John forced his way backwards out of the crowd he ducked under paramedic's elbows and through the sea of yellow stumbling into the road. He gripped his upper thigh and continued the whole world had silenced, Save for the beating of his own heart pounding in his ears.

"No No no nno" he mumbled.

He tripped on the opposite curb and went crashing to the ground. His steady hands scraped the pavement his cheek colliding with the solid ground. Foreign hands and hushed voices brought him vertical again and he forced them away. Heading towards Baker Street to home. There must be something a clue an explanation anything.

The door closed with a click there was a dull thud as his head dropped back against it. His hand reached for the stick beside the coat rack and gripped it tightly like a long lost limb. He glanced around the room moving towards the laptop, his fingers ran over the fabric of Sherlock's dressing gown lifting it against himself, he slid into the seat burying his face into the soft warm fabric.

"Where are you?" Where the only words that left his lips.

Reaching his shaking hands out he opened the laptop his blog appeared to greet him. Pulling the dressing gown around his shoulders he began searching for something anything that would lead him to why.

The longer he searched the more the anger and hurt swelled inside of him. Nothing there was nothing. His fist raised and slammed through the laptop screen he pulled it free and threw the thing into the mantel piece shards of bone, chine wear and plastic scattered. Rising to his feet he rushed to the cluttered table ripping and tearing at things launching them across the apartment and into the walls.

Slamming into the divide between the two rooms he continued on his rampage. Glasses cups plates some eye balls in a jar all scattered the ground with shards that crunched under his boots. Slipping he slammed into the fridge and slid down to the floor. Tears clouded his eyes heart raced deafening him.

"You left me! You left me with nothing!" the words tore out of him cutting their way through his throat.

His fist clenched around a large glass chunk. He gripped it and it sliced into his fingers biting back at the pain inside. Swiftly he raised his hand and slammed it down into the opposite thigh feeling the glass tear him open just as the words had. His hand was wet and the blood pooled thick and fast. His head dropped and before it faded the smell of the dressing gown filled his senses.