This is it. He's going. He's finally going. He walks to Baker Street first. Who knows? Maybe Sherlock is with Mrs. Hudson again. He did tell him that he often goes to 221B to be with Mrs. Hudson. It makes John smile that Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock has a very mother-son relationship. Sherlock is really fond of her. And Mrs. Hudson is really fond of him... He will never forget when that drunk man almost killed Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock almost became a murderer himself... Almost... He got to knock some sense into Sherlock...

Sherlock...

It's been a very long time since he saw Sherlock return from his disappearance. He misses him, but he won't admit that - so British. He knocks on the door of 221B.

The door opens and Mrs. Hudson's surprise face greets him. "Mrs. Hudson," he greets.

"John? Come on in," she gestures for him to come in.

They go to her flat and she makes tea. Mrs. Hudson slams the cup on the table. He's surprised. He really got her mad, didn't he? She puts the sugar on the table.

She points at it, "Oh no, you don't take it, do you?"

"No."

"You forget a little thing like that."

"Yes..."

"You forget lots of little things, it seems."

Mrs. Hudson looks at him and he looks back. She gives him a very sad look and a pang of guilt courses through his body. "Listen..." he starts.

"I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it..."

"No..."

"But just one phone call, John! Just one phone call would have done."

'Is this how I sounded when I told this to Sherlock?' "I know..."

"After all we went through!" Mrs. Hudson says, frustrated. A flash of memories goes through his eyes. Sherlock and him sitting near the fire at 221B, laughing about their adventures from running from gangs in alleys and thieves they witnessed with Mrs. Hudson giving them tea and smiling at them. Sherlock and him, sitting at the bench by the park, resting after a long time of running after a cab because Sherlock forgot his wallet. Mrs. Hudson scolding Sherlock for not eating his food. Mrs. Hudson telling Sherlock not to abuse the furniture. 221B... It's like his home.

"Yes. I am sorry," he tells her. She sits beside him.

"Look, I don't want to sound rude but why now? What suddenly changed your mind?"

"I just want to ask if you've seen Sherlock..."

"He hasn't been here since the last time you both came here..." she sighs sadly. "I miss him."

'Does she even know that he disappeared for a year?'

"Isn't he with you?"

"No... We haven't seen each other much."

"Oh dear, did you break up?" she starts to try and hug him.

He doesn't want to be rude so he lets her hug him. "Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and I were never a couple."

"Okay, sweetie," she says sadly.

"Mrs. Hudson," she puts his hands on her shoulder and looks at her. "How many times do I have to tell you? Sherlock was not my boyfriend."

She rubs her arms on his arms. "It's alright..."

"Mrs. Hudson! I. Am. Not. Gay."

"Hello?" he answers the phone.

"Hi," the familiar voice says.

He freezes and looks at his phone in disbelief. He sighs annoyingly. "Oh you bastard!"

"It's time to go back. You've been letting your grades slide, Graham." Sherlock says.

"Greg..." he answers.

"Greg," Sherlock corrects himself.

"I'd hug you but you're on the phone."

"Sentiment, Greg."

"Hey, I'm not ashamed that I miss you, Sherlock."

He doesn't hear anything for a few minutes.

"You still there?" he asks.

"Yeah yeah.. Yes," Sherlock answers distractingly.

"It's nice to hear from you, mate," he smiles. 'He's back! Wait till John hears this!' He hears Sherlock chuckle. "What?"

"Nothing... Nothing... You doing well?"

'Did Sherlock Holmes, THE Sherlock Holmes, actually asked me if I was doing well? Him? Really?'

"Yes, I am... Now listen... It's about John and-" he hears Sherlock sigh. "It would be good for the both of you if you go to him right now."

"No. I'm not going to him."

"Oh come on, Sherlock."

"I don't see the point."

"He's your best friend."

"I don't know how any of this is your business."

Greg pauses. "Because you're both my friends so this is definitely my business."

Silence. 'He needed to hear it.'

"Earth to Sherlock?"

He hears Sherlock clear his throat. "Right... Okay... I have to go... Er... Okay then... Goodbye, Graham."

"It's Greg!" He answers, frustrated. He isn't exactly sure, but he thinks he heard Sherlock chuckle. 'The arsehole.' He chuckles as well.

"No, I really have to go."

"Right. Nice to hear from you, Sherlock."

"You too." Sherlock hangs up.

Greg looks at his phone as if it is a magical elf dancing on the palm of his hand. Sherlock sounded genuine. He's been with Sherlock for six years now. He can tell when he's sarcastic by now. And he knows he isn't sarcastic. It's either Sherlock actually turned human or something is really really wrong.

It was really good to hear Greg's voice. And yes, he remembers his name (though he keeps forgetting it before) and it just a personal inside joke of his to forget his name. Greg probably knows it himself. Greg isn't as stupid as he tells him.

But he's stunned.

'Because you're both my friends so this is definitely my business.' One of the two sentences that keeps rewinding in his brain.

