When Sherlock awoke the next morning, John was no longer beside him. There was no divot in the bedding to indicate that anyone had ever slept next to Sherlock, and, of course, no one ever would. The detective rolled over wanting more sleep, more drugs, more of anything that would make him forget. Nothing came to release him. The detective lay in John's bed wondering what he should do now. The answer was obvious. He should move on with his life. Find a case. Find a new flatmate. Find a new direction in life. Sherlock closed his eyes. There was no use. He had his chance at the perfect life, or at least as perfect as life could be for him, and he'd given it all up.

What if he hadn't jumped that morning? Mycroft's men could have convinced the assassins to reconsider killing the three most important people in his life. He never would have had to fake his death. He wouldn't have faced those two years away from John, being tortured in small, dark cells. John wouldn't have found someone else. John wouldn't be married. John wouldn't be an expecting father.

Stop this Sherlock. These thoughts are getting you nowhere. Sherlock scolded himself. You need to get up and suppress these emotions. Just like you used to do. It wasn't so long ago that you hid every emotion. You might be rusty at first, but that will soon change. Sherlock nodded his head to no one in particular. He needed to reorganize himself. Clear his head of all thoughts of John. He needed to leave this room and never return.

Sherlock shoved the duvet and got up from the bed so abruptly that he gave himself a head rush. He didn't wait for it to pass, walking out of John's room as quickly as possible. He slammed the door behind him. The resounding "BANG!" was satisfying. Sherlock promised himself that he would never enter that room again. He was done with John Watson. If they ever saw each other again, they would be strictly colleagues, nothing more and nothing less.

Straightening his back, the detective walked into his own room, which was surprisingly dusty. It didn't matter. Soon enough the dust would clear. He hastily removed the wedding tuxedo he still was wearing. The trash bin clattered as he violently threw the suit into it. Slowly he turned around and looked at his closet of button down shirts and black suits. He put one on, deliberately fastening each button with precision, willing his mind to focus all of his attention on it. When he was dressed, Sherlock walked out of his room only to be faced with John's chair. It was as much as an embodiment of John as his atrocious sweaters and morning tea, and Sherlock couldn't stand the sight of it.

The chair was heavy, but not heavy enough for Sherlock to be unable to move it up the stairs all the way to John's bedroom door. He refused to go back into the room, so he left the chair outside the door as a barrier for him and for anyone else who ever wished to enter.

A breath of relief fell from Sherlock's lips as he nearly ran back downstairs. It was easier to ignore the gap in his heart without John's chair taunting him. However, the chair's absence seemed to scream at Sherlock. The emptiness in its wake was nearly as bad as its presence. Sherlock closed his eyes to remind himself that John wasn't coming back. The chair was unneeded, and it was removed from the area. Out of sight, out of mind- that was how the old saying went.

Of course, out of sight didn't really mean out of mind, but Sherlock was willing to overlook that minor error. It was good enough for now. He allowed himself one deep breath, pushed all his emotions down, and steeled him for the day. He would not think of John Watson again. That part of his life was over, and he had to learn to function with only himself as company.

His next task… what would he normally do on a day like this? He would phone Lestrade for a case. However, Sherlock didn't want to interact with Lestrade today. He would be boring, talking about the wedding. He would be dull- intolerable. Sherlock certainly couldn't withstand that.

So to the laptop it was. Hopefully someone would have contacted him for help on an interesting case. A locked room murder. A mysterious death. A homicidal neighbor. Anything would do. However, there were fewer e-mails than usual when Sherlock checked, and the cases that he did get were all frivolous. There were too many cheating spouses and stolen lottery tickets in the world. Those cases ranked a one at best, and he didn't want to deal with them.

Sherlock slammed the laptop closed impatiently. He needed to put his mind to work. It was rotting away just sitting here. There was still one option left. Yes… normally he wouldn't bear the thought of it, but today was a special occasion. It would be a distraction at least. Sherlock got up, swiftly took his coat from its hook in the empty closet, and put it on with a flourish.

Sherlock rapped three times on the wooden door, leaving the knocker skewed to the side when he let go. The door opened almost immediately to let Sherlock in.

"Well brother dear, I can't say that I expected you to come here today." Mycroft greeted as Sherlock entered his home. It was an expensive flat on Old Queen's street, furnished with dark wood and paintings of important dead people.

