Broken Men

Chapter 2: Guarded Thoughts

After John moved out of 221 Baker Street, he bounced around places a while. With his army pension the only financial aid he had to his name, he found himself on the opposite side of town in the slums. He lived there for about a month before Molly, the red head that worked at St. Barts and had always had a crush on Sherlock found out he had moved and demanded him to move in with her. Molly, who had begun dating lestrade a few weeks prior, claimed to John that it was because she was in desperate need of a flatmate. John knew that it was instead Mrs. Hudson who had called Molly and asked her to keep an eye on John.

John saw the shared looks between the two women when Mrs. Hudson came to visit for dinners on Friday, looks that spelled out concern for the man that was struggling to move on with his life. If asked by John, Molly would deny that John was having a tough time adjusting, but to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson in hushed voices, she would say with a sad voice that there was no progress with him at all. He ultimately blamed himself for Sherlock's death, and she had stumbled upon him a couple times in the darkened living room, tears flowing silently. John seemed to ignore Molly when she walked in during these encounters, and Molly knew better than to bring it up later.

Everyday Molly watched John sink further into depression, and was at a loss as to how to help him. His twice weekly visits to Ella was essentially a waste of time on everyone's part because John had long since stopped opening up and they essentially sat in silence for an hour.

On one particular visit, a couple weeks after John had moved in with Molly, Ella brought up 221 Baker Street.

Tap-Tap-Tap. He sat there in silence, absent-mindedly tapping his fingers while staring out the window. He was concentrating on a playground right outside the therapist's office, watching small children run around the apparatus and chase each other in the sand pits. He saw a group of mothers with strollers sitting around a bench gossiping, not keeping a close enough eye on their children. He watched as a young boy, perhaps 3 years old wandered out of the sand, seeming to chase after a butterfly. The boy stumbled across the grass, fast approaching a thicket of trees, and just before he crossed over into it, a blonde in jeans and bright blue jumper raced over to him. He stopped walking and stayed put until the woman, presumably his mother, reached him and lifted him up in her arms. They stayed put like that for a few seconds, watching the butterfly disappear into the trees before heading back. Long after they left he kept his eyes glued on the spot where the butterfly had disappeared. He couldn't be sure, but it looked as if there was a dark figure there at the opening.

The figure seemed to stand impeccably still for a moment before turning away and entering the trees. John's eyes widened. The figure bared an uncanny resemblance to Sherlock; John could see the tall, slim, dark headed figure in his mind so clearly. He stopped tapping and shut his eyes as his heart clenched around the name. He would've stayed like that, his eyes shut for an eternity picturing Sherlock had he not heard Ella saying his name sharply. He jolted in his chair.

"John, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm doing fine."

She looked at him with concern and doubt on her face before asking "How's everything at home? I understand you've since moved in with a Molly Hooper."

John sat quietly for a moment, Sherlock's image still branded in his mind. With a small distant voice he replied "Fine. She's fine. Everything's fine."

Ella looked at him intensely before asking a question she knew would get more of a response out of him then fine. "Do you miss it? 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson? The cases?" She observed him as the pain flash across his face before adding "Sherlock?"

He shut his eyes again and balled up his fists. He had to breathe deeply before he could manage to choke out an "I'm okay, I'm fine, I really am."

At this point, both of them were frustrated; Ella because she couldn't seem to get John to open up and share more than an 'I'm fine' and John because Ella kept trying to make him relive the past when he wanted nothing more than to put it behind him and try to move forward in the life that had been destroyed.

After a half-hearted goodbye to Ella, John made his way out of the building and stood facing the playground in blinding sunlight. He blinked a few times before slowly making his way across the grass and towards the dark trees that he had seen the figure. He reached the opening and looked down at a pair of footprints in the wet grass...

Sherlock's heart was beating fast in his ears as he hid himself behind a tree. He thought it childish that he should be nervous of nothing more than a toddler running towards him. No, he reminded himself. Not him, the trees. He knew there was nothing to worry about from the boy, but being discovered would be an unnecessary problem, and as of late, he had no patience to deal with it. As of late he had no patience for anything really. For months he had been on the run, careful to distance himself from anyone and everyone that was a hazard to him.

After months away, after countless nights he had been left sleepless, wracked with nightmares of Moriarty dead and himself left broken on the floor, after months of hardly eating and constantly worrying about the people he had left behind to protect, Sherlock Holmes returned home to London. To ensure an end to the terror Moriarty had wreaked, a steep price had been payed by a number of people. Sherlock had left, had jumped to save those he loved most, and from there began his hunt. He knew that only once all of Moriarty's men were found and...for lack of a better term...dealt with, only then could life for him return to normal. But he did it. He crossed oceans, he travelled long distances, did everything necessary until he knew for certain that it was all over and that he could return to London without endangering everyone he even came in contact with. He wanted desperately to catch a cab back to 221B Baker Street, but he knew that there were a few things that had to be taken care of first before he could merge himself back into his old life. The small footsteps stopped in front of the opening and he could hear the boy breathing hard trying to catch his breath. Sherlock shut his eyes and swallowed hard, waiting for the inevitable moment that the boy would discover him standing there and shout out. Although he knew that Moriarty's men had been taken care of completely, he didn't exactly want his presence in London known. There was still the fact that he was technically "dead" to everyone, and his reputation had been dragged through the mud. No. Before he could miraculously be brought back publicly from the dead, he had to repair the damage done to his image. Moriarty had to be revealed as the criminal mastermind that he truly was for everything to work. He opened his eyes at a female voice shouting for the boy. His breathing slowed, almost to a stop as the female voice drew nearer to him. He concentrated on the pattern of his shallow breath as he waited to be discovered... "Sean. Sean! Love what are you doing running away? You nearly gave me a heart attack." The voice stopped a few feet away from him. The small voice of the child replied "Did you see the butterfly Mummy? I was following the butterfly. I wanted to see if he would lead me to a white rabbit with a watch." Sherlock frowned in confusion. What was the child talking about? What rabbit? Since when did rabbits use watches? The woman spoke before he could connect the dots. "Ah I see. Did you want to find the Cheshire Cat too? How about we go back to the sand and have that tea party with the Mad Hatter?" He heard them turn and the boy say "Come on Alice." He peeked from behind the tree to see a small blonde woman in jeans and a hideous blue jumper walking away hand in hand with a small boy. The boy had his free hand up at waist level, almost as if he was holding someone else's hand on the other side. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Ah, the child has an imaginary friend. Alice...the Mad Hatter...the Cheshire Cat. Alice in Wonderland. That explains why he was looking for a white rabbit with a watch." He watched their retreating figures. He hadn't realized he had completely dislodged himself from behind the tree. In fact, he had stepped out into the small clearing. He let the sun hit his face for a moment before he remembered that he MUSN'T be seen. He shrank back into the shadows, silently cursing himself for being careless. If anyone had seen him, if anyone had noticed him...well the results could have been horrible. As it was he was risking too much to be there, but he just had to go. He knew John had been going back to therapy since his jump several months before. Sherlock had to stop and think back as to how long that actually had been. 2 years. He had been gone for 2 years. He looked up at the rows of windows, his heart beginning to ache. "Oh John" he whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything." He knew what he had to do. He had to fix everything. Had to put the pieces back to the way they were before. With a heavy heart, he threw one more glance at the building, almost as if sending a telepathic apology to John, and with his head down, made his way through the dark trees.