The first thing John did when he left Baker Street was head straight to the bank. He and Sherlock had opened a joint bank account a while ago, when they first got engaged, for no reason other than because it was a thing couples just did. They'd put a substantial amount of money into it, combining both their savings and a little extra that Mycroft had thrown in as an engagement present. By now John could only imagine how much money was in that account. He guessed it was a lot, if the card they received every Christmas was any indication.

John only withdrew a small amount, enough for one month's accommodation at a decent hotel. It would have to do until he found a more suitable living arrangement. As for now, he had to get out of that flat. John also bought a storage unit to put all of his things in, because there was no way he'd be keeping stacks of boxes in a hotel room.

Packing had been more painful than John originally imagined it to be. It was also quite difficult. After living with Sherlock for so long John had ceased to think of objects as his or Sherlock's. They were simply theirs. He spent half an hour alone trying to remember what books on the shelves actually belonged to him, and which were Sherlock's. He then had to spend another half hour trying not to break down and cry over the finality of the entire moving process.

Rather than hire a moving service or call on a favour from a friend, John moved everything himself. He rented a moving truck once all the boxes had been packed and loaded it up before taking the majority of them to his storage unit. The boxes that he had put his clothes in went with him to the hotel. He had taken one last look around at the sitting room and kitchen before pulling out his key and leaving it in the same place he had found Sherlock's note.

When he got to the hotel the receptionist gave him a funny look when he checked in. She said nothing though, and John was grateful for that. He couldn't trust himself not to break down if someone asked him anything similar to 'Are you okay?' She wordlessly handed him his key and he took it without attempting to smile at her. He knew she would have been able to see through it anyway.

The room was small and within it John found a double wide bed, a wardrobe, and a matching desk. There was a door leading to the adjoining bathroom, but other than that there was nothing in the room. John was overcome with a suffocating feeling of emptiness the moment he stepped over the threshold.

After confining himself to his miserable hotel room for several days, John went job hunting. He started at the surgery he used to work at, hoping Sarah was still in charge and would take pity on him. Fortunately, she did, and he walked out of her office less than an hour after walking in with a job and something close to a smile on his face.

Next up, housing. He couldn't stay in that hotel forever, but he was having a considerably harder time finding a flat that was both affordable and in a decent location.

After listening to John moan and groan for weeks about his less-than-pleasant living conditions, Ollie had offered up his spare bedroom. John accepted the offer without thinking twice about it, and officially moved in the next week.

It was nice, living with Ollie. During the day they both worked, and in the evenings they took turns cooking dinner. John appreciated having a home cooked meal every night, though there was still a part of him that longed for Chinese takeaway.

After dinner they would settle down on the sofa and watch crap telly and share stories from work until one of them was too tired to keep his eyes open and went to bed. The other usually followed right after him.

Every now and then John would catch himself wondering how different his life would have been if it had been Ollie he had met in a park all that time ago instead of Mike. How long would they have maintained this camaraderie? Would John have gotten bored with the normality? Would he have somehow fallen for Ollie the same way he had for Sherlock, or was that mad consulting detective the only man capable of turning John?

Whenever John found himself thinking about Sherlock, which was often, he went for a walk to clear his mind. The fresh air didn't do much to stop the thoughts about Sherlock from coming, but it was better than sitting at home and moping on the sofa.

It was three weeks after he'd moved in with Ollie, two months since he had found Sherlock's note on the kitchen table, when one of John's walks had lead him down an eerily familiar street. It took John less than a second to realize where he had wondered to, and the moment he did he felt all the heat drain from his face.

John hadn't dared step foot anywhere near here since he'd moved out, but for some reason his feet had brought him here today. He licked his lips and stared at the familiar wooden door. His feet began moving before his brain told them to and soon he found himself standing before it, staring up at the window that overlooked the street.

He could see a shadow passing back and forth behind the curtain, and immediately felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn't seen Sherlock since the argument that ended their relationship over two months ago. Now here he was, a simple press of a button away.

He raised his hand and hesitated. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to just show up at Sherlock's doorstep? What would he say to him? That is, if Sherlock even let him in and didn't just slam the door in his face the moment he saw who it was.

John was just about to turn and walk away when he saw that the door was slightly ajar. Though Sherlock cared very little for his own safety, he at least was smart enough to always close and lock the front door.

He pressed his hand gently against the door and pushed it open. He tried to keep quiet, in case there was someone dangerous waiting inside for him. Perhaps the figure he had seen stalking by the window wasn't Sherlock after all. What if Sherlock was in trouble?

John immediately forgot all about how he shouldn't even concern himself with Sherlock's affairs anymore and pushed the door all the way open, closing it behind him and quickly starting up the stairs.

The door to the sitting room was wide open, and John nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw Sherlock standing at the window, his back turned to him. He was clad in his signature blue housecoat and loose pyjama bottoms, and his hair was very unkempt. John would have guessed he had just woken up from the way he looked.