"I think you might have. You were right at the door when I knocked, and the crumbs on your suit say that you've already had cake this morning. You swore you were on a diet again just a week ago. Greg complained about the abundance of "rabbit food" in your apartment. At least that's how he put it. In any case, you bought cake for a visit. I'm the most likely to visit besides Lestrade. After I called you at the wedding, you ordered the cake expecting me to come over at some point. Figured it would be a nice treat. Maybe it would entice me to eat. Well I wouldn't count on that, but I'm sure Greg will appreciate the gesture when he comes over later."

Sherlock took his coat and scarf off, hanging them on the antique coat stand by the door. Mycroft looked at him without blinking an eye at his comments. "I suspected that you might come over. I'm sure yesterday was difficult for you, and-"

"I'm simply looking for a case, Mycroft." Sherlock interrupted his brother. "There was nothing interesting from my website and Lestrade is probably too hungover right now to even remember that he works for the New Scotland Yard."

"Ahh, yes. I see." Mycroft nodded, gesturing Sherlock toward the living area. "I believe that I might be able to help you find a distraction, as you might say."

Sherlock walked ahead of Mycroft to the sitting room. It looked exactly like the rooms at the Diogenes Club. All dark colors and tall bookcases. It felt stuffy, but it was a departure from Baker Street, and that alone pleased Sherlock. The detective seated himself in the brown leather chair that Mycroft normally sat in. A huff of annoyance came from Mycroft's direction, but Sherlock pretended not to hear it.

"The case?" Sherlock prompted as his brother sat in the chair opposite him.

"Yes. There's a threat brewing in Eastern Europe. We don't know how dangerous it is at the moment, but if you were looking to vacation this might be your chance." Mycroft raised his eyebrow at Sherlock and settled back into his seat.

"What's the threat?"

"We believe that it might be a thread of Moriarty's web," Mycroft eyed his brother, waiting for a reaction. Sherlock gave nothing other than a tilt of his head- a sign of interest and perhaps confusion, but anxiety was silently brewing behind his gaze triggered at the mention of Moriarty.

"But I took down Moriarty's web." It wasn't a question, but it demanded an answer.

"Apparently not all of it. We only recently noticed this development." Mycroft replied calmly.

"You should have noticed it more quickly." Sherlock snapped.

"Nevertheless you have been informed now. Unless you would like me to travel backwards in time, then I must inform you of my inability to do so," Mycroft said, gauging Sherlock's reaction once again. Sherlock closed his eyes and took in a slow breath and exhaled it. As he did so all his features smoothed out. Mycroft could tell that he was repressing his emotions again. He had seen his brother do this many times, but it seemed that it was getting more difficult for him.

"Tell me the threat then."

"There's an organization called the Lisitsa Bŭrloga, or the Fox Den in English. The group is hiding in the Balkan Mountains of Bulgaria. We don't know the extent of their plain, but it seems like the leader of the organization has been working with outside intelligence to reconstruct Moriarty's web. At the moment, we have no information on any immediate threats. However, I'm sure you can imagine what would happen if they were to succeed in their plans."

"What outside intelligence?" Sherlock asked harshly.

"We're still unsure, but the evidence suggests a man named Sebastian Moran. There are other people involved as well, but they're very good at covering their tracks. Eventually they will misstep, and we will identify them-"

"But for now you have no other leads." Sherlock finished Mycroft's sentence.

"Precisely," Mycroft answered. Sherlock nodded his head and steepled his fingers under his chin. It would be dangerous. He could tell that much. All the energy of Moriarty's remaining men would be going into this operation. However, if what Mycroft said was true, and they were rebuilding Moriarty's web then eventually even remaining in London would be more dangerous.

He never should have come home. He never should have reconnected with John. He could have solved the terrorist attack and left London. His beloved London, it would be unfortunate to leave this city again, but perhaps it would be easier this time. There would be less to leave behind. John could go on with his domestic life without Sherlock there to ruin it. Perhaps it would be for the best of everyone if he took this case. Perhaps he needed to disappear again and this time for good.

"When do I leave?"

The door of 221B Baker Street shut with a soft thud. It was a noise Sherlock often associated with home, and soon he wouldn't hear it again. Not for a long time at least.

"Sherlock is that you?" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. Sherlock smiled for a moment at the sound of her voice. He had missed her dearly during his previous absence from London, and he was sure to miss her during this one.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I was out this morning. I was called about a case and had to meet with the client." It wasn't entirely a lie.

"You did, did you?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Sherlock joined her in the kitchen. The lines of her face softened as she looked at Sherlock. She took in the bags under his eyes and the emptiness of those very eyes themselves. She asked, "Sherlock why did you leave the wedding so early?"

"I had performed my duties as the best man, and I could see that I was not needed any more." Sherlock said simply.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson started to say, but the detective interrupted before she could continue.

