The quiet stillness encroached upon John, sneaking toward him until he was buried in it. He was completely unaware of time ticking slowly by. The sound of his beating heart and shallow breath were the only noise flooding his ears. All this was accompanied by a blinding flash of agonizing defeat. He had made the unthinkable choice of letting Sherlock leave. Nay, he had told Sherlock to go. What a cruel trick life had turned on him; all his wounds given a healing balm, only to allow the bandage to be painfully torn away before it could heal. Now infection could settle in, fester in the wounds until John was panting with fever and praying for death to overcome him.

What kind of life was he to live now? Surely he couldn't keep Sherlock away forever. John solemnly shook his head, placing it wearily in his hands. He knew he couldn't live without Sherlock; he could be alive, but those two states of being were not equal. John had thrived on the adventure, the danger, the sense of accomplishment that Sherlock had given to him. He appreciated Sherlock's genius, in turn garnering Sherlock's appreciation for John's willingness to be a conduit of genius. The men mutually benefited from their relationship, both found purpose due to the existence of the other. Molly had called them "two halves of the same whole", an assessment she had provided accurately. John knew her words rang true; Sherlock and John Watson, consulting detective and his doctor, forever entwined by the life they lead before 'the fall'.

"But how're we supposed to live after it?" John wondered aloud. His voice echoed through the flat, probing at the open wound still gaping in John's chest. The hollow sound the flat made forced John's mind into high gear. He couldn't, and wouldn't, allow himself to spiral downward again without Sherlock. However, his life was infinitely better when Sherlock was the centerpiece. Regardless of the sexual attraction between them, John needed Sherlock Holmes. He was fairly certain Sherlock needed him as well.

John stood, setting his shoulders. He was determined to have Sherlock return to Baker Street come Hell or high water. He worked his mind furiously to concoct a plan to request Sherlock's return to Baker St. He knew he'd need Molly; she had wiggled her way into Sherlock's life long before John arrived, and therefore her knowledge of Sherlock was almost more extensive than John's. Molly would be his best ally in this desperately asinine endeavor.

Molly, you free to chat? – JH

Sure John. You ok? – Molly x

Honestly? Not really. But I, well, I don't have anyone else to go to – JH

It's ok John, come over for tea. Half five? – Molly x

Yes that'll be fine, text me the address. – JH

Um, John, can I ask you why you've signed your texts with 'JH'?... – Molly x

Well Hamish is my middle name, Molly. – J

Oh. Ok. See you soon! – Molly x

Now that he had Molly willing to at least talk to him, he should probably conquer the big bad brother. Mycroft was sure to know Sherlock's plan to visit John. Logically, Mycroft knew about what a fiasco that had been. Hopefully the reunion sex was omitted. The furious heat broke out along his cheeks and neck at the thought of Sherlock discussing their encounter to Mycroft. He flipped open the laptop regardless of his embarrassment. He needed to know Sherlock wasn't off being rash in his actions.


To: Mycroft Holmes

From: John Watson

Subject: Sherlock

Mycroft,

I assume you're aware of the situation your brother and I are in. I fear I've become unreasonably attached to the man, insufferable as he is. He and I had something of a falling out, however now he refuses to answer his mobile… Could you simply alert me if you know of his whereabouts?

Cheers

J.H. Watson


To: John Watson

From: Mycroft Holmes

Subject: Re:Sherlock

John,

Sherlock, I believe, tossed his mobile into oncoming traffic quite soon after you kicked him out of the flat. Which was the most ridiculous idea you've ever had, if I might interject. I remember you once refused to sell him out to me because of your fierce loyalty to my brother. Honestly, John…

Sherlock Holmes does not break easily. You'll have to do some difficult compensation for him to return. He will return though. I refuse to put him up in my flat for much longer. Hurry.

M


The cab ride to Molly's took about 20 minutes. It was more expensive than taking the Tube, but less of a hassle, less stress, less triggering. It also gave John time to think. He had no idea what he could possibly do to remedy his current situation with his former flatmate. Former? Current? Whatever. He hoped Molly would provide some helpful insight. Wooing his male best friend was an entirely unpalatable, uncomfortably new idea. Come to think of it, Molly hadn't been all too successful at wooing Sherlock either. John groaned as he carded his hand through his grey-flecked blond hair. At least Molly knew a tad bit about dealing with men on non-platonic levels.

The cab rolled to a stop in front of Molly's modest apartment complex. Weariness radiated through John as he stepped out into the windy afternoon chill. There was no going back anymore; nothing was the same, and he couldn't even pretend he wanted it to be the same.