"John! Could you..."

Sherlock stoped in his tracks, the glare from his laptop flicker with bits of research involving his current investigation. Weather maps. Traffic maps. Underground train details. Split screen. However he realised he was alone. Once again.

Solemnly he rose from his chair to collect a pen from the other end of the room.

"This is all your fault, Sherlock!"John cried. Rain poured, drowning the pair and the limb body in John's arms. "You could have done something, but-"

"But what John! Tell me, finish the sentence!"

"But you let your selfish needs get in the way Sherlock!"

Echoes.

That's all Sherlock had left of John Watson. A man of sense and heart. A capable man beyond the ability of Sherlock; and it was only now that Sherlock could admit it, only when he was gone forever.

Knock, Knock.

"Please, not now Ms. Hudson, I'm busy!"

"Sherlock," she exclaimed entering the dark room, lengthening the 'r' as she does, which beyond the pathological reasons that she did, Sherlock found it comforting. "We both know that is not true."

"Ms. Hudson please, I'm not in the mood-"

"I think you will be"

"Nothing could possibly interest me now." That was quite clear, as Sherlock had not changed outfit, only for showers in which he emotionally could confide in himself, Sherlock hadn't changed out of his pyjamas for little under a month now. His long black jacket and scarf remain on their hook, and his shirts hung dry in the lauder, however Sherlock could only find comfort in his duvet, reminiscing on how terribly wrong he was.

"It's about John." At the mention of his name Sherlock's eyes glistened with hope and he raised his eyebrows in joy as Ms. Hudson turned on the television behind Sherlock. It was quite a tremendous venture for Ms. Hudson to reach the T.V. from the doorway, a month without his other half did not agree with Sherlock or his inability to clean up after himself.

Sherlock hopped up onto the sitting chair, like a eager child. The news flickered about with useless trivial matters until the anchor presented:

"A lead has been found in the search for missing person; Dr John Watson. Dr Watson went missing from his London residence on the 12th of March, some 4 weeks ago. Little is known about what has happened to him, however police are not ruling out murder."

The screen changed to Detective Lestrade; standing in the near from Scotland Yard, microphones everywhere under his nose, picking up his drone-like voice:"Personal Belongings of Dr. Watson have been found in a bin at Waterloo station. If anyone saw Dr. Watson on the 12th of march in that vicinity we urge you to call the missing persons hotline, and we remind you that you that you can remain anonymous."

Sherlock remained broken. The location of his belonging had not been news to him. Normally, Sherlock would bounce up excitedly to rush to see his "favourite" policeman to sift through the evidence, but John's absence had taken that away from him. Yet he stood up with confidence and proceeded to the door, wearing his fake smile and dressed in his false happy attitude.

"Sherlock," started Ms. Hudson. Sherlock turned on the spot. She looked him up and down, as Sherlock looked down on himself. "I think clothes would be a good start."