***Author's Note***

I wasn't going to do this. I wasn't going to write a response fic until I had seen all three episodes of the new series. But this idea came, and I decided to flesh it out a bit. This story is set six years post the events of series 4, but with only the knowledge of episode one to work with. So, definitely not canon at all.

"Is this Mister Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock frowned at the unfamiliar voice and checked the caller ID again. University College Hospital. "This is he."

"Mister Holmes, we have you listed as the emergency contact..."

"Mycroft," Sherlock breathed and pushed himself up from his crouch over the body. He waved Lestrade off and paced to the next room.

"I'm sorry?"

"My brother. Holmes. Mycroft Holmes?"

"I'm sorry sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding. We have you listed as the only emergency contact for Mister John H. Watson."

John. Sherlock's breath caught. The world around him ground to a halt, the cacophony of sounds related to an active crime scene, the over-stimulating visual cues, someone calling his name, it all collapsed down to a single pinprick of light in vast cavernous darkness. In the next breath every sensation, every sound crashed back down on him, and every scenario, every variable raced through his mind. Lestrade was in front of him, his brow creased in concern, repeating his name.

"There has to be a mistake," Sherlock rasped.

"I know it may be difficult to hear that someone you care about is unwell sir, but I assure you..."

"No! You don't understand. He doesn't want... It's a mistake. He... He forgot to change it." Blinking rapidly, Sherlock turned his back to Lestrade.

"We have his marital status listed as widower, and he's supplied no next of kin."

"His sister?" Sherlock swallowed hard.

"No, no one. Sir, you aren't required to come. If there's someone else you'd like to contact..."

"No! No, I'm coming. I... I'm coming." He disconnected the call and tangled his fingers in his hair for a brief moment as he tried, unsuccessfully, to control his breathing.

"Sherlock, what's the matter? What's happened?" Lestrade rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, only to have it shrugged away immediately.

Schooling his features into a close approximation of detachment, Sherlock turned quickly and brushed past Lestrade. "John's in hospital," he replied flippantly as he buttoned his coat and flipped the collar up.

"Wha- hold on. John. John Watson?" Stammering, Lestrade ran to catch up to him.

"Brilliant, detective inspector. It's shocking they passed you up, again, for that promotion," Sherlock snipped as he shoved past the officers guarding the front door of the flat.

"Oi!" Lestrade sounded truly insulted, but it did nothing to keep him from following Sherlock out into the frigid late afternoon. "You and John haven't..."

"We have not," Sherlock held out his hand for cab.

"Well, what's happened?"

Sherlock paused and glanced down at his mobile, before shoving it into his pocket. He hadn't asked. Idiot. "I don't know."

"Is John okay?" Lestrade persisted, stepping directly in front of Sherlock once more.

"I don't know." Sherlock had the car door open before the vehicle had come to a complete stop.

"Where's Rosie, Sherlock?"

"I..." Exhaling deeply, he turned to avoid Lestrade's gaze. He hadn't even thought about John's daughter. His shoulders drooped and he shook his head.

"Just, call me, yeah?" He pushed Sherlock into the cab. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

"You have no way of knowing that," allowing himself one moment of self doubt, Sherlock looked up at Lestrade. In that moment, he looked so young, so unsure, it nearly cracked Lestrade's resolve.

Clearing his throat, Lestrade jerked his head back toward the house. "The case?"

Grateful for the easy out, Sherlock took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. "It was an accident."

"What? No, it couldn't..."

"Look at it again, Lestrade," Sherlock slammed the car door but tapped the window as a thought occurred. "Shoe strings!" He shouted as the car pulled away.