The rain poured mercilessly onto the already-drenched city of London, a familiar sort of mist had settled in the air on the chilly October morning. Typical weather.
A tall figure carrying a black umbrella was slowly strolling through the deserted graveyard. The black, skeletal trees tore at the pale sky like twisted hands. Some gravestones were adorned recently with bouquets or flowers, but the harsh rain had stripped most of them of their petals.
A smooth, black gravestone stood away from the others, and it bore the name Sherlock Holmes on it's face. Mycroft Holmes came to a stop in front of it. He was a tall man, with a beak-like nose and dark hair, and well-dressed in an expensive suit and black shoes. The new lines on his forehead almost gave him a permanent expression of worry.
He cleared his throat, struggling to find his voice. "Hello," he finally managed. Then he chuckled bitterly. He was talking to a gravestone. This was ridiculous, he couldn't do this. No, he scolded himself. You came all this way, you're not leaving until you've done it.
Taking a deep breathe, he knelt down next to the gravestone. The damp earth stained his trousers, but he didn't care. "I...I'm sorry I haven't been to visit," he said slowly, frowning. "The truth is...I thought it was because I was angry with you. Which I am. But I suppose it is because I am angry with myself. " Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "There are...things I wish I could have said to you. But I'm too late, aren't I? This lump of stone is the closest thing I have to speak to. It'll have to work, I suppose." Mycroft shifted his umbrella so it sheltered the gravestone from the rain as well. "He's a bloody mess without you, you know. John. He's pretending to move on, though I never think he truly will. I do think that is the disadvantage of friendship, though, isn't it? The inability to move on, to simply forget." Mycroft frowned, bowing his head. "I am sorry...Sherlock. " he nearly choked on the name. "I'm sorry I haven't been a brother to you. But I've always cared about you, I want you to know. I'll always care." Mycroft rested a hand on the cold stone and squinted over at the people bustling along in the streets. "This city feels wrong without you here, causing chaos. It needs you, brother. You should never have left." he swallowed hard. "There's no undoing what's been done, but...I do miss you." Mycroft laughed bitterly. "God help me, I miss you."
Mycroft's eyes stung as he stood, brushing himself off. He reached out a hand and squeezed the corner of the stone. "Goodbye, brother."
He walked away, leaving behind him the gravestone sheltered by a black umbrella.