It's been a very long day, he's had tears, hugs, handshakes, and nervous laughter but he's back and that's all that matters. There's just one person left to see. His lungs feel too full to still be in his chest and his heart beat is through the roof as he lays eyes on John Watson for the first time in years, in the back corner of a restaurant. He looks well, well... if you ignore the caterpillar that appears to have died on his top lip. Sherlock takes a deep breath, he's about to approach when he sees her. A blonde woman slips from the bathroom and John's eyes light up, he rises to meet her and kisses her on each cheek. She's beautiful, Sherlock laments, noting the ring on her finger. Obvious. It is then he realises he can't do this. John is happy. John is happy without him. He can't upset him. He can't hurt him again. His eyes sting, his lungs don't work right as his feet lead him backwards, he runs into the street. Running again, like he has been doing for the past two years. He's been running towards, chasing, now he's running away. Because, Sherlock thinks, it seems as though for John at least, perhaps if Sherlock just stayed 'dead' - it would be better.