Sherlock pushed his hand through his pocket, his breath fogging the cold air as snow fell down from the sky. His head tucked into the scarf and jacket trying to keep his cheeks and lips warm from the cold. The snow crunching beneath his shoes. It was dark outside; he just finished his coffee at a nearby starbuck place.
He has kept himself disguised and unnoticed for many months, wearing a hoody over his head or wearing a wig and fake scar he created on his lip, nose and eye. He lets out another shaky breath, should've gotten himself warmer clothes on. He exhales through his nose, seeing the fine fog mist escaping into the air before it fades.
John glances through the window, pressing his hand against the cold glass wondering. He still grieved over Sherlock's 'death' and still visits his grave every week, still having faith that Sherlock still alive. He believes in Sherlock. Despite the grave that sat there in the cemetery, he always doubts and not believing it's true. It was a cold winter day, wonder how Sherlock was handling the cold, if he was out there, somewhere.
Sherlock trembled, wearing a grey hat similar to Sherlock that he was given for a gift. His feet crunched against the snow that was slowly piling the floor from the snow fall. He held his gloved hands out, some snowflakes landing on his hand though melts immediately. He stuck his hand back into his pocket, shivering slightly.
Days passes by, he just went to the cafe, and then returned home. John didn't much, went out and dated a few girls but never kept a single relationship in for long. Neither Sherlock nor John enjoying anything neither smiled or showed much emotion. Expressing only fake emotion to hopefully people do not ask questions.
It was another snow falling day, it's been going on and off last few days. Today Sherlock was visiting his own grave, his 'fake' grave. He exhaled, shiver tingling down his spine and grunts slightly in response of the chill. He found his grave easily, moving around the back of the gravestone and sat down against it, his knees pulled up near to his chest, his face half buried in it trying to keep himself warm. He pulled up his scarf, trying to keep himself from shivering. He ignored everything around him, shivering a little bit remained unmoving, being in his mind palace.
John walking through the cemetery, clueless of Sherlock was here also. He wears a winter jacket with a hat with ear warmers to keep his ears from having frostbites. The snow crunched beneath his boots, exhaling out through his lips, fogging the air.