"For God's sake, Lestrade I told you-"

Sherlock stopped abruptly as he turned around and his eyes landed on John standing in the doorway. The surprise was evident on his face as he stared at John, eyes wide and mouth open. For a moment John was stunned into silence when he saw Sherlock's haggard appearance. Not only was his hair and clothing a mess, but his skin looked waxen and paler than usual, and his face looked sunken in. There were dark bags beneath his eyes. Eyes that looked incredibly tired as well as surprised. John wondered what sort of case he was working on with Lestrade that had him looking like this.

"Uh, hi," John managed weakly. The thought to smile crossed his mind but it quickly vanished as he stood there, staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"John..."

The sound of his name falling from Sherlock's lips was almost enough to bring a sob to John's own. He fought back the urge and kept a straight face as he stared down the man he was still so helplessly in love with and who was looking at him like an alien creature.

"I uh... I probably shouldn't be here but I ... I was just wondering what we were doing about the .. the uh ..." He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'divorce'. Thankfully Sherlock seemed to catch on to what he meant anyway and nodded his head.

"Oh, well, the grounds for dissolving a civil partnership are unreasonable behavior, desertion, and simply having lived apart for more than two years. I don't personally believe either of us has exhibited anything that could legally be considered unreasonable behavior. You have not deserted me nor I you. That leaves only one option. We can get a dissolution if we have lived apart for more than two years and both agree in writing to end..." Sherlock trailed off and stared at the floor. John watched him, trying to find any words to say to fill the awkward silence. After a moment Sherlock sucked in a breath and met John's eye again.

"Mycroft will take care of the court costs and legal stuff. The paperwork, and all that. All we have to do is show up at his office and file the petition, when the time comes. Then we'll apply for a conditional order, and after six weeks we can apply for a final order." Sherlock had recited all of this as if he were reading the nutrition facts on a box of cereal instead of going over the details of his own divorce proceedings. John felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart, but he managed not to let his pain show and maintained eye contact with Sherlock.

"Right, good," he said, finally looking away. He didn't see the way Sherlock deflated when he said this. When he looked at Sherlock again he had regained his composure and was striding to grab his coat from where it was resting on the sofa.

"Yes, well, if that's all you were concerned about... I really should be going. I've got somewhere important to be." John decided not to comment on how Sherlock was going to this 'important place' dressed in his pyjamas and followed Sherlock out of the flat. "You feel free to stick around for a bit if you want," Sherlock continued as he bounded down the stairs. "Maybe you could drop in and say hello to Mrs. Hudson. She's been asking about you. Constantly." There was something almost bitter in Sherlock's tone of voice. Like he couldn't bear talking about John with anyone. John felt another knife being driven into his chest. He wondered if Mrs. Hudson knew. Surely Sherlock had at least told her why John was no longer living there.

"Does she know?"

"Everyone does," Sherlock said, turning to face him at the bottom of the stairs. Their faces were inches apart, and every cell in John's body was screaming for him to close the distance between their lips, to grab a handful of that unruly hair and make Sherlock remember why he ever bothered with him in the first place. Instead, he gave a weak smile and nodded. Sherlock turned back around and opened the door, stepping outside.

"Well ..." Sherlock said, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at his feet. "It was nice to see you, John."

"Uh, you too. See you in two years, I guess." Sherlock gave him a strange sort of smile, then bowed his head and held out his hand. John stared at it for a moment, feeling his own hand clench in response before he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's. The simple touch, and feeling of bare skin against skin sent a spark all the way up John's arm, and he felt Sherlock give his hand one more weak pump before letting go. John kept his head down until he heard Sherlock walking away, and after he was sure Sherlock had disappeared around the corner, he lifted his head and stared at where he had been standing. He waited another few seconds, then sighed and turned to go the other way.

~

The next time John saw Sherlock's face it wasn't in person. He had standing in line at Tescos with a pack of Fosters and some crisps, when something caught his eye on the cover of a magazine near the register. He'd balanced the crisps in one arm with the beer to grab the magazine. In the bottom right corner was a photo of two men having a meal outside a café. Though it was a bit blurry after having been zoomed in, but it was obvious one of those men was in fact Sherlock; He was wearing his signature coat and scarf. John squinted at the other face, and felt his stomach drop when he realised who it was.

John had calmly put the magazine back in its place and bought his groceries. Then he'd gone straight to Ollie and asked him to help set him up on a date. A while ago he remembered Ollie mentioning a girl who was a fan of his blog and had been dying to meet him. John figured she'd been waiting long enough. And if Sherlock could move on and start dating again, with Victor of all people, so could he.

Her name was Harriet Turner and she worked at a local school, and she was pretty and sweet. However, she seemed more keen on discussing Sherlock and the cases on his blog than anything else. John had tried to politely tell her that he didn't really want to discuss his estranged husband on a first date, and for some reason Harriet hadn't taken too kindly to that. She left before the main course was even served.

The next date John went on wasn't for another few months. He had been sitting at home watching GoldenEye and wallowing in self pity when Ollie showed up and told him they were going out.

