Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor any of the characters from that TV series or books mentioned.

John left the hospital, Sherlock's words still ringing in his ears. He was a coward, wasn't he? He couldn't be bothered to help out his best friend. No, John reminded himself, Sherlock doesn't want my help. He could have asked, but he didn't. Any trouble he is in right now is his own fault. But John didn't believe himself. Despite this, when he arrived at 221 B, he still pulled out his suitcase and began packing neatly.

Halfway through, John's phone rang. Mycroft was calling. John ignored the call, sending one of the most powerful men in British government to voicemail. Grimacing, John stood up, reminded of the presence of drugs in his flat. He scoured the kitchen and Sherlock's room, as well as the bathroom and living room. He couldn't find anything until he glanced up. Of course, it would make sense for Sherlock to hide it in a place that would be quite difficult for John to reach. As it happens, John had to climb on top of the counter like a child just to open the cabinet.

Upon finding the stash, John swore violently and promptly nearly fell of the counter. He emptied the powder into the toilet and flushed it with something that resembled glee. But his mood was soon dampened when he returned to his room and saw his half-packed suitcase. He sighed and pushed his hand against his forehead. Though he wasn't sure he wanted to, John walked over to the unfinished luggage and pushed more pleated pants and carefully creased shirts into the maw of the main compartment.

John Watson usually liked moving. Moving meant change and something new and usually he welcomed that. But this time, it was all wrong. The suitcase made an accusing noise as it thumped down the stairs, each muffled bang echoing Sherlock's shouts. Mrs. Hudson popped her head out of her room. "Going somewhere, John?" Her eyes fell on the suitcase and flicked back up to John's serious face. "You're not…" She asked, looking slightly horrified. "Not after this has just happened? Oh, John."

John smiled halfheartedly at her. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson." He hugged her goodbye. "Keep me updated on him, alright? And, go easy on him about the rent." She nodded, too choked up to talk. The landlady had half- expected him to stay forever, just Sherlock and him, solving cases until they grew old and gray. Even then, Sherlock would try to chase criminals through the darkened streets of London.

The thought brought a small smile to John's face, which he quickly banished. He thought about explaining his reasoning but knew that it really didn't make much sense to him either. Sherlock didn't seem to need or want him anymore. Otherwise, why would he have just let me sleep while he was getting high in the room over?

After stepping outside the warm confines of 221 B, John was gripped with a flooding panic. Where was he going to stay? All he had was in the suitcase dragged behind him and the backpack he'd slung over his shoulder. His first thought was to call Molly, but he didn't want to trouble her. So he pulled out his phone to call Mike and saw the voicemail alert. He dialed and listened to what Mycroft had to say.

"I was originally calling to tell you that Sherlock had woken up but from what he's told me, you already know. What are you thinking, Watson? My brother is not a toy you can simply throw away when you are done with him. I understand that you are in a difficult situation, but so is Sherlock. As much as it pains either of us to admit, he needs you in his life and that, doctor, is no small matter. So please, if you value the sanity of the Holmes brothers, return to 221 B at once."

Here, Mycroft paused. "That being said, however, there is still a large chance that you will leave anyway. If you do decide to leave, there's a place you can stay at. Brecknock Road, N7. I will expect you to pay rent, 700 a month." John groaned at the rent. He didn't make that much with his smattering of jobs across London. Of course, given that he'd quit the most time consuming job he'd ever had, taking care of Sherlock, he would have time to find a real one. "If that's too much for you, I'd be more than happy to let you wander the streets of London. This is a temporary setup, until you get your own apartment."

Mycroft's call ended there. John almost hailed a cab, but he'd had an issue trusting cab drivers since the Study in Pink. He shook his head, berating himself for reminiscing about the times with Sherlock. That era was over, he needed to move on. It'd take him around an hour to walk there, so he gritted his teeth and got into the black taxi that pulled over to pick him up.

The cab driver recognized him from his blog and the papers and spent the next 10 minutes asking him questions about why he had a suitcase and was he moving out and so many others that John lost count. It was at that moment that John decided to grow a beard so people wouldn't recognize him. Unfortunately, beards do not grow in 10 minutes so John was still given questioning looks from people who thought he couldn't see them. With an exasperated sigh, he entered his building asked the guy working there for his key.

As soon as he heard Mycroft's name, he handed him the key and busied himself with papers that even a doctor could tell weren't about the flats. John headed to his room on the first floor and unlocked it. The apartment was simple, no decorations. Well, maybe simple was too kind a word. It was barren. It looked as if no one had lived there, ever. John got a sneaking suspicion that Mycroft had made an arrangement to rent it just for him, and that was why the man upfront looked so alarmed.

But John didn't really care. He was away from the toxic, drug-stuffed environment of 221 B. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor, taking steps further into the flat. It wasn't big, just one bedroom, one bathroom, and a small sitting room with an adjoining kitchen. The suitcase made harsh clacking sounds on the hard wooden floor, so different from the sounds back on Baker Street. He laid it on the bed and unzipped it, filling the empty drawers next to his nightstand.

Walking into the kitchen, the stark white appliances stared at him with critical eyes. John grimaced at the bare cupboards and made plans to go out tomorrow and stock them. Mycroft had told him this was only temporary, so not with a lot of food, just enough to get him by until he found a job and a place of his own. Reminded of jobs, he pulled his computer from his backpack and opened it, taking a seat on his bed.

There were a new email from Molly and 5 from Mrs. Hudson. He clicked on one from Molly. The subject line read "JOB OFFER" and was fairly short, just telling John about a position at Bart's that was available if he was interested. He was, and bookmarked the site she linked in the email. All of the emails from Mrs. Hudson were titled "SHERLOCK HOLMES". John closed his eyes and shut his laptop, leaving 5 emails unread.