A/N: Oh my god I finally updated wat. I've been constantly working on this chapter bit by bit, but I'm glad I got it finished. Had it stuck at one spot for the longest time. There's a bit more Sherlock than I intended here, but I'm okay with it. Hope it's a good chapter as I didn't run it through CSB before posting it. ;D I have to plan out the rest of chapter 4, but it might be held off for a while so I can finish a school project. Here you go guys!

"You're lying." Sherlock hissed darkly from between his teeth. He sat placidly on the armchair, his body stiff from the new emotions inside his body that were churning to create something larger and much more dangerous.

"I could be, but we both know the truth in our stories." Mycroft countered rather calmly. After all, he had been dealing with an angry Sherlock a lot as of late. Nothing new even now. Mycroft shifted in his seat once. He had been filling in Sherlock all of the details of John's daily life and it seemed Sherlock didn't take a particular liking to this one. When Sherlock said nothing back, he shifted once more although this time a bit uncomfortably. Not from the lack of conversation in general, oh no. He was well used to quietness for a long period of time with Sherlock. It was specifically the lack of conversation on the topic of John Watson. Sherlock was constantly asking about John and watching out for his wellbeing. Perhaps Sherlock was in his mind palace?

In fact, that was completely wrong. Sherlock was very much aware of the commotion happening before his eyes. He was very much aware that his lack of speech made Mycroft rather uncomfortable for once. That was exactly as he intended. He wanted Mycroft to leave him be and not out of anger, but out of concern. Sherlock was feeling… things well up inside him. His emotions tossed and turned violently like a nightmare storm forming in the depths of his chest. The thunder booming inside his head, the lightening striking him in the heart and the rain pouring from his eyes. It was a feeling that Sherlock did not understand. It was something that he believed himself to be incapable of. He rather feared it actually.

Human feelings.

"Mycroft, I don't understand!" Sherlock wailed as he jumped from his seat. "Why does it hurt so much!" It had been so very long since Sherlock had dealt with emotions as strong as these. John somehow knew how to make Sherlock hurt in all the weirdest places. He slipped his way into Sherlock's mind, taking the key and creating something so devastating in the depths of his heart where he was so sure he had locked away. John Watson achieved something that even the Holmes brother's parents could not achieve.

Mycroft stood and – surprisingly – placed down his umbrella to embrace his broken younger brother. Surely Sherlock would end up making him regret this later, but he expected no less. Sherlock lay somewhat limp in his arms, all signs of previous struggle now disappeared as he soaked in the data of the new feelings he was experiencing. "Calm down Sherlock, you're simply heartbroken."

xoxoxox

Sherlock had gone through many stages of denial of the situation. Mycroft had come in telling him of Molly's recent 'nights' at 221B with John and it made Sherlock feel rather… sick. He wanted nothing more than to be the one in John's room, in John's bed, in John's arms. Sherlock hopped from his seat, grabbing his coat off of the coat rack and never stopping as he made a dash for the door. He needed some fresh air, maybe a bit of closer contact with John than he had originally planned.

Sherlock sat in the booth of a small café he found. Obviously, he wasn't there to order any food, but he did in fact order a coffee, black with two sugars. A little something from home that would comfort him. It reminded him of Molly, but then again it also reminded him of John. Molly never made the coffee as well as John did. When the coffee arrived, Sherlock sat there, looking down into the brown liquid. It shone in the sunlight as he sat by a window. Sherlock gently ran a finger along the rim of the white mug. He needed a battle strategy. Maybe sending John little anonymous letters? Maybe a bouquet of flowers even? No… that seemed too cheesy. Not something Sherlock would do and not something John would like. John may like the sappy lovey-dovey things, but he wasn't that sappy.

Sherlock needed something… spontaneous. He needed something that would catch John's interest enough to drag him away from Molly, even if it meant for a moment. That way he could draw lines from there and give John something even more eye catching and interesting. He wanted to do big, but not too big. Random, but not too random. A difficult task that Sherlock set himself to do.

John; tough army doctor; soft heart. Molly; timid girl; obviously could be scared; not scared by everything, unfortunately. Sherlock drummed his fingers against the table. He was too lost in his thoughts to notice the small ding from the café's door slightly opening. John stepped back, a smile on his face as Molly passed by. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress and a white sweater over top of it. Her hair was let loose with a small headband. That day happened to be particularly warm and dry, it was no wonder she wore such a bright outfit. She stepped in with a small hop to her step and seated their selves right away. The moment John began to speak, Sherlock snapped back to reality.

His gaze shifted from the corner of his eye. John was staring at him. Squinting more like it. Bags under his eyes; hasn't slept; 2 days? No, 3 days. Disheveled hair; woke late. Tense; Molly was keen on taking him out; explains messy appearance; no time. Spark in eye; thinking; obviously wants to believe Sherlock was there; look of confusion; unsure of his deduction.

