Hope you enjoy...

(John's POV)

Pub tonight? Its been ages- GL

I smiled at the text message. Greg was right, it had been ages since we'd seen each other. Not since the wedding over a month ago.

That didn't sound very good, come to think of it.

It's not like a was avoiding seeing everyone. I refused to turn into one of those people whose's life changes when they get married. People had been going on and on about how things would change, but I was confident Nothing was going to change, at least not too drastically.

I was just very busy. That was all. It wasn't my fault.

Mary and I had left for our honeymoon in Scotland the night of the wedding, and we'd stayed there a week and a half. Cell service up there had been awful too, so I didn't really have contact with anyone...

And when I got back, I was busy with work, along with Mary. Days at the surgery were long and tiring, full of awkward patients. We were both too tired to bother going out after work, so we usually just spent nights in together.

But things would even out soon. I would get back into a steady work schedule and I'd be able to see Lestrade and Sherlock again. I did really miss them.

But I'm sure Sherlock was fine. He'd been fine before the wedding, and since nothing had changed, he'd be fine now.

Maybe I wouldn't be able to go on as many cases with him, what with a baby on the way, but he should still be perfectly fine.

And to prove that, I messaged Greg back, telling him I'd be there straight after work.

I messaged Mary too, letting her know where I'd be.

Tonight was going to be nice. I was finally getting a chance to catch up on what was going on.

I walked in the bar later that night, shedding my coat in the pleasant heat.

I looked around for Greg, finally finding him in a booth with two pints of beer. I grinned, weaving my way towards him.

"Long time no see, Watson," he said, smiling tiredly, as I dropped into the booth across from him. Probably a long day at work.

"You too," I agreed as he nudged a pint over to me.

"Oh, uh, congrats by the way. You know...you and Mary. I'm sure you'll be a great dad."

"Thanks. Means a lot...coming from you, I suppose," I replied, taking a sip of the drink. This really shouldn't be so awkward. They'd been out for drinks plenty of times before and it'd never been like this. Had things really changed?

"Look...John. I guess I didn't just call you here for some drinks, to catch up and all. It's about Sherlock...I'm worried about him," Greg began uncertainly.

"What d'you mean?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"He's just seemed really...I dunno, distant lately. Just a bit off, it might be nothing serious. But you know him and change, he doesn't do too well. When was the last time you saw him?"

Crap. Should I be worried? Greg had know Sherlock far longer than I had, he'd seen Sherlock through plenty of danger nights. If he was worried, should I be? Should I have gone to see Sherlock earlier?

"Uh, not since the wedding. I mean, Mary and I left for the honeymoon right after and I just haven't had much time, with work and...and the baby," I said, trying to defend myself as best I could. Now it was occurring to me that these were pretty shitty excuses for not seeing Sherlock.

"Jesus, John," Lestrade muttered, "You should probably go see him soon, I don't want this to get out of control. Again, it might...might be nothing, but with him you always have to be sure."

"What even brought this up? He's been distant ever since he got back from...from god know's where, I don't really understand," I replied, trying to salvage the conversation.

"He turned down one of my cases. Not, like, a two or three. Brilliant case, it's got my team stumped and he turned it down and didn't even tell me why. It's an eight, maybe, a nine, by his standards. I mean, he's done it before if he's got something on his own plate, but now...I'm not so sure. I haven't heard from him in days..."

I sighed and checked my watch. Not to late to drop by.

"You know what...if you don't mind, I think I'll head out, drop by and see if he's around."

"Sounds good, mate. See you soon?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," I muttered, already getting up and pulling my coat on after only a few minutes in the bar.

The cab ride to Baker Street was awful. I couldn't help but drum my fingers on my knee. Should I be nervous? No...no. Everything was fine. Sherlock was fine. He was probably just busy with something of his own, or maybe Mycroft had enlisted his help on some matter of national importance.

I hopped out of the cab, handing the driver a few notes. The night was cold and windy, and my hands trembled a little as I tried to shove my spare key in the front door. Out of cold or anxiety, I wasn't sure.

There wasn't a light on in Mrs. Hudson's flat when he got inside. She must be sleeping or visiting her sister. I sighed making my way up the stairs.

I knocked on the door to what had once been my flat. Nothing. No footsteps. Nothing.

I tired the doorknob. Locked.

I shoved my spare key in, thankful I still had them on my key ring.

The door squeaked as it opened, and I was hit with a blast of stale, musty air and an unidentifiable stench, but a horrible one nonetheless, coming from somewhere in the flat.

My nose wrinkled, but my heart immediately started racing along with my mind.

Bad smells and musty air and locked doors were bad, really really bad.

My hands were shaking now, definitely out of anxiety now.

God, please let him be okay. Please don't let the smell be what I think it is.

I looked around the flat, peering through the darkness. The thick curtains on the closed windows let barely any of the dim, yellow outdoor light in.

Sherlock wasn't in the sitting room, and he wasn't in the kitchen either.

Part of me had been hoping to find him asleep on the couch or at the kitchen table and that the awful smell was simply coming from one of the experiments involving decaying body parts or mould that I'd never let him do.

But no experiments. The kitchen table was clear, and so was the coffee table.

I walked down the silent hallway, the unbearable smell getting stronger still. It was quiet, entirely too quiet. The only sounds were my squeaking footsteps and the car whizzing outside.

I checked the bathroom door. Unlocked.

I stepped inside, flicking on the lights.

The room flooded with white light, illuminating absolutely nothing. Clean white tiles and porcelain fixtures, but no Sherlock.

That left only one option. Sherlock's bedroom.

This was not good.

Oh God, please no.

Please.

I crept silently towards the door at the end of the hallway, hand hovering over the weathered door knob.

The smell was becoming unbearable. I pulled the collar of my shirt up in an attempt to stop it from invading my nose.

Please no. Please please let it be anything else.

Please don't let it be Sherlock. Please don't let him be dead, don't let him have killed himself over...over me.

Please God. Please don't let me find him like this. I couldn't do it again. I couldn't live without him. I was realizing that again.

I closed my eyes and slowly gripped the knob, pulling the door open and almost gagging at the influx of the damn putrid odor.

I couldn't open my eyes.

I couldn't look.

All I could do was smell.

And what I smelled seemed to tell me all I needed to know.

So um...yeah. That just kinda popped into my mind today and I had to write it. Don't expect anything until Friday night at the earliest, probably later. I SHOULD BE STUDYING FOR MY FREAKING ENGLISH MIDTERM RIGHT NOW BUT I'M WRITING THIS AND IT A HORRIBLE DECISION I WILL PROBABLY REGRET LATER.

But on the bright side...Benedict Cumberbatch was on Sesame Street...and it was adorable and they made a bunch of Sherlock jokes.

Alright...um, hope to see you soon and PLEASE tell me what you think!