Work Text:
As usual, the flat was full of half-drunk cups of tea. Even more than usual maybe, as the last weeks have been gruesome... Sherlock's temper relentlessly pushing away Ms. Hudson who was trying to keep the flat in a modicum of order.
Without thinking, he brings all the cups in the kitchen and washes them. One after the other.
The one he puts down the last time he played his violin.
The one he forgot to drink because Lestrade called him about the breaking at the Tower.
The one he abandoned when the Chief Superintendent came to arrest him.
John was looking at that last cup. The mold was creating a sort of beautiful design. I should keep this one for Sher...
When it hits him again.
He's not coming back. I am alone.
With tears in his eyes, he puts the kettle on and starts fixing his tea.
One cup.
Only one cup.