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Sherlock shoved his gloved hands down into his coat pockets, keeping his head down as he shambled along the path with only his thoughts to keep him company. Mycroft had insisted he leave London for a while to make sure you didn’t spot him and he had reluctantly agreed- you were far more likely to catch him looking in than John was. So he’d gone to Germany for some case that Mycroft said he might like and, as usual, it turned out to be boring and tedious. It had taken him less than an hour to solve and now he was terribly bored. This brought him to wander the wooded paths near his cottage- it was something you claimed cleared your head when you were bored or upset and since he was thinking about you now it seemed fitting.

It had been hard enough for him to slip out of his life- to become dead to the world- when the world didn’t include you and now that it did it was nearing unbearable. When you were away he’d been able to tell himself there was no difference between being ‘dead’ and being alive because either way you weren’t there. Now…

Now things were different.

Now, he felt alone like he rarely had in his life. Now, you were not only home but his ‘death’ had sent you spiraling down into a level of grief he’d never seen from you before. It scared him like few things in this life had- like him, you were impulsive and if you acted on your grief it could only end in tragedy. He hoped that, with Mycroft and John keeping an eye on you, nothing would happen but he would have preferred to stay in London to keep an eye on you himself just to be certain. He wanted to go home and be with you- to make you smile again- but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of it. All he could do was wander the world alone.

Back in London, you pushed your food around your plate as John chatted about his last shift at the clinic- not particularly hungry and trying to keep John from noticing that you weren’t actually eating anything. You were enjoying your time with John. It was almost sickeningly adorable how animated he got when telling you stories and listening to yours. He was easy to pay attention to and, though your focus strayed to the case occasionally, you couldn’t keep yourself from listening to him and responding.

Even when you found a particular story uninteresting you could simply watch the ever-changing plane of his face through each expressive emotion or study the different ways the light caught the color of his eyes. To any outsider, you looked smitten, which, to be fair, was what you were going for, but it was true and unfortunately the both of you were completely blind to it, writing the night off as part of the case- a work affair. Still, you thought it was nice to pretend that your life wasn’t a complete mess and that you had found someone for a little bit.

You offered him a small grin, encouraging him to continue his story about one of the stranger patients that had come into the clinic, and then scooped up your glass of water. Cradling it in your hand as you glanced out the window at the view, you suddenly felt a pang of loneliness in your chest different then the one you now felt on a regular basis- it was almost as if it didn’t belong to you but rather someone else. You thought it odd for a moment before it called up a memory of the last time you’d felt that particular type of loneliness and your mind quickly latched onto it and threw you into the past.

~10 years earlier~

You trudged down the street in the rain, not sure where to go exactly and in this moment not particularly caring either. The heaven’s drenched you, soaking through even your thick trench coat, and you tilted your face skyward with closed eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

This was so cliché it was painful.

You’d spent weeks arguing with Sherlock over you wanting to move out of your shared flat to live with your boyfriend of a year and a half- the self-proclaimed love of your life. From what you could see there was nothing wrong with it. Neither you nor Sherlock could find any thing wrong with him- he was fairly intelligent, he put up with your quirks… he was perfect for you. Of course that didn’t stop Sherlock from being rude simply because he didn’t like the man but logically there was no way for him to convince you not to date him and now not to move in with him.

So you had.

After explosively yelling at your twin, you’d packed up your things and moved out, pressing a kiss to his unresponsive cheek as you promised it wouldn’t be that bad before slipping out the door.

And now, just a month later, the prat told you it was over and he wanted you out.

Something about another woman he’d met, one who suited him better, and how it wasn’t your fault- it was him and all that hogwash. It had hardly mattered to you. Heartbroken, you’d spun on your heel and bolted out into the storm before he could even finish and that brought you to the present- trudging through the rain alone. You wanted to go home to Sherlock but he was still upset with you, not to mention doing that would be admitting you were wrong, so you simply let the rain swallow you up and succumbed to the loneliness in your heart.

You didn’t know how long your were out there, certainly long enough for you to be soaked to the bone, but next thing you knew there was an arm wrapped around your shoulder and you looked up to find your brother. His mess of dark curls was plastered to his face and he looked to be nearly as soaked as you were but still tucked you under his arm to share what warmth he had left. He said nothing, simply falling into step next to you when you started walking again, and the two of you just wandered in the rain until you decided you were ok.

You both had ended up with the flu and Mycroft had not been happy but neither of you cared. Sherlock was simply content that you were home with him again. He never said I told you so or brought up that night again and when you asked him how he’d known something was wrong he simply shrugged and offered, “I just did.”

~

John had immediately noticed the sudden and almost overwhelming sadness that took over your expression and was calling out to you rather unsuccessfully, starting to fret in his mind. The third time he softly hummed your name it penetrated your memory as a muffled cry gently leading you back to reality but in the end it wasn’t John but a shooting pain from your shoulder that harshly snapped you out of it and back to the table and John.

The glass still in your hand was very quickly on the table when your hand disobeyed you once again, it’s contents spilling over the tablecloth, and you were quick to press your napkin over the growing spot as your cheeks went pink and you growled, “Bugger. Of all the times…”

Before you could get any further John had grabbed your hand to stop you, gently soothing, “It’s alright, (F/n). It’s just water.”

A waiter was already handling the mess and pouring you a new glass as you rubbed at your brow with your wrist and then ventured a glance at your companion. John still had your other hand in his and was giving you a concerned look that begged you to tell him what was wrong but you just shook your head, quickly composing yourself to offer him a grin, “I’m afraid I drifted, John dear. What were you saying?”

He pursed his lips and tightened his grip on your hand so you couldn’t pull away when he pressed, “Nothing important, (F/n). How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine now,” you admitted, looking away before grumbling almost to yourself, “I wish it would quit doing that… really there’s no reason it should.”

He laced his fingers with yours, hoping the action would make you look at him, and was quickly rewarded when your eyes locked on his as he coaxed, “Tell me what’s wrong, love. You said you were going to let me help.”

“It’s nothing,” you sighed, “Just a memory that crept up on me.”

He nodded understandingly, offering, “Why don’t we skip dessert? Then we can finish up here and go home.”

Reminded of why you were here in the first place, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, discreetly glancing over his shoulder to make sure you still had the attention of the couple you suspected as you purred, “I’d like that.”

Since there was no check to take care of- you’d already had them put it on Mycroft’s card when you'd called pretending to be Anthea- the two of you got up to leave, John winding his arm around your waist again as he, whispered in your ear, “So what’s the plan?”

Knowing the couple had just gotten up to follow you, you giggled with a smirk as if he’d said something naughty and then softly hummed so only he could hear, “Let it happen. The women are still missing.”

He nodded, letting you lead him out to the curb with a little suggestive looking tug and once you were there you wound your arms around his neck and quickly added, “And do try not to get yourself killed,” before giving him a more passionate kiss as the other couple joined you outside.

As you suspected, as soon as you pulled away there was something pressed over your mouth and everything went black.