A/N:
This is my first fanfic, I'm so sorry if it's not really good or the chapters are too short... Reviews are much appreciated!
A man. Alone. Walking a well worn path to the graveyard. His face is full of hardships. War. But there is a touch of happiness... Happiness... That didn't last. His face speaks of another thing. Tragedy. He walks through the small gates towards an elegant-looking gravestone. He stops in front of it and drops down onto his knees.
John Watson speaks as if his best friend is... Is... Alive. 'Sherlock.' John swallows the lump that forms in his throat as he remembers what he said on the first day he stood by this gravestone. His own words echo in his head - 'Just one more miracle. Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead.'
He isn't successful in stopping his tears. The pearls roll down his cheeks. They fall. They fall... Like how Sherlock fell. John continues, immense sadness in his voice. The falling pearls turn into a steady stream. "It's been three years, Sherlock. Every single day I come here and ask you for that miracle. That one miracle. I can't accept it, Sherlock. I can't accept being a... alone for the rest of my life. I... I love you, I love you too much to let go. I've decided. Sherlock. I'm going to join you. Join you in the place where there is peace. Where there is no sadness. And we'll be happy... Together. In the perfect dream. I...I'll see you there Sherly." John pulls out a gun. A gun that has been well used in many situations before. He holds it to his own head.
John looks at the black gravestone with the gold lettering and smiles. He speaks, more confidence in his voice. "Sherlock... I'm going to see you again."
John braces himself for the bullet. He is frightened. Very frightened. But deep in his heart, he is comforted by the thought of looking deep in Sherlock's grey-blue eyes again. His face. His cheekbones. His scarf. His trench coat with the familiar turned-up collar. Doctor Watson whispers to himself, "Three... Two..."