It's a Christmas miracle, Charlie Brown! I finally updated this story!

Seriously though, this chapter has given me much trouble over the past couple of months. I've written and rewritten it three times now, but I've finally reached something of which I can be proud. I'm dropping some pretty big hints in this one. Any consulting detectives out there who have any idea where I'm going with this? ;)

Chapters will continue to be few and far between, though I'll do my best to get the next one up much quicker.

Shout-outs to johnsarmylady, FinlanderGirl, DrEvilsketch, and justtheone for their kind reviews. :)

If you'd like, you can follow me on Tumblr, url: alonewiththewayitwas

I hope that you are all having an excellent holiday season, and happy reading!

Blind who now has eyes, beggar who now is rich,

he will grope his way toward a foreign soil,

a stick tapping before him step by step.

– "Oedipus Rex" Lines 517-519

Ch. 6: The Final Clue

The rest of the day had flown by in a chaotic blur. John had gone straight from St. Bart's to his apartment, where he had promptly informed the landlord that he would be moving out within the day. He had then packed up all of his belongings in his apartment, which had not taken him very long. That had led him to where he was now, standing in front of 221B, his few belongings sitting behind him as he ran the buzzer. It was all he could do to hope that Mrs. Hudson had not had any luck in renting out his previous home.

When Mrs. Hudson finally answered the door, after what had felt like ages, all John had to do was look at her, and she immediately knew why he was at her doorstep.

"Come on in, dearie. I"ll put a kettle on the stove for you."

The two of them settled down in the elderly landlady's kitchen, two steaming mugs of tea in front of them. All of John's things had been stacked up by his armchair upstairs, and all of John's energy seemed to have gone with them. He felt infinitely exhausted, the emotional stress of the past week finally showing its wear and tear. Mrs. Hudson looked at him very sympathetically, handing him a second mug of tea before he had even finished off his first one.

"So, what made you change your mind about living here?" Her eyes stared directly into John's, compelling him to tell her everything. And he wanted to, he really did. He didn't want to withhold his recent revelation, that Sherlock wasn't really dead, from her. Yet there was that voice of reason in the back of his head again, reminding him that the only proof that he had was dyed strands of Sherlock's hair. Though it had given him hope, it really wasn't much to go on, and he didn't want to get Mrs. Hudson's hopes up only to crush them again if he was wrong.

"I just decided that I needed to stop running from the past is all." He couldn't quite meet her eyes anymore, even though it wasn't an outright lie. "Anyway, the flat's still open, right?"

"Of course it is, dearie. Who do you think that I've been leaving it open for all of this time?"

John spent the night settling into the flat again, unpacking all of his belongings, refolding all of his clothing, and the like until finally, he had nothing else left to do to occupy his time. So he simply sat. If the pattern followed, he should be receiving another mysterious package within the next day or so. Until then, however, John would simply have to wait. And while he waited, he developed theories.

Theory #1: Sherlock is dead, but someone got a hold of his DNA and is cloning a gingery replacement.

Theory #2: Sherlock is dead, but Moriarty is alive and planning to use Sherlock's scarf and hair to play with John's brain, only to either kill him or drive him mad.

Theory #3: Sherlock is alive, and hiding out from shame and/or guilt.

Theory #4: Sherlock is alive, and up to something...

Though John knew that of all of his theories, the second one was the most likely, he wanted desperately to believe that the fourth one was reality. Would he still be angry with Sherlock if he was indeed alive after all of this? Of course. Someone would probably have to hold him back from beating the shit out of Sherlock when he was done with him. But still, that was a much nicer alternative compared to the other options.

John sat in his armchair and theorized for so long that eventually he must have dozed off. He was awoken by a gentle shaking, which got less and less gentle as he slowly awoke.

"Oh good, then. You're finally awake." John looked up to see Mrs. Hudson staring at him in a concerned manner, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "It's about time, you've nearly slept half the day away." John looked at his watch to notice that he had indeed slept long past the morning and into the afternoon. He was so startled by this (he hadn't slept in this much since the days of his nights out at the pubs during medical school), that he almost didn't notice that a familiar-looking package was sitting at his feet.

"Another package came?"

"Indeed. I do hope that this is the last of these. They're far too suspicious, and they get you all flustered, which can't be good for your health." Mrs. Hudson prattled on for a bit, but John tuned her out, focusing solely on the package in front of him. When he carefully opened the parcel and reached in, he was surprised to feel his fingers brush against paper. When John pulled out the mysterious paper object, he examined it only to find that it was a German-English dictionary, the kind that one might use for translating purposes. John's brain began racing a mile a minute. He stood up, startling Mrs. Hudson out of her chatter."

"If you don't mind, I'm going to need some privacy." When his landlady looked at him in absolute bewilderment, he met her gaze. "I think I'll be going out of town for a couple of days."

In an office on the other side of London, a desk phone rang. Mycroft Holmes smirked. "Right on schedule."