant right away. She came to deliver a message from Mycroft Holmes. His death notice, probably.
'John, you look… well. Better,' Anthea started. John just gave her a small nod. The last time he saw her, she came by to give him his 8thmonthly report. They were always the same. No change. No sign of him. No word. Nothing.
At first, Mycroft came by in person to tell him, but after a couple of months he started to send Anthea. The 8threport was the last one he got and the last time he heard of Mycroft Holmes.
"Why are you here?" John asked directly. He didn't feel like much small talk.
"Mr. Holmes has sent me to take you to him."
John stared at Anthea for a moment. "No," he replied.
She raised an eyebrow at him. 'No?'
"I'm not coming with you. If Mycroft has any respect whatsoever, he will come in person and tell me they have found his body, "John paused briefly and sighed. "That it is finally over. If that's not the case, then I don't want to talk to him. Report that back to your boss." He grabbed the doorknob to close it.
"I don't think that's what he ..." Anthea began, but John interrupted her.
"I said no. Goodbye Anthea."
And with that, he closed the door.