"I am a busy man Mrs. Hudson. I can't spend my entire evening at a wedding." He was back to the cold, calculated self. He saw Mrs. Hudson's face fall just slightly as she heard him make that switch.

"But it was John's wedding, Sherlock. You should have stayed. Just for him," she said this in a motherly manner as she poured a cup of tea for herself and Sherlock.

"That was precisely why I could not stay." The words rushed out of Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them. He looked down at the floor, knowing that his landlady would see right through him. "Thank you for the tea Mrs. Hudson, and I apologize that I can't stay down here and drink it with you. I'm leaving for the before mentioned case tonight, and I must go pack my bags."

"Tonight? Doesn't that seem a little sudden to you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, handing Sherlock his cup of tea.

"Not at all. When a case comes up that's interesting enough, it's my duty to solve it. If the case requires traveling, then I must travel. It's very simple really." Sherlock took a sip of the hot liquid. Not enough sugar and too much milk. John always knew how to do it perfectly. John isn't around anymore. Get used to it Sherlock.

"Yes, I can understand that. But Sherlock, it's so soon after the wedding. Just put it off for another week and stay in London for a while longer."

"My mind needs the work, or I'll go insane. There's been too much talk of weddings and sentiment the past few weeks. I simply need a break away from it all." Sherlock bent down and kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek. "I'll be down to say good bye before I leave."

With that the detective left the kitchen with a billow of his coat and a cup of black tea. Mrs. Hudson watched him go with a look of pity in her eyes. Her heart moved for all that Sherlock had lost when John said "I do" to a beautiful woman in a white gown. It had been a happy occasion for everyone except him, she supposed. Briefly, Mrs. Hudson wondered if that was how her maid of honor had felt when she got married, but pushed the thought away when she began to think of hurting her best friend in the way that Sherlock was hurting.

Sherlock walked up the stairs, slower than he would normally tolerate for fear of spilling any tea. He didn't even glance in the direction of the next staircase that led to John's room. He only looked forward as he moved toward his own room. He set the cup of tea down on the wardrobe as he bent down to look at his belongings. There was a duffle bag in the back of the wardrobe. Sherlock had only used it a few times when he and John had to travel for a case. It was small enough to carry onto a plane, but large enough to hold several days worth of clothing.

It was a bit smaller than ideal, but Sherlock would make do with it. He worried that anything much larger would impede him if he needed to run at a moment's notice. After the Fall, that had happened on several occasions. The first time he had managed to get away with his belongings. The second time he wasn't as lucky.

Mycroft might not be able to help much on this mission, so Sherlock didn't want to take his chances. He put several neatly folded suits into his bag. He dug a little deeper into the wardrobe, looking for his disguise stash of clothing. He debated over bringing some of the more detailed disguises like the clown one, but he decided against it. He added a few hoodies, jeans, and general tourist clothing to his bag, as well as a makeup kit and a wig. There had been several cases where Sherlock's cosmetics skills were effectively put to use. He smiled fondly at the memory of the formal gala where he and John had pretended to be a couple. It had been a fun evening and an interesting case. And it wasn't something that could ever be repeated, Sherlock reminded himself spitefully as he shoved a few toiletries into the bag.

His phone buzzed in his pocket where he put it this morning after nearly throwing it in the bin with his best man's suit. He picked the phone up wondering who would contact him.

Sherlock, Mycroft's just told me about this case you're going on. I don't think it's safe. - GL

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the Detective Inspector and tapped out a quick reply.

Most of the cases I undertake are "unsafe" –SH

Sherlock went back to packing. He had everything he needed, except his laptop. He left the room to go find it in its usual place on the desk in the sitting room. He picked the computer up and tucked it under his arm. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye on the desk. It was a picture of him and John that Lestrade must have taken during their stag night. He and John were leaning close together. Their arms were around each other's shoulders, and they were both grinning freely. Sherlock had no memory of the picture being taken, but a small part of his was glad that it had been. That night had been the last time Sherlock truly had John all to himself. He knew he was being sentimental, but he picked the picture anyway and put it in his left breast pocket.

You know what I mean. This is much more dangerous than your normal cases. –GL

I'll be fine. It's nothing that I haven't done before- SH

Sherlock returned to his room. He put the laptop into his bag. Since there was still some room in the bag, he decided to add a box of nicotine patches.

This isn't a reaction to John getting married is it? –GL

Because there are other ways of dealing with whatever you're feeling. You don't need to throw yourself head first into a suicide mission. –GL

There was a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of his cab to the airport.

It's not a suicide mission if I don't plan on dying. –SH