Greg considers him as his friend. He always thought that Greg only sees him as someone who can help him with his school work. Merely an asset or just another tool to get a good grade. Like an instrument used in the laboratory. Apparently, he's wrong. Greg thinks of him as a friend. Two people considers him as a friend. 'Wait. Miscalculation.' Greg is the only one who considers him a friend. John hates him.

He forgets it. That's when he hears the other sentence Greg said. 'Hey, I'm not ashamed that I miss you, Sherlock.'

Greg isn't ashamed to miss him. Someone misses him. Someone isn't ashamed of him. Someone isn't ashamed to miss him. And he's Sherlock!

Greg said his name. Greg barely says his name. He's always Holmes. He's always been Holmes. Just Holmes... or mate... or hey or something... Never Sherlock. Greg is the third person to say his name after a year.

But his name is said in a different way this time. The first person to say his name said it with a tone of disappointment, pity, annoyance, frustration and commandment. The second person to say his name said it with a tone of anger and just deep hatred. He doesn't even want to remember it. The first and only time he hears John say his name... and it's in anger and hatred. He already has enough of that with himself and John adds to his.

It would appear that no matter what he does, John's hatred for him gets to him no matter what. It eats him alive. Breaking him to pieces and then glues him up all over again so he'd be torn to pieces again and again and again.

He leaves Baker Street after a few more cups of tea and chatting with Mrs. Hudson. He frowns at the fact that Mrs. Hudson doesn't know where Sherlock is. Sherlock often goes to Baker Street - especially on weekends. And it's a Saturday!

So he takes out his phone and sees the Holmes brothers' address and hails a cab. He tells the cabbie the address and off they go.

He looks outside the cab. It's very lonely to go inside a cab without company. Not wanting the loneliness, he gets his phone and dials Mary's number. She picks up quickly.

"So, how did it go?" Her genuinely concerned voice in his ear.

"I haven't seen him yet."

"What? Then where have you been?"

"Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson. Tried to ask her, she didn't know."

He hears Mary sigh. "That doesn't sound good."

"No, it isn't. I'm going to the Holmeses."

"What?"

"To Sherlock's place."

"And where would that be?"

"I don't know the place but Mycroft gave me their address in case of emergency. That's when Sherlock was still missing."

"Emergency?"

"Probably in case I found Sherlock and he's all wounded or something."

"Ahhh... I see..." A pause. "Are you okay?"

"What kind of question is that? Yes, of course, I'm okay."

"Well, you are seeing Sherlock days after he returned..."

"Right... Well, I'm more mentally prepared this time."

"Hey, I never got to know what you wanted to tell me, you know."

'Shit, really? Well... Next time.' "I'll tell you next time."

"Oh no, John! Don't tell me you're pregnant!"

He laughs. "You and your funny mouth will be sorry next time we see each other."

"Is that a threat?"

"Maybe."

The cabbie cuts him off. "We're here."

"Okay," he tells the cabbie and goes back on the phone. "Right. I have to go. I'm here at..." He asks the cabbie with a look and the cabbie points at this goddamn humongous house. "... Holy shit."

"What?"

"This isn't a house. This is a motherfucking castle."

"What?"

"I'll tell you more later. I have to do this. Okay? Bye, Mary."

"Bye, John. Good luck."

"Thanks." He hangs up. He pays the cabbie.

He now stands in front of the gates of this damn palace. 'My god! Why hasn't Sherlock let him in his place before?' Oh he'd love to hang out in that paradise.

Siger keeps pushing him. His legs are jelly. He can't walk normally. After that call with Greg, his mother found him on his phone and instantly thought he was asking for help. She slapped him twice and pushed him. Violet's push on him was strong, he didn't have time to think. He hit the the pillar with the back of his head and he got dizzy and he fell on the ground.

He heard shouting. Then someone kicking his legs and stomped on his leg once so hard that if he added a little more force on his stomp and Siger could have cut his Tibia in half. He limps and his father is growing tired of his slow walking. He keeps pushing him to move faster. Yelling at him. Threatening him and then doing what he was just threatening him with.

He hates this life.

He walks through this gigantic front garden. The grass looks amazing. He'd love to just lie on the grass and do nothing at all. He'd love to hang out here with Sherlock. Although he is a bit scared to meet Sherlock's parents. If they're anything like Sherlock and Mycroft, all deducing and stuff... He doesn't want to go through that again... Though Mycroft and Sherlock seem to be good people when you squint just a tiny bit.

They don't show it, but they are.

So their parents must be the same, right?

He composes himself, breathing heavily on the stairs. He just got thrown at the wall and kicked in the guts. But a few more second and he'll be fine.

He finally reaches this beautiful door. 'Why didn't Sherlock tell me he's rich?'... 'Oh god, what if this is the wrong house?'... 'Oh there it is. "Holmes Manor"...' ... He hesitates. He's about to knock but his fist is still in mid-air, waiting to knock this door.

He's calm. But he's still in pain. But at least, he's calm.

He rings the doorbell.

He looks up at the door. Someone is ringing the doorbell.