[Just Let Me Fade Away]

How was he? –SH

Barefoot. –M

"Damn!" Sherlock said while read the text form his brother. It had been a fortnight since that day and John is sitting in their flat with nothing covering his feet. When they first met, John normally didn't wear shoes at the flat. Shocks and occasionally slippers were his norm. However, after a few weeks together, the shoes stayed on. He never knew if he would need to suddenly fight off an intruder or rush off to a crime scene or put out the fire from a failed experiment. Having a solid pair of shoes on at all times was a necessity at 221B.

John was sitting at home, barefoot. Not even socks. Barefoot. This was bad.

Remember, you did the right thing. –M

A few days after the fall, before he truly began his mission, before Mycroft knew he was alive, Sherlock went back to his empty flat. Everything in 221B was as he left it before the attempted arrest. John had clearly been back since, but Sherlock's things were decidedly untouched. The items he really wanted to take with him, his skull, his violin, his laptop, they would have to stay. He couldn't take anything that's absence would be noticed. He would lose all his experiment files from the cabinets, but his laptop data could be copied and kept. He opened the machine and set it to work copy the contents to a portable hard drive. He reached for the bag he had brought and glanced around the room. No, he could take nothing from in here. Its absence would be too easily noticed. He turned to his bedroom. It was clear no one had been inside since he had left. Opening a drawer he sighed. He couldn't take his favorite clothes or possessions, too suspicious. Had to leave his dressing gown, but he took odds and ends that wouldn't be missed from all over the room, tossed them in the bag and headed out.

The files were still copying on the table, so he turned his attention to the kitchen. John and Mrs. Hudson avoided his science equipment so he could more liberally pilfer them. Sitting on the counter, tucked between the kettle and a collection of beakers was an unopened jar of John's favorite jam. Sherlock grabbed it with a small smile. The next moment he was in John's room. Why was he here, there was very little time and nothing useful would be in here? John's black jacket was slung across the back of a chair; a pair of gloves was poking out of the pocket. Sherlock bent down and slipped them out that pocket and into his. The laptop downstairs chimed with the completion of the file transfer. He turned to leave, but in the doorway he paused. He glanced back at the empty room and inhaled deeply. Oldspice, tea, cedar, hospital disinfectant, John. It all smelled like John.

Sherlock glanced at his watch as he made his way down the stairs. He had six more minutes. He carefully shut down and repositioned his laptop, checked the other places he had disturbed around the flat, grabbed his, now full bag, and headed for the door. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he stopped and waited. A small smile flashed across his face as he struck with a memory. In that exact spot more than a year ago, he and John had stood together laughing after chasing a serial killing cabbie.

Why had that memory come back to him? He glanced at his watch, 2 minutes. Sherlock set down his bag and leaned against the wall in that same spot. He didn't have much time, but he quickly brought up his mind palace. There was a small set of rooms there, rooms matching and filled 221B, with John and Mrs. Hudson and all the little domestic parts of his life. These memories would do him no good now. He needed to forget them and focus his mind on the long task ahead. He would delete it all quickly. He started with that last memory of John and him laughing in that spot. Gone. Then he started hacking at the rest, all the jokes, all the games, all those stupid happy memories with John that Sherlock didn't know why he had held onto for so long. After doing so damaged he stopped; there wasn't time for that. He went out to the door of the mental 221B and locked it. He then erected a brick wall outside it until you couldn't tell the rooms had ever been there.

"Forget me. Just let me fade away."

This quiet entirety to friends not there fell from Sherlock's lips. A moment later his phone chimed with a text. Molly, she was the only one with the number for the cheap disposable mobile he had been reduced to. He moved to the door with the bag as reached into his pocket for his phone, but instead of hard plastic, his fingers met with soft worn leather. John's gloves, why had he taken his gloves? He pushed past them and took the phone.

I'm pulling up. Please hurry.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, opened the door and didn't look back. The cab was back from its purposeless trip around the block with a very nervous looking Molly inside. She hadn't wanted to risk his short trip to the flat and insisted on accompanying him. She said could have grabbed whatever Sherlock really needed from the flat herself. There was no need for him to take such a risk, but Sherlock had been careful. He watched and waited for 3 days. None of Moriarty's surviving web was watching the flat, but there was one trailing John. Mycroft had the place under surveillance, but the priority had been downgraded. He would find out about Sherlock's little excursion in about 30 minutes, and more importantly, learn he wasn't dead.

Not Dead. Need your assistance. Am with Molly Hoper. –SH

That should get Mycroft's attention. It was time to get to work. The spider may be gone, but his web was as strong as ever and Sherlock was going to dismantle and destroy it no matter what it. His hand drifted back into his coat pocket. John's gloves, he pulled them out and on as Molly looked on silently beside him. They were a tad small, but manageable. Wearing them felt right somehow.

"Did you get everything you wanted?" Molly finally broke the silence of the trip to her flat.

No. "I got everything I needed. I should be leaving later today."

"Your brother?"

"Yes. He'll be able to smooth out the situation at Bart's to make sure you're not implicated. He'll give me the resources I'll need to do what I have to do."

"I know. You don't have to do this alone. I'm here, I can help."

"You've done more than enough Molly. You saved my life, now go and live yours." His phone began to ring. "There is one thing, John..." He let the word just hang.

"Of course I will."

Sherlock moved to answer his mobile. "Thank you." He pressed the answer key with his leather covered thumb. "Hello brother dear."