John slept soundly as Sherlock finished his call with Mycroft, completely oblivious to their conversation as he slept on the last box of Jammy dodgers, his dreams seriously playing with his opinions of staying with Sherlock or not. He'd been thinking about staying, if for no other reason then to apologize to everyone he'd caused pain.

The dream was simple, the setting nothing more then a room, four walls with a few pictures settled carefully within wooden frames, each holding what looked like pictures of himself and Sherlock. The backgrounds always consisted of something different, but he recognized the White House, a popular tourist attraction in America, as well as the Washington monument. There was a single couch beneath the pictures, with a faint lamp that barely lit them up as John lay sprawled across it, his head resting in Sherlock's lap as the man played with his hair. They were watching something on the telly in front of them, but he couldn't quite see what it was, or understand much of the pointless static. He could see himself, and that should have been his first clue.

He didn't really understand what was happening until Harriet appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. They all looked happy. John even saw Sherlock smiling contently, nothing scheming or devilish, just... simply, happy and content. He'd decided before waking up from his pleasantly lit dream that he'd go. America would be a new adventure, and better for the lot of them.

When John's eyes finally opened, he forced himself up from the bed, scuffling out into the hallway with his warm socks to protect him from the cold outside. He was just in time to hear the click of a phone. Sherlock was rubbing his temple with a weary looking figure, groaning faintly before turning in John's direction, starling a little when he finally noticed the man leaning up against the doorframe, "John? You startled me." he mumbled, staring quizzically, "I was just going to check on you. What are you doing up?"

John let out a half-hearted chuckle, "Well, I'm fine as you can see, I just needed to talk with you."

Sherlock nodded silently in recognition. Careful of John's ribs, he helped the man into one of the larger chairs that forged a small, broken sort of mangled circle around the front room. They talked for ages, deciding what to try and accomplish in America, even how to support one another. John was still hesitant to leave his family, but the unrealistic idea that he could change anything had dulled in the back of his brain. There was no way to bring peace through all the families.

"Right." Sherlock nodded, his faint character, breaking into one of apologetic sympathy. "I'll have Harriet set it up. She and Harold should be back with the shopping fairly soon." he offered a forced grin silently before standing with the same dead-dial monotone.

John tried to settle into his seat, the warmth his own body was investing into the leather making him more comfortable. It was still early, and the light on the other side of their drawn curtains was starting to rise, ready for another cold, snowless winter. He was excited, but still a little numb. Thinking about everyone he was leaving behind, but reassuring himself with the lovely dream he'd had only a short while before. It would be alright. He'd be alright.

He faintly remembered Sherlock speaking with Harriet and his cousin, and tried to ignore Harold's conflicted look. They had plane tickets before he knew it, and were ushered into their blue, scratchy airplane seats in an unrealistic shortage of time. That, or he'd just sort of... been somewhere else. His mind was elsewhere. He slept on the plane, and slept in the cab that picked the three of them up from the airport. He didn't feel much of a drive to stay awake, and only bothered to pay a little attention to the small, creamy home they pulled into. Harriet smiled proudly as she looped her arm around John's, "Come on." She encouraged, helping him through the ankle-deep snow.

There was a lot to take in, but John was too tired to bother, despite all his sleep on the trip over. He just wanted to lie down.

Harriet and Harold kept in touch after he returned to see his family, deciding to strife for peace on John's behalf. Of course, it didn't work. The fighting continued, and an all out brawl at the Holmes manor led to serious carnage. England had always been aware of the mafia families before, but after the large body count, it was impossible to ignore, and people had been starting to panic. Order was slowly slipping from the queen's grasp as family members would pass one another on the street, killing anyone who stood in the way of their target. Everyone was angry and agitated, just looking for an excuse to get any form of revenge. London was in chaos.

Luke and his sister Emily had some sort of large argument, causing her to leave London and move to another part of England, he sought comfort in women and got himself into alcohol. The sweet, shy boy John had come to know and love, even role model for lost his form of self, winding up in the harsh clutches of one Irene Adler, who only corrupted him with more sex and drink, both of them falling into an even sicker pattern that involved a rather large amount of nicotine. Their relationship wasn't the strangest though, as sick as it was.

Mike and Mary had married in place of John's absence after the shocking announcement that Mike was of James' bloodline. Their marriage was fleeting however, and their once strong relationship crumbled in one of spite and lies. That wasn't just their marriage either. Andrea left James and went to live with Emily in one of the villages, nothing keeping her tethered to him after John's disappearance, Luke's disgust in both of his parents, and Harold's death. He'd died by the hand of Mycroft Holmes, so had been forced into battle himself after there was no longer enough soldiers to fight for him, caking his hands in blood that would never wash off. He hated it.

Chaos left and right didn't leave Brent with much choice. He'd pulled Tony away into hiding away from the families with the boy once the bloodshed had gotten too great. Tony had been traumatized after seeing a friend he'd trained with get his head blown clear off. He was the only one providing Harriet with information on home, and once he'd left the scene, there was nothing left for her to do but worry and let John know. The last text she managed to receive from him was stressing. Talking about his worries with being followed and the families being mad that the two had deserted. It ended with him describing a banging on the door.

She couldn't get him to reply to anything else she sent.

John tried to process this information by crushing the edges of their couch with crippling force. It had only been a few months since they left. He'd been quieter then before, and didn't immerse himself in much of the same humorous banter like he had before. The only thing that kept him from really breaking down was Sherlock's effort to make him better. He ran a soothing hand over John's back as his shoulders tensed with every word Harriet spouted.

When John had gotten the earful, he was worse off then when he started. The only reason he didn't actually cry was because he didn't have the energy. He kept telling himself he could have prevented it. That maybe things would have been different if he'd stayed. He started playing scenarios through his head where he'd stopped them from fighting, where he'd told Sherlock it was over, even never met the man at all. It was a hard time for him emotionally.

It's sort of a scary thing really; the human brain. Frightening how easily it is to fall into a dark emotional funk, like an actor playing a roll that falls too deeply into the character. It's easy to lose one's self in their surroundings and sort of succumb to the madness that only plagues the mind.

It was a lonely period of his life, and Sherlock had stopped being able to help. What if he'd done something different? Could he have changed anything? He just kept asking himself. Sherlock tried to promise him that he'd never have to deal with any 'family matters' again, which was a something he would have only wished for if they were back in the small, safe confines of that cheap motel they frequently visited together. He would have loved the thought then, but now it was just a constant reminder that this was all his fault. That he should have stayed to change it all, to bring peace after their defiance.

End

I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry there's really no 'happy ending' here. The way I see it, this was their real world, and the real world doesn't have happy endings like fairytales. We just sort of, struggle to survive. That sounds dark, but it rings truth. Let me know your own opinions on the matter of true endings. Which ending did you like best? Or didn't you like either? Let me know why. It helps with future stories to let me know what you think believe it or not. This is the end of OD, thanks for sticking with me this far. I hope you enjoyed... or cried.