AN: So I said John would be coming back in this chapter and here he is! My original plan was to have him return to 221B in this chapter as well but it didn't quite flow that way. Also since I spent time giving a feel of how Sherlock is without John I wanted to do the same for John without Sherlock. It's a short chapter but hopefully it works.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited and/or altered this story!

Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock; until he does so I own nothing.

It has been two weeks since he left 221B Baker Street. He's staying in a hotel because when Mycroft found out he was moving out he "suggested" that John might not want to sign a lease for a new flat just yet. He might change his mind; so he'd put John up in a hotel for an indefinite period.

John was sitting at the small table that now served as his desk; drumming his fingers trying to think of something to put on his blog. He's been doing so for about half an hour, with no inspiration. Ever since he walked out of Sherlock's life; nothing happened to him. He was struggling to adjust to this new-found quiet dullness that he existed in. He's tried to convince himself it is nice that the fridge was body-part free, nice to be able to sleep through the night without a violin screeching or running about London all hours of the night, catching criminals and the flu. That lasted all of 24 hours; now he was just stuck missing Sherlock and firmly reminding himself that this is what his life would be like so he had to get used to it. He wasn't having much luck with that.

His phone beeped; distracting him from the task at hand. As he fishes it out of his pocket he smiles wryly; remembering that for the first three days after he left the flat every time the phone beeped he dashed to answer it a part of him hoping it was a text from Sherlock asking him to return. But that was just foolish; Sherlock wasn't that sort. Hell he probably had barely noticed John's absence. Glancing at his phone he was surprised to see it was Lestrade calling him.

"Hello?" "Hey John, its Greg." "Yeah, hey. What's up?" If Lestrade was calling him something had to be amiss. Sure, they got on fairly well; but that was because of their mutual acquaintance with Sherlock. They weren't really friends. "Well, it's about Sherlock. We've got a triple murder case for him. So I texted like always, but he didn't answer. After about 15 minutes of waiting, I tried texting him again and still no answer. I started to get worried so I called him..."

Lestrade trails off; like he's bracing himself before he continues. "Yes?" John prompts. Lestrade lets out a heavy sigh. "Look John, I don't really know what happened with you and Sherlock, but I'm worried about him and you're the only one who can even remotely get though to him. Please go check on him. When I called, he answered; thank god, but he sounded like hell. I tried to explain the case but he wasn't making any sense; going on about being cold and empty..." another sigh. "I don't know John; I really don't, but off the record, between you and me Sherlock's got problems. He was in pretty deep when I first met him with drugs and such. So far as I know he's been clean for awhile; but..." John is really worried now. What should he do? Lestrade was obviously worried; but could he really just waltz back into the flat? There were a number of logical explanations as to why Sherlock may have sounded that way; could be one of his bad/bored days, right? Sherlock didn't need people; he'd said that himself. But what if that had changed? What if Sherlock did need him? Did it matter? Why should he submit himself to emotional torture for Sherlock's sake? Now that was a stupid question. He's in love with the man and he knows that no matter what arguments of self-preservation his logical mind might form he will go to Sherlock anyway. "Don't worry Greg; I'm on my way over to see him now."

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KP