Another typical Saturday.
John Watson dropped the bags of shopping in the kitchen, not even bothering to remove his coat. Opening the fridge, he couldn't help but shudder at the absence of human eyeballs. He picked up an apple and took a bite before heading out again, not before swiping up a lone stalk of rose from the dining table.
The doctor stepped out of 221B, Baker Street, pushing close the dark oak wood door, twisting the lock; everything seemed like routine. It was: going to work, occasionally pulled off to a blind date by Mr Matchmaker Lestrade. Not that he didn't appreciate Greg's thoughtfulness, but he had his heart on better things.
The taxi he hailed brought him through the streets of london. The cold, stone buildings, the winding streets which names he had started to memorise, the light fog that hung over the city, giving it an overall sulky feel.
He arrived at his destination.
"Cold, isn't it?" He smiled when he spotted his companion. Spotted, no, that wasn't the correct word. He knew the position of his friend, and he was sure he could make it to him with his eyes closed.
He took a sit opposite his friend.
"Even I'm starting to wear scarfs now." John chuckled. "Must be under your influence."
His companion did not repond.
"Mrs Hudson wants to say that she misses you alot. But she hinted she was happy without the eyeballs in the microwave." John grinned at the thought. "Oh, remember, there was this time you left some human fingers in the fridge and Mrs Hudson opened the fridge- and damn man what a fright she had. You'd think she would have gotten used to it by now."
His companion remained silent.
"Anyways, i thought you might be cold, alone here, in the middle of… So." John removed his scarf and wrapped it wround the silent companion.
"There. Molly gave that to me for Christmas. Ugly, isn't it? Red reindeers. Ruddy hell." John continued. "And i've finally gotten around to develop those pictures you took last summer. Seriously, you really should have gotten a digital camera." Reaching into his coat pocket, John took out a handful of photos. "See, that one of Greg when he was exceptionally pissed off at you, and you had to take a picture. Damn, that face. Priceless."
"And this one, when I refused to get you your tea." John smiled at the memory. "Pouted like a kid, you."
"and then i kissed you, and everything was alright."
His companion was still silent.
"And everything was so perfect."
His companion did not give a single damn, and if he did, he did not show it.
"I thought we were going to stay together, at 221B, grow old, solve crimes, chase murderers through London, annoy the Scotla-"
John choked at the sentence.
His companion did not even shake at the sight of the crying man.
"Well! Better leave now, need to visit a patient, weak heart, that old guy."
John stood up,
and planted a quick kiss on the cold slab of stone.
He left, leaving the piece of black marble under the care of his red reindeer scarf.
On the stone, inscribed was the name of Sherlock Holmes.