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Finding Sherlock would be tough, John knew that much. But exactly how tough it would be John had no idea. Like he didn't have any idea where to begin. Going to the police would mean unnecessary trouble for them both. What would John say to them? Why was he looking for him? And what if they did find Sherlock? Would he agree with fact that John did this out of concern, out of his need to find him? Would he like police hurling him to John? No, most definitely not. God he was already so mad at him. He was not even sure that Sherlock would even talk to him if he found him at all.

Refused to be bogged down with such apprehensions John started his search at the usual places. He made it a point to check the alley he had found Sherlock in the first time and the one he saw him last every day. John made a routine of getting out earlier than usual for work and search the possible places and doing the same while returning. This routine continued for a week yielding no results. John started to get out at night also. He knew he could run into trouble anytime, so he carried his gun with him. Good thing he had learnt to handle it and bought one. Another giveaway of his adventurous nature.

The dark alleys and homeless shelters became familiar grounds for John. He saw the grim reality of people living on the road vividly. He extended help whenever there was a need in front of him. Be it money or medical assistance. The thought that Sherlock was somewhere living in such conditions and he wasn't able to reach him pumped all blood from his heart.

What had the man done to deserve such a living? The question tormented him always. Meanwhile Harry had come to know of his break up and had made her displeasure quiet clear. She said what John was doing was not only idiotic but it bordered on insanity. The thought made John smile ruefully. This wasn't insanity, not at all. If he's unable to find Sherlock and tell him that he would embrace any darkness that comes with him with pleasure then he would go insane. The way things were going there was high probability of such a thing happening.

"I never want to see your face again."

The words would keep him awake at night.

Is that why I cannot find him? Is he deliberately hiding from me? does he know I'm looking for him?

For days his rigorous search yielded no result. He saw his greatest fear coming true. How do you find someone who is like mist? Everything about Sherlock was like the mist. His sudden appearances, his overwhelming presence, the mystery surrounding him, his pale skin, the cold feeling when he left. John was literally chasing the mist itself which it seemed did not have the will to manifest itself anytime soon.

The longer the time stretched the more the uncertainty grew. Was this all a big misunderstanding? Misinterpretation of actions? Maybe Sherlock didn't mean any such thing at all? Maybe he was just teasing John? maybe he did such things? And John, based on such trifles had turned his life upside down. He had broken up and was now looking all over London for a man he didn't even know the last name of.

Looking back at the episodes when Sherlock had come and gone it seemed so comical. John Watson, a doctor reaching forties falling head over heels for a handsome young man with piercing eyes and baritone voice, who gave him some trivia about himself and made him dance like a puppet.

What if now the strings were cut? The show no longer entertaining?

What had he done?

The fact that everyone around seemed to believe the worst didn't help the matter at all.

"It was childish of you!" exclaimed Mike loudly.

"You should really sit down with Mary at least for once dear." Said Mrs Hudson.

John couldn't blame them. He couldn't blame people who actually cared for him and were genuinely worried about the state of affairs. But he couldn't bring himself to think that all this was a huge mistake and that Sherlock had given him false promises. He had the dignity to accept his responsibility in the matter. Sherlock had not given him any hopes whatsoever. If it was to be believed he had shown an interest in him that could be interpreted in varied ways. To take it as a romantic interest was his own understanding or misunderstanding. With Mary he was totally truthful. How could he remain in a relationship with someone when he could feel his entire being enraptured in some other? No matter what Sherlock's real feelings were for him there was no denying the nature of his own interest in the man.

John was perfectly sure of his decisions. Though not happy. And the final reverberation rested on Sherlock. Whether John would be happy or this much miserable and confused for the rest of his life lay in the hands of the man who was as elusive as mist.

These thoughts occupied John's mind as he walked out of St. Brat's . With a tired sigh he thought about going around the alleys when a voice called from behind.

"Do you have some change?"

John turned to find an elderly man, haggard, wrinkled, thin and tired wearing clothes which seemed to be centuries old peering at him. He had long untidy hair and beard.

"Sure." John said fumbling for changes in his pockets and coming up with some. As he went near the man to hand them the man extended a small dirty hand and tilted his head as if bowing.

"He will be at the tunnel tonight." He whispered as the coins fell from John's fingers.

Before John could say anything or even look at the man properly he had taken an about turn and started walking away.

Sherlock had sent a messenger.

Finally.