I wake up. My eyes are on the clock. 3pm.

"How did I get here?" I cry as loud as I can. But more than a hoarse, shrill voice you don't hear.

"I asked the neighbours to help." Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen with a tray and tea.

"Neighbours?" "The one next to our house." She sighs.

"Do not be mad at me. I'm sick to death." I overdo.

"What happened?" She asks. I had better not say anything. I'm silent. "Sherlock." She insists.

"I thought I had seen a gigantic spider, but it was the shadow of my hand." I laugh shy. Better this, than expose all my feelings.

"You urgently need to visit a psychologist." She blames me. She puts a cup on my belly and she fills it with tea. "You're sure I don't have to call a doctor?" She asks overanxious.

No, Mrs. Hudson. Do not remind me of him.

"Everything is fine." I drink off my tea and stand up, as evidence. I start playing my violin. "Everything is completely fine with me." I repeat.

"I see." She puts the cups on the kitchen counter and she leaves the room.

"Mrs. Hudson! I'm not sick, but I want you to keep me company."

***

I am alone in the kitchen. Waiting for a future. But without John I have no future...

I stare at the avocados, I brought specially for John.

I do not know why I want him here. He left me, while I did yesterday half a declaration of love. Okay, I lied. He isn't my friend, he isn't my best friend, he is my everything. I said because I did not want to lose him, but in vain. I should have told him right away. Then I never saw him anymore or he always stayed with me. Now I got only a part of him. My head says no, my heart says yes. I cannot live with that thought. My life, before yesterday, was always structured. I knew what I wanted, I was for 100 percent behind my choice. Now I lost the way and I cannot even eat.

I muster courage. "Where do John live?" I call. I can hear she's walking upstairs. Her fingers glide over the banister.

"Why do you want to know that?" She asks curiously. While it seems she doesn't want me to visit John. "You guys had a fight?"

I jump up off my chair. I was thinking already an hour. "Fight? Who said that?" I walk to Mrs. Hudson and I look her straight in the eyes.

"John."

"John?" I cry aloud.

"John." She confirms again. "He doesn't want to stand in your way. He thought he was bored you."

John never bores me, Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson takes a step backwards. She rubs her skirt. She looks like she has said something wrong.

"And you separate that in the category of fight?" I sigh. I cannot suffer all that bad news. I sit in the seat, so I do not faint.

She nods. "So where does he live?" However, I must have his address. Maybe I'll go visit him, maybe I do not visit him.

***

Nervous I walk back and forth. Not knowing what to say to him. When I visit him, I must be prepared. I should not be nervous, or my knees are trembling. My mindpalace works slowly today. I strum my fingers on the kitchen counter. My toes tapping nervously on the ground.

Mindpalace, work. Work.

I hold my violin and I play false notes. That works perfectly, but my own composed piece is with half notes and chords. This violin reminds me of John's presence. He touched it. Hysterical I smell the violin. I smell no trace of John. It's been so long ago?

***

Mike takes care for me and here I may live for a while, since I am back of Afghanistan. Previously we went to school together. I get a room in the attic and I spend almost a whole day there. I don't want to be in his way. He does not have family, but he's always busy with his work.

"Hai, here I am." I cry a little happy, a little sip. I left Sherlock, while I loved it so much. We had a nice day, nice evening, nice night. So I don't understand myself. I do this for Sherlock or for myself?

"Where were you? I haven't receive a message." He wears a dressing gown and walks out of his workroom. He holds a cup of tea in his hand and asks: "I'll make one?" Immediately he walks to the kitchen and the stove starts to simmer.

"A patient." I respond laconically. He nods like he understands. But I don't know any situation or patient, who needs a doctor with him nightly. Especially if that person isn't a patient.

"I thought you were dead." He takes an extra cup. He adds sugar in his cup.

"Not exaggerate! I'm not 24 hours away yet. Just about 19 hours."

"Never do that again without warning! My heart was almost stopped. I thought you were revoked the war." He smiles friendly. But I don't want to talk about the war.

"Do you have to work today?" I ask to talk about another topic.

"I will work at home. Today you're not going to leave my house." He supposes overanxious. He pours the tea and he gives the cup to me. I look disappointed, but I understand it completely. Where was my mind to not let him know anything?

"I retire." I say with the intention to be no more a burden.

"Provisionally, you stay here. Who is the patient? Your story is not believable." So I told him a long time about Sherlock Holmes, the craziest human in the world. I talked about the silence in the cab, about our touches, about our very nice evening. He laughed and he said he was happy for me, until I said I left him...