The night was cold and silent, but it was like any other night; alone in his bed, looking at the roof, thinking about her again and some tears over his cheeks, just waiting to the fatigue to take him to the sleep arms and forget about everything for just some hours.
It seemed he had got it, because he fell asleep just some minutes later. His eyes were still wet, nobody knew it but he used to cry all the nights, the pain was too much.
"John?" he heard that soft voice, talking to his ear.
He didn't open his eyes, he was afraid that if he did it, everything would finish there, as a dream
"John?"
The voice again. He felt happy but he knew that was just his mind playing with him even though it seemed so real.
"I miss you too much" he said after a minute. "I wish you were here with me, I'd do anything, I swear anything."
He tried to contain his cry. He didn't like to cry, he was a soldier.
"But I'm with you. I will always be with you."
"I know, but no in this way." He breathed slowly, he had a knot in the throat. He opened his eyes, and saw her. He looked at her feeling how everything inside him was breaking. "Ok, is this about Rosie right? I'm going."
"Who?"
"Rosie. I mean Rosamund. Our daughter."
"Oh John!" She laughed "What are you talking about? I think you were having a dream. Or maybe you are drunk"
John sat in his bed, next to Mary who sat too, he felt confused.
"Our daughter." She laughed "It's cute, and I'd love to, but John, we don't have any child."
A storm was over his brain and a headache attacked him.
"Are you ok? It was just a dream."
Was all of that real? Everything was just a dream? The life could be so beautiful?
"I'm ok"
"I know you're sad because the day is coming, but I'm with you."
"What day?"
"Oh John" She hugged him "It's everything alright"
But what was she talking about?
"We should try to sleep again, tomorrow we have to wake up early, and it'll be a long way. But remember I'll be always here with you."
The silence predominated for some minutes more, but finally a whisper broke it.
"What day Mary? Where are we going tomorrow?"
John was about to cry because an idea had taken shape in his brain. Despite the happiness of knowing that Mary was alive, there was something wrong.
"To the cemetery John. Didn't you forget it, did you?"
"Why are we going?"
"John are you sure you're ok? You're scaring me"
"Just tell me why." John told her with a broken voice.
"Because your best friend, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes… Tomorrow three years ago, he killed himself… we go every year to his grave."