If You Love Me, Let Me Go

Chapter 1: No Place Like Home

The air was crisp, the sky was dark and the streets were empty. London was always a busy city but with winter soon approaching, John couldn't see a single soul in sight as he walked down Baker Street for the very first time. He didn't know exactly where he was going but he continued to walk with a stiff limp until he reached what appeared to be "221B." He stood there for a moment trying to remember a time when he didn't want to live in London. The last couple of years had been surreal for sure. John had seen some horrific sights during the war - enough for a lifetime. The screams and flesh wounds pouring with blood still wake him up gasping for air each night. Sleep wasn't something that John could easily do. Instead he would sit in his small, almost claustrophobic hotel room feeling sorry for himself. He missed the army, there was no doubt about that. But going back was impossible for him now. His injury seemed to have a habit of making everything impossible for him these days. The cold breeze against his skin was just a reminder that he was back where he belonged. He was finally home and there's no place like home.

John was suddenly taken aback by the sound of the ancient black door opening right before his eyes. Before him stood a jolly lady wearing a navy blue 60's dress that was covered in flour and stained with red paste.

"Oh dear, what are you doing standing there? I was warned about your arrival by Mr Holmes only an hour ago. You'll have to excuse the mess upstairs." She spoke enthusiastically.

Mrs Hudson, the fine landlady of 221B, welcomed John with open arms and showed him upstairs to the flat.

"Mr Holmes, is he here?" John said taking off his coat and sitting himself comfortably in the dusty armchair beside the fireplace.

"Is he ever here? I never know when to expect that man Dr Watson."

John quietly observed the flat whilst pretending to listen to every word that Mrs Hudson was saying. The flat wasn't big, but it was ideal for himself and Sherlock. There was plenty of room for the pair of them and John immediately made himself feel at home. This could work for him. Anything was better than the hotel he had previously stayed at. Strangely, John felt a sense of familiarity. Almost as if he had been here before, but that was impossible. He was soon greeted once again by Mrs Hudson who had just been into the kitchen to get a tray that appeared to be full of tea and biscuits.

"Just this once, dear. I'm a landlady, not a housekeeper!"
John smiled softly at her before Mrs Hudson shuffled back into the kitchen.

John found the silence blissful. Being back in London was comforting to him. Understandably, John was used to being surrounded by loud noises, gun shots and explosions. Being an army doctor was the only thing that John found pride in. The memories were graphic, soldiers struggling to find life as John looked them in the eyes one last time. The panic and fear that took over his whole being when soldiers screamed in agony, clutching onto photos of their loved ones. Each day in Afghanistan was terrifyingly intense, living with the uncertainty of whether you would ever return home. The pain was real and John lived in a constant shadow of it every day.

"I see you've met my skull." The familiar shadow standing behind John began walking towards the fireplace.

The voice was distinctive, soft but crisp clear. John recognised it instantly.
Sherlock and John had met earlier that afternoon on the tube. John had been searching for flats in the newspaper when he was approached by a tall, slim figure. Sherlock explained that he was looking for a flat mate as that way they would both be able to afford the rent together. For Sherlock, this was a first. People tend to irritate him and the idea of speaking to another human being is worse than listening to Mrs Hudson complaining about the neighbours. But there was something about John, something different. And Sherlock was keen to find out more.

"Mr Holmes." John looked up and followed Sherlocks gaze into the mirror.

Sherlock placed his hand on the skull figure that was resting on the mantle piece and turned to face John.

"What do you think?" He smirked at John before glancing around the rest of the flat.

"Homely." John replied sarcastically looking towards the lab equipment that was taking over the kitchen.

Sherlock's smirk soon faded however his eyes didn't blink long enough to take his eyes off John. The two of them sat in complete silence for the next half an hour enjoying each other's company. It was reassuring for them having the one one there. Both had much past experience of isolation and loneliness. The evening turned out to be quite pleasant once Mrs Hudson had decided to leave them both to get acquainted. Of course, Sherlock didn't think this was necessary.

"You're an army doctor. I deduce that you have recently got back from Afghanistan."

John had been warned about Sherlock's abnormal behaviour so he avoided the topic of conversation but he enjoyed Sherlock's presence all the same.

"What is it that you do exactly, Mr Holmes?" John asked trying to show his best interest.

"Call me sherlock, please. I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. Before you ask, this means that whenever the police are out of their depth, which if you ask me is always, they consult me. My brothers husband, inspector Lestrade, is head of the division. You'll probably see him wondering around here looking for something remotely interesting to do. He does that a lot."

"Oh, you have a brother?" John sounded surprised.

"Mycroft. But we don't have to talk about him. We don't have to talk about anything. I find silence can be quite comforting."

John felt as though he could relate to this. He found that Sherlock understood a lot of what was going on inside his head.  John was reassured that he had made the right choice coming home and somehow sitting here with Sherlock had made him forget about the war. John was brought up by his older sister, Harriet, after his mother passed away when he was just six years old. However, not long after deciding to join the army, Harriet moved away and they both lost contact. John never understood why she left, but he had never felt so alone. Training to be an army doctor was John's main focus after that. He decided that he didn't have time to overthink the situation and he certainly wasn't going to think about someone who would just abandon him like that. However, that didn't stop John from wondering about his sister and the little time they had to get to know each other. That's the problem with the human mind. It's a death trap.

John found the silence to be deafening after a while and so started the conversation up again much to Sherlock's horror.

"So...do you have a partner then? Married?"
John already knew the answer to his question but he put his newspaper down and decided to try and make this work.

"Uh no. I haven't got a partner. I'm married to my work and that's all you need to know."

Sherlock's eyes remained fixed on his laptop. He felt the topic was awkward and he had never been any good at expressing how he felt. Not to himself and certainly not to anyone else. There had never been any trust issues. This was just something that Sherlock felt most uncomfortable doing. Ever since he was a child Sherlock had isolated himself from everyone, especially his older brother, Mycroft.

Sherlock could sense that John's eyes were still fixed on him so he continued typing.

"Just like me then." John replied, breaking the long pause.

"I'm sorry what?" Sherlock finally looked up with a confused expression on his face.

"You're detached. Just like me." John said before looking back down at his newspaper which he had read at least twice by now.

Sherlock didn't know how to respond. He didn't usually spend his evenings sitting with people he had just met. In fact, Sherlock didn't spend his evenings with anyone.

Little did either of them know that everything was about to change.