The heavy rain kept knocking on the window, adding a soundtrack to his silent reverie. He closed his eyes with a sigh, and it took him back.
Back to another life at 221B Baker Street. He could see Sherlock clear as day, standing by the window with his back to him, playing Vivaldi's L'Inverno softly on the violin while their tea was growing cold, abandoned on the table.
Those rainy days had been John's favourites, when Sherlock had been calm, with nowhere to run to and John had just listened to him for hours.
Everything had been right in his world then. But those days were gone.
Now the sound of the rain only caused an indescribable pain in his chest that threatened to crush him.