It had been surprisingly easy. After the rescue, John wanted nothing more than getting to Rosie, and Sherlock made sure the team that would get them back from Musgrave Manor to London would take them separate ways. He assured John he would be okay, send his love to Rosie and got into the black car that would take him to his place —221 B Baker Street. With Greg in charge of Mycroft, John on his way to Rosie and Mrs. Hudson spending a couple of days with her sister (which everyone thought was best after the bombing), he would be free to be alone with his mind.

There were too many things to process, too much new information to reconfigure. Surprisingly so, it was not his head that was thumping, but his heart. With eyes closed, he found himself reliving all sorts of old, repressed memories: children running around in Musgrave. Playing hide and seek with Victor. Victor's mom's hands, while taking them both somewhere. Eurus singing other childish tunes, running in circles around him. Eurus playing her violin while he listened, sitting between a couple of stuffed animals. Mycroft discovering the reddish-purple marks in his arms, where his sister had pressed some rope too hard during a "game". Eurus whispering "I'll cut you… I'll see your heart beating… I will" through the locked door in her room whenever he passed in front of it, as if she could see him. Victor's mom distraught in their living room.

He found himself in front of the 221 B door sooner than he thought. Although the place was devastated, the explosion had been confined to the living room and part of the kitchen. He needed the familiarity of his bedroom, even when the flat was full of scattered objects and missing its front windows. He can still feel the pungent, acrid smell of burned fabrics and explosives when he opened the door. He tried to filter that out, as well as the debris that populated the floor. He had to jump some unidentified objects in the way to his bedroom, and finally closed that door, as if that could put the whole ordeal behind him. The last thing he knew was that he plummeted, face first, to his bed. After that, it was all a welcome, numbing blackness.

So… This is my first published fanfic EVER. I've been reading a lot of fan fiction during the last two years, but this is the first "plot bunny" that I cannot ignore. I've already plotted the idea and have outlined the chapters —There will be 8; some are shorter, like this one… Some are longer— so this is on its way to be completed (and if I find myself unable to do so, I'll throw here the outlines so you won't wonder what would have happened if I have ever finished it, ha).

I'm not a native English speaker and this hasn't been beta-ed, so any mistakes are my own. If you liked it, please comment, everything is really appreciated.