Black and gold. The pattern had been repeated. What frustrated Sherlock more than the repetition was that he couldn't understand the reasoning behind it. John had specifically requested that Sherlock's headstone was black with golden lettering; just like the colours of their Baker Street front door.
Was it a subconscious thing? Did it make John feel as if he had somehow managed to bring Sherlock home for the final time, thinking that using similar things to mark Sherlock's presence would keep him close by, despite the things desperate to keep them apart?
Sherlock doubted it. It seemed too metaphorical and too thought-out for a man as distraught as John. If the situation was reversed, Sherlock could guarantee that even his thoughts would not be that coherent.
No, it was far more likely that John had simply liked how well the two colours contrasted with each other. But then, didn't that just sum them up? Sherlock and John. As different as night and day, or black and gold, but still perfectly complimentary to each other in just the right way.
An aching pang in his stomach stole Sherlock from his thoughts. He shook his head. It would not do to feel homesick yet. He would not allow himself to wish for John. He had work to begin.