A/N: Okay .yratnemele here! This is my first story! So reviews are greatly welcome. I would just like to thank Wilde About Oscar as she was to first person to read this and correct my foul grammar and spelling. She also uploaded this for me as my computer is a mess!8D Flames will be used to toast crumpets.
This was John Watson's first time back in London since late 1887. Watson stood slouched and defeated, tears dripping down his weathered and wrinkled face. How many times had he wished himself back in London and now he was here he didn't want to stay. Watson glanced at the small, simple headstone that marked the final resting place of his dearest friend.
Watson fell to his knees. Why had he been so stupid? He should have just told Holmes what he felt every time he saw him when he had the chance. Now Holmes would never know. Holmes would never know how Watson's heart clenched every time Holmes complimented him. Holmes would never know how much Watson wished it was Holmes who lay beside him when Watson woke up in the morning.
Watson hadn't even been there when Holmes had drew his last breath. That hurt more than anything else.
Watson's body was by now shaking with sobs.
"John, dear! It's cold out; let's go back to the hotel!"
A tiny woman called out from the edge of the graveyard.
"Go ahead, Mary. I'll be back before dark."
Mary walked up to Watson and kissed him goodnight before leaving.
Once she was gone, Watson pulled out the gun he had hidden in his coat.
"I can't live without you Holmes, this way we can be together always. Brothers; not by blood, but by bond."
Watson mumbled as he raised the gun to his temple.
A single gunshot. Then silence.
Mary found her husband the next morning. There was an air of peace around the graveyard that hadn't been there last night. It was almost like two souls were rejoicing at joining together once more.