John hadn't questioned it, just went to have a shower and got dressed. In hindsight he should have noticed something was up when Ollie had sent him back to his room to change into something more 'presentable', but he had been out of sorts that day and just blindly went along with what he was told to do.

Only on the way to the restaurant did Ollie reveal where they were going, and why they were going there. That night John went on his first double date since uni.

Her name was Lydia and John had instantly been captivated by her stunning silver eyes and bright smile. She was a dentist, and a friend of Ollie's fiancée. She was pretty, and smart, and had long, dark curly hair that accentuated her pale skin. She was a fan of James Bond and classic rock, and not once did she mention Sherlock. At the end of the night she'd given John her phone number and made him promise to call. He had several days later and asked her out to lunch, and things had gone from there.

John had always suspected there had been an ulterior motive behind Ollie's setting him up with Lydia. Those suspicions were confirmed about a month and a half after the double date. John had been flitting about getting ready for a date with her when Ollie stopped him.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"Yeah, sure mate," John said, even as he glanced to the clock on the wall. Ollie motioned for John to sit on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, which he did. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's great!" Ollie said, smiling widely. "How are things with you?"

"Fine." John said, as he usually did whenever anyone asked him if he was okay. He didn't say he still thought about Sherlock at all times of the day, and that he was still helplessly in love with him despite his attempts to move on. He didn't say that every moment he spent awake was draining him to a point way past exhaustion. He didn't tell Ollie that he'd started keeping his gun in the drawer in his bedside table, and spent most nights staring at it longingly and trying to muster up the courage to just end it all. Because other than that, everything was fine. "Yeah, things are fine."

"What about with Lydia? Everything fine on that front?"

"Oh, yeah, she's great." John managed to smile when he said this. Lydia really was great. She was kind and smart and pretty and a perfect distraction from his suffocating thoughts. Ollie smiled back at him, and reached out to grab John's forearm.

"Look, John, I really have loved this, us living together and all that. And I don't want you to get offended by what I'm about to say-"

"You want me to move out." Ollie froze for a moment, staring at John like he was trying to figure out how he'd known he was going to ask that. "I've sort of learned how to ... read people."

"Oh, right." Sherlock's name was left unspoken in the air. Ollie cleared his throat. "It's nothing against you. It's just, Evie and I, we want to go ahead and live together. I mean, we were just going to wait until after the wedding, but-"

"Say no more." John said, forcing a smile. "I'll start looking for a place tomorrow. I've kind of got a date to get to now though, so-"

"Well see that's why I wanted to talk to you before you go. You say things are going great with you and Lydia, maybe you could ask her?"

"It hasn't even been two months. I think it's a bit early for that." Ollie said nothing, just gave him a calculating look and nodded his head.

"Right, yeah. Okay. You enjoy your date."

"Thanks." John gave Ollie a quick wave over his shoulder as he walked out the door. He walked for a few blocks, then turned and ducked into an alley, pressing his back against the cool brick wall and covering his face with his hands and letting out a shaky breath.

So that's how this was going to go. He was going to move back into a crappy one room flat to spend his days pretending he was okay, and his nights facing the fact that he wasn't. He really wasn't. He wondered how long he would torture himself before he finally pulled his gun from its hiding place and put it to use.

He was late for his date. He apologised profusely without offering any explanation, and Lydia accepted it. That was another great thing about her. She knew when to just let something go. Many days John had come to meet her post-panic attack or they scheduled dates on what would be danger nights if John had them, and she never asked him what was wrong. Instead she chattered about whatever came to mind, and John couldn't have appreciated it more.

"So, how is everything at work?" he asked her after they ordered. Lydia smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when John's phone started ringing. "Ah, I'm sorry about that," he said, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. He didn't bother checking the name on the screen, just pressed 'Answer' and held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this Doctor Watson-Holmes?" John fought the urge to cringe. He had almost forgotten that was still his legal name

"Ah, yes. It is."

"Well, I'm calling to inform you that ah, your husband has just been brought into A&E."

"What?" John felt his heart sink. "What happened?"

"I've been ordered not to give any details. We already spoke to his brother who requested that no information be given over the phone. He simply insisted that we contact you and tell you to come in."

"Alright," John said, standing from the table. "Alright, I'm on my way." He hung up the phone and gave Lydia and apologetic smile. "I'm so.. so sorry but I've really got to go."

"That's alright," she said smiling. "It sounded like an emergency." She reached out and gave John's hand a quick squeeze. "Just, give me a call later on and we can reschedule this."

"Thanks for understanding." With that John turned and left, fighting the urge to just run out of the restaurant. After he climbed into a cab and all but shouted the address of St. Bart's Hospital, he dialed Mycroft's number. He answers after the first ring.

"John. I assume St. Bart's has contacted you?"

"Yes, what-"

"Are you on your way?"

"Yes, yes of course. But why-"

"Just hurry." And with that, the line went dead.

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