Sorry for the delay, my brain refused to let me sleep for the last two nights and I'm looking like a mad scientist on the verge of a revolutionary discovery. I also have a messy mop of rich brown hair, but not curly. I may need a skull to talk to very soon.

Please be kind enough to review. A review a day keeps the writer's block away.

"I guess you miss the adrenalin rush." Said harry, fully aware that it was definitely not the cause of her brother's discomfort. It has been a week since John had moved to his new flat; it was good, cosy, not expensive, had a good view and everything else needed in place, just no Sherlock. When John arrived without notice at her doorstep that night Harry just let him in and made arrangements. She never asked a question about it. After their last conversation Harry had changed. She had now cut down on her alcohol consumption, begun seeing Sarah regularly and was being a silent support to her brother. After John moved in the new apartment she regularly visited him. She talked mostly about herself, positive things and the things she thought would cheer her brother up and never mentioned Sherlock. She couldn't say her brother was doing a very good job of getting on with the new situation. He was certainly not.

Every morning John would make two cups of tea. Only to put back the extra tea or drain it down the kitchen sinks. Sometimes when Harry visited he would put much sugar into her tea thinking it was Sherlock's. His fridge was mostly empty though there was no reason for him to save space. He couldn't watch TV. He would hear violin in the middle of the night which he knew didn't exist. The nightmares were back, including a new one. Sherlock sitting on his arm chair, playing the violin, engrossed, the room is otherwise dark except for the light over Sherlock. Suddenly from nowhere Irene Adler would appear and sit on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock would stop playing and look straight at John and say "Why are you here John? You are useless to me now." And they would start kissing. Most of the nights John would just toss and turn or wake up early in the morning sweating. He would get angry at finding the food always there. There never was a scarcity of milk or eggs. The jam bottle never emptied itself to put fingers in it. The eggs would always be there unless John ate them. Everything stood still, as if something had ended. The life John had known for a year had. There was no communication from Sherlock so far. Mycroft had arranged the things John left that night to be moved to his new apartment, for which John was thankful, he dreaded the idea of facing Sherlock again. He spoke to Mrs Hudson on phone and apologised for leaving without saying goodbye.

"I don't know what went wrong between you two but I do wish it's sorted soon, I can never expect to see you two live apart, it's not meant to be so dear." The good lady said to John.

John was grateful for Harry's support but nothing could replace Sherlock.

"I had an exciting life once" Said John answering Harry. "When I was at the battlefield. It gave me a wounded shoulder and a psychosomatic pain in the leg. " Harry looked at her brother compassionately, "the next exciting life I had, broke my heart." John said looking at his sister "What good did adrenalin rush do me?" John's face contorted in pain. "But they both were a life worth living." Harry couldn't look at her brother. Her brother was a broken man, only time or Sherlock Holmes could make him better again. She felt helpless.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, his voice husky.

"Let's go to the living room shall we?"

"Why are your men here?"

"To move John's things to his new apartment."

"Why wouldn't he come himself?" Sherlock said, hurt in his voice.

Mycroft looked silently at his brother. His men were not inside the building yet but Sherlock sensed it, it was based on observation, logical deductions, but he couldn't deduce why John would not prefer to enter the house again at a time like this. This was Sherlock's problem, which cost him John.

"Please come down stairs, we need to talk."

Sherlock stood up with great difficulty. His back was stiff, limbs were numb, he felt a bit dizzy and he was bewildered and angry. Mycroft extended a hand which he refused furiously.

There was coffee and takeout food on the table in front of the sofa. Mycroft was playing big brother again, Sherlock hated it. He sat on the sofa grouchily, not looking at Mycroft who sat gracefully on the chair in front.

"I'd prefer you had some food, but perhaps you would dine when I'm gone."

"I don't need food."

"Staying hungry won't solve your problems."

"Eating wouldn't either."

"If John was here he would not let you… "

"John isn't here." Snapped Sherlock, a fierce look in his eyes.

"He would have been if you had not played with his emotions." Mycroft said plainly.

"You are the last person on earth with whom I should discuss emotions." Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile.

"Well, I'm the only person on earth with whom you can discuss anything at all, considering that John too has left you."

Sherlock wanted to spat something back, stop that smart mouth of his brother but he couldn't. Mycroft was right. With John gone, Mycroft was the only person Sherlock could talk to.

"I have the skull." He said sulkily.

"Right, which would make tea every morning, watch out for you, take care of you, help you, comfort you, fight for you and etc. etc."

"It would not leave me." the baritone said trying desperately to hold on to something.

"It wouldn't love you either, brother."

"And the skull would never ask for it."

"Of course, because it doesn't care if you love it or not, because it's dead. If it were something alive like John Watson it would also have left you long before."

"I don't have such feelings."

"So you fake it"

"I didn't know it would hurt John like that. The idea seemed logical."

"That's the problem with emotions; they are quite the contrary to logic."

"That's why I don't like them."

"You just don't understand them."

"Well one thing I know about emotions is that you can't make someone feel them for someone by force!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"I'm not forcing you to feel anything for John; I'm asking you to acknowledge it."

"What!"

"You love John Sherlock, I just want to make you understand that."