John had visited Sherlock's grave many times in the past few years. Every Sunday after church, on Sherlock's birthday, Christmas, New year, but they were only short visits. Fifteen minutes where he would talk to the black marble gravestone about what boring stuff had been happening lately in every day life, just little things he thought Sherlock might be interested in.
Except on the anniversary of his death, that day he would spend hours there, talking, crying, reminicing. Sometimes he would just stare at the name ingraved on his headstone and wish, wish that somehow it was fake. The anniversary always the worst - you never get over the death of a best friend as John swiftly learned.
Today though, there was no wishing. You can only hold on to a fantasy for so long before something inside your brain clicks, and you realise it can't be true. Three years had passed now; John had given up.
Knelt on the pile of grass, a bouquet of flowers in his hand John began to speak, his voice shaking as he tried to hide the tears.
"I always ask you for one more miracle when I come here Sherlock, and it's always the same one, for you to come back to me somehow. I guess miracles aren't real though, because you haven't come back.
I just want to talk to you one last time though, see your face, hear your voice. I want to be able to say goodbye, and I want answers.
I still don't understand why you did it, Moriaty was dead. We could of put it all behind us. You should of talked to me. You should of phoned me, a proper phone call I mean, not your note. We could of talked about it, we could of though about what happens next, I could of stoppe you jumping you. We could of got help from someone, we could of prayed to god.
I could of saved you, I just wish I saved you…Why did you jump Sherlock"
"Because I had to save you."
Thin arms wrapped around him from behind as his body went stiff from shock.
"I'm sorry John, but if I hadn't of jumped, you would've died, and you are so much more important than me. It's a bit late, but here's your miracle."
This was not the time for questions, John spun around and hugged Sherlock back, his arms forming a vice grip on Sherlock, afraid that if he let go it would all be another twisted dream. Tears spilled out of shut eyes, onto a shouler he could only just reach.
"It's never too late"
