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Description
John had not been back to 221 in months. The last time was for Mrs. Hudson’s birthday. As painful as it still was for him, he had become very attached to that lovely woman, as he knew she had become to him, and he always thought how hard it must be for her there. He couldn’t imagine living in that building anymore…not like this.

Today he was returning because Mrs. Hudson said something had arrived for him. This had surprised him; he thought he’d gotten his new address out to everyone, but at least this gave him a reason to visit, and he had been feeling guilty for going so long without doing so.

Reaching the door he hesitated-then gave an awkward knock. Within seconds Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

“John! So good to see you dear.”

“Always good to see you too, doing well?” John asked as he stepped inside and gave her their customary hug.

“Oh I’m just lovely. I left the-umm, the parcel upstairs for you dear.”

She was being a bit odd, but John was used to her slight oddities; and if anyone else had left something for him up there, knowing how much he hated walking up those steps… he probably would have left then and there. But this was Mrs. Hudson, and he knew her intentions were nothing other than the desire for John to fully come to terms with everything that had happened.

John had been back to this building a few short times since, but he’d only gone back up once, with the purpose of collecting his things. This he’d done as quickly and as mechanically as possible, doing his utmost not to let his eyes rest too long on anything that would conjure his friend to his mind and make him expect to turn and see him at his microscope on the kitchen table, or laying on the couch in his own form of meditation.

He also suddenly wondered who would be sending him a package of any sort He assumed on the phone it was only a letter. “Alright, I guess I’ll just go and grab it then.”

“I’ll make some tea” Mrs. Hudson replied, then turned away immediately to scurry into the kitchen, as though she was hiding something.

He paused to look after her with a puzzled look, but directed his attention to the stairs. His leg hadn’t relapsed since that first night of running about London on the heels of a man he barely knew, but if there was any time for the affliction to return, he thought this might be it. He comforted himself though, in the reasoning that the memory inducing details and objects had long since been removed to make way for some eventual person or persons to inhabit.

Taking the first step all seemed fine and he continued, making the slow but stable movement. He has over half way up when a noise came to his ears that made him pause. He swore he heard something from upstairs. The slightest of creaks of feet on the floor, and-

John’s eyes widened and his heart began to pound as he heard the beginning notes of a violin. A familiar melody that he’d often heard during a lull in casework.

His feet were cemented to the stair, but even so he knew he had to continue up; to see if this was indeed happening or if his head were capable of creating a daydream so vivid.

Managing to reach the landing at the top of the stairs and turned to on the short set up to the flat and ascended, his hand holding tight to the rail for stability until he reached the top step. The door was open. The furniture was there, covered in sheets and none of the trinkets or books that covered the shelves or mantelpiece were remaining…but standing at the window, as though he’d never left…

John’s mouth opened, attempted to speak, but failed. He pushed through the lump in his throat and managed a quiet noise. And then…“Sherlock?”

The figure turned, never removing the bow from the strings, looked directly at him, and with the fainted of smiles returned the recognition.

“John.”

Description
John had not been back to 221 in months. The last time was for Mrs. Hudson’s birthday. As painful as it still was for him, he had become very attached to that lovely woman, as he knew she had become to him, and he always thought how hard it must be for her there. He couldn’t imagine living in that building anymore…not like this.

Today he was returning because Mrs. Hudson said something had arrived for him. This had surprised him; he thought he’d gotten his new address out to everyone, but at least this gave him a reason to visit, and he had been feeling guilty for going so long without doing so.

Reaching the door he hesitated-then gave an awkward knock. Within seconds Mrs. Hudson opened the door.

“John! So good to see you dear.”

“Always good to see you too, doing well?” John asked as he stepped inside and gave her their customary hug.

“Oh I’m just lovely. I left the-umm, the parcel upstairs for you dear.”

She was being a bit odd, but John was used to her slight oddities; and if anyone else had left something for him up there, knowing how much he hated walking up those steps… he probably would have left then and there. But this was Mrs. Hudson, and he knew her intentions were nothing other than the desire for John to fully come to terms with everything that had happened.

John had been back to this building a few short times since, but he’d only gone back up once, with the purpose of collecting his things. This he’d done as quickly and as mechanically as possible, doing his utmost not to let his eyes rest too long on anything that would conjure his friend to his mind and make him expect to turn and see him at his microscope on the kitchen table, or laying on the couch in his own form of meditation.

He also suddenly wondered who would be sending him a package of any sort He assumed on the phone it was only a letter. “Alright, I guess I’ll just go and grab it then.”

“I’ll make some tea” Mrs. Hudson replied, then turned away immediately to scurry into the kitchen, as though she was hiding something.

He paused to look after her with a puzzled look, but directed his attention to the stairs. His leg hadn’t relapsed since that first night of running about London on the heels of a man he barely knew, but if there was any time for the affliction to return, he thought this might be it. He comforted himself though, in the reasoning that the memory inducing details and objects had long since been removed to make way for some eventual person or persons to inhabit.

Taking the first step all seemed fine and he continued, making the slow but stable movement. He has over half way up when a noise came to his ears that made him pause. He swore he heard something from upstairs. The slightest of creaks of feet on the floor, and-

John’s eyes widened and his heart began to pound as he heard the beginning notes of a violin. A familiar melody that he’d often heard during a lull in casework.

His feet were cemented to the stair, but even so he knew he had to continue up; to see if this was indeed happening or if his head were capable of creating a daydream so vivid.

Managing to reach the landing at the top of the stairs and turned to on the short set up to the flat and ascended, his hand holding tight to the rail for stability until he reached the top step. The door was open. The furniture was there, covered in sheets and none of the trinkets or books that covered the shelves or mantelpiece were remaining…but standing at the window, as though he’d never left…

John’s mouth opened, attempted to speak, but failed. He pushed through the lump in his throat and managed a quiet noise. And then…“Sherlock?”

The figure turned, never removing the bow from the strings, looked directly at him, and with the fainted of smiles returned the recognition.

“John.”