His mind was buzzing. Thoughts raced by in his head, long forgotten memories drifted to the surface drowning him. Something wasn't right. Not long ago , he had a best friend. No, he has a best friend. But he isn't here. He started his own life now and he seems happy. Isn't that what best friends should do? Wish each other happiness?
But the only thing he could think of was the distant sound of two mugs clanking together and the soft smell of coffee drifting to his bedroom. John tiptoeing as if Sherlock was asleep and not listening to every move he makes.The flat suddenly seemed full to bursting of memories;most of them gone. The vacant arm chair, abandoned newspapers, and worst of all the hollow sound of silence.
,,Out" he thought, ,,I need to get out of here.".The streets were empty. But streets were never empty for Sherlock. All the details that he picked up along the way formed stories in his mind. But not today. Today the only thing he could think of was John. The one person who didn't make him feel so terribly alone and unwanted. And exactly those two feelings crept around in his mind.,,I thought I was done with this. I had John. And John had me. But things are different now. He has Mary. He's married. He's moved on. God was I naive to think it would stay that way", he thought as he walked towards the lab.
Nobody was there. Nor even Molly. He sat in the wooden chair behind the microscope. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape his own mind. A trait that he mocked others for not having. And there, in the cold sterile room, the seemingly emotionless Sherlock Holmes allowed himself to cry.
