An Unheard But Undeniable Promise

Sherlock stared at the photograph of John.

Molly had taken some pictures of the doctor when he hadn't been paying attention.

Molly was getting the hang of being sneaky, being a liar. Sherlock was proud of her, although he knew that she hated every second of it. Hated lying to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and, most of all, John.

Sherlock kept her on his side by telling her that he hated it, too.

He did.

Sherlock flipped through the photos on his mobile phone, deducing little things about his ex-flatmate from the photos. Thinner. Looking older. Dull look in eyes. There was never a smile- not a genuine one, at least- and there was never a girlfriend.

Grieving.

It didn't take a genius to see, Sherlock realized, but yet he wanted to keep tabs on John while he was away.

He turned his mobile off.

"Ready to fly, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Straight to Paris."

He leaned back in his seat, buckling the seatbelt around his waist. He rest his head against the headrest and sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

It had been eight months since his obituary appeared in The Daily Mail. It had been eight months since he had said a word to John. It had been eight months since he had stepped into his flat and he...

He was homesick.

But, instead of going home, he was going to Paris. To continue fighting a silent war.

Sherlock felt the plane leave the runway and mentally calculated the flight time to Paris.

Most of all, he realized, he missed John.

It was a strange feeling.

For him, Sherlock Holmes, being alone was the norm. He had spent his entire life alone, or as good as alone. It had never bothered him. It had never once put a flutter of sadness into his brain or a sprig of loneliness into his heart.

And then he had met John, and his whole world had changed.

Now he was sad. Now he was lonely. Now, when he had actually found something to hang onto... he had let it go.

It is said that when you love something, you need to let it go.

Sherlock thought that was rubbish, because he had never loved anything and he had let many things float past. It had never bothered him. He had had John and he had let him go... and it hurt worse than the most painful murder he had investigated, he was sure.

He hated himself for all of this, this sentiment. He tried to distance himself from it. From emotion. From John.

But he couldn't.

Loneliness, as it were, was as nagging as the elusive fact. Heartache, Sherlock had found, was nearly as incapacitating as a week without a case.

"I'll return to you yet, John Watson," he muttered, not opening his eyes.

He would. He had no doubt that he would.

Because, if there was nothing else for him in this world, there would always be John Watson waiting for him at home.

Happy first day of Sherlock: Series Three filming!

Sherlock will be back with his faithful blogger soon. Just a few more months, Sherlockians... Keep believing. Keep fighting John's war.

I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!