"Isn't it just lovely, sweetheart? The rain. I never really appreciated it, but listen; it's a song."
"Dad." Whispered a tall, man to his elderly father. "Come, we should go now."
The aged man sat still, gazing out the bedroom window of 221B Baker Street. He failed to acknowledge his son's presence.
"A song for you, my love. Nature is playing a melody just for you." He continued, resting a wrinkled hand over top that of his wife. The elderly woman lay peacefully in the bed with closed eyes.
"Dad," the son coaxed gently "it's time we-"
"-leave him have a few more minutes, babe." Interjected the son's wife as she set a hand carefully on his shoulder. Silently agreeing, the son and his wife retreated from the door way.
"Oh, my sweet. What a wonderful life it's been." The man began to hum softly to her echoing the sound of the raindrops outside. She lay delicately propped on a pillow, small rounded hands folded together. Her hair remained shoulder length, but had long since turned to white. Her eyelids were gently shut, yet the years on her pale face still seemed to form a smile. He sat by the bedside, his figure stooped by his age. His dark curls had thinned and faded to white, yet his crystalline blue eyes still shone. His lips had withered and his cupid's bow now sagged; but there was no mistaking this man of legacy. "Molly, my Molly." he spoke hoarsely. Shakily he stood. His legs quivered as he lifted himself into the bed beside her. "Fifty-six magical years, my darling." he spoke as he placed his head on her shoulder. "And now, it is time to sleep." The consulting detective closed his eyes with content.
"Dad, they've come and it's time for us to go." The son entered the room once more. "Dad." he paused. "Dad? Dad?!" He rushed to his father's side, gently tugging on the frail man's shoulder.
The son's wife hurried into the room, only to witness the look of horrified grief on her husband's face. She took him in her arms and rocked him soothingly. "They're together now, honey; they're together once again."