Sherlock downed the mug of coffee before slapping down whatever amount the drink cost before standing. He adjusted the collar of his jacket, pulling it up. His fingers stayed at the collar though, seemingly glued there by an invisible force. John once told him to not do that, to stop trying to make himself look 'cool and mysterious'. A small smirk cracked before it was quickly brushed away with the attempt of not being discovered completely. Sherlock realized that the time away from John had made him very… lackluster, in a sense. He was also completely mad for doing something so rash. Finally letting go of the collar, he swiftly began to walk towards the door. His fingers spread as he pressed his palm against the glass, pushing the door open and disappearing around the corner.

xoxoxox

"John?" Molly tilted her head. She brushed her fingers against John's arm. "Are you alright?" She was discussing a few things with him before he suddenly trailed off and went silent. Molly looked towards the direction he was staring in, but she didn't see anything in particular that stood out. To her, anyways.

John shook his head, turning his attention back to Molly with a small comforting smile. "No, I'm fine. Something just caught my attention for a moment. Thought I saw someone I knew." He shook his head, "My eyes must be playing tricks on me, I guess."

"It's alright." Molly gripped onto his hand lightly. "As I was saying, maybe it would be good to box some of the books and papers Sherlock left in the flat. It would clear some space and would make it a bit less stuffy." It was hard to admit it to John, who seemed to break a little at the suggestion, but it had to be done. The flat was getting rather hard to sit in. She could also tell that John was having a hard time sleeping, which was most likely the result of him still trying to find a way to cope with the loss. Sherlock was such a big influence in his life and there were too many reminders in the flat. "Scratch that, actually. I won't put more strain on you. How about you stay at my flat? Get you away from Baker Street for a little. It might help you."

John had to think about this for a moment. Stay at Molly's flat? He had been there quite a few times. It was a small flat, a couple of bedrooms. Very well organized and homely. He appreciated the thought but there was something about the idea of staying at her flat that put him off. A sort of pang that hit him clear in the chest and it made him grimace, almost feel a bit tearful. Guilt? The thought of leaving the flat… it felt almost as if he were betraying Sherlock. John gave Molly a smile and shook his head once. He was about to speak before they broke away to lean back as the waitress placed their food in front of them.

The two chatted and had a good time as they ate their breakfast and watched people come and go. Time passed quickly as Molly was interrupted midsentence by the beeping of her watch. "Oh… It seems my free time is gone. I have to get back now, but I had a great time!" She chirped, flashing a bright smile. The two stood, John giving her a quick kiss before she scurried off out the door. John sat down and lingered around a bit longer, ordering another coffee as he thought to himself.

He was sure that it was him. The curly mop upon the man's head was a dead giveaway. His skin was oddly pale and there was no mistaking the smirk he gave when he did that thing with his collar on his coat. But how was it possible? John clear as day saw Sherlock hit the pavement. He even tested his pulse for Christ's sake! His eyes stung a bit, but he blinked back the emotions that threatened to spill.

Why couldn't Sherlock just come home…

xoxoxox

Sherlock found himself walking along Baker Street taking in all the new things that seemed to spring up while he was gone all that time. He hated having to spend so much time around London as it meant hiding until the time was right. Sherlock knew what he was about to do was beyond stupid – which he had been avoiding being for the longest of time – but he had to do it anyway.

Sherlock took a long stride up the steps of 221B and took a moment to collect his self before he knocked on the door respectively. There was a momentary stillness before a voice came calling down the hall, "John Watson, if you forget your keys one more time I'm going to have to tie them around your ne-" she abruptly stopped when she opened the door and took a good look at who was standing there.

Sherlock shifted a bit, a smile plastered on his face as he swayed from side to side. "Hello Mrs. Hudson." his baritone voice rung. It was something she did not expect to ever see, but Mrs. Hudson took a moment to soak it in before she gave him a smile and ushered him into the hallway.

"Oh Sherlock… How have you been, love? I'm so glad you're alive. John has been struggling without you." She chattered, setting down a cup of tea for him as they sat at her kitchen table. "That nice Molly girl has been around a lot lately, you know. Keeping his mind off of the small things. Poor thing has barely gotten any sleep the past few years."

Sherlock nodded. "That's why I've come to you Mrs. Hudson. I can't reveal myself to him just yet, he is not ready, but I'm going to need your help a tad bit. Just loosening him up a bit so I can ease my way back into his life without him freaking out." He sighed. "He's not like us, Mrs. Hudson. So fragile and easy to break. It's hard to see, but I'm willing to take a shot at it. For his sake."

Mrs. Hudson took a sip of the tea then placed her fingers on Sherlock's palm. "It's alright Sherlock. I understand. You want to get rid of that Molly girl, don't you?" Sherlock gave her a bit of a surprised look. One that said, 'Whatever do you mean?' in a sort of confused and cunning way. She laughed a bit. "I'll do my best for you Sherlock. I promise you that."