Brecon beacons, grey dawn light, heavy drizzle, Gore-tex canvas flapping erratically in the wind. A small cooking fire and a half made rabbit trap. Apart from camp noises and the birds, silence.

They call it living rough, although I never saw any inherent smoothness in civilisation until I left it. But now, here, I have become aware of how city dwellers exist in a bubble of soft illusions about food, light, fuel, weather.

Food appears, in packets. Heat radiates from the walls or floors at the touch of a plastic switch. Light emanates from bulbs and screens, controlled by more plastic switches connected to an invisible power supply in ways most people have never considered.

Weather barely exists in London. Inside is always a step away and seasons are something indicated by the displays in card shops.

My life now is different. I am camping, bivouacing to be exact, and my connection to the planet has never been deeper or more intense. Temperature or humidity changes affect me immediately and personally. I must consider each day where I will get food and whether it justifies the expenditure of money and contact with other people. I hunt, although this poses difficult legal questions should I be observed setting traps.

I am different, here. I sleep little, and avoid attachment to any one camp location. I have cut my hair. I wear tough, resistant clothes and I am unshaven. These are necessities. I am remote, geographically and socially. I have no networks, and I am not building any new ones, not yet.

My only connection with the world I once inhabited is through my phone, and this I must use sparingly as obviously I am without electricity much of the time.

I do not think about the past. This is important. All scenarios were considered, and this one was selected. The others must be cast aside.

I cannot allow memories or regrets into this life, here on the hills, else it might impair my judgement and place me and others in danger.

Perhaps, in phase two, there will be leisure to look back, but for now I focus on transforming, becoming the person I must now be, and cutting all ties, mental or emotional, to what went before.

I don't say it causes me no pain. But pain, like hunger and cold and the piercing rain, is something I knew too little of, before, and did not understand how to overcome. Here, I must learn all this.

This is the long game, now. I only wish I had been able - I only wish John could have joined me in it.

xxxx

Author's note: Any feedback would be much appreciated. This story about Sherlock changing and growing might have several points of view ie his and John's and maybe another's too. Any directional suggestions would be great, thanks!