For Alison – good night.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Sherlock characters. Thanks to all the actors, writers, etc that make the original series so worth writing about!
He stood there, wondering if maybe he could have done more to prevent this. How had he allowed this to happen? Why had he let his team tear Sherlock's reputation apart, let them accuse and destroy one of the cleverest men this world had ever known?
Now, standing alone in the windswept cemetery he stared at the black marble headstone, the name etched in letters of gold SHERLOCK HOLMES. Away in the distance he could hear voices, and turning his head he saw two men, gravediggers, although these days it was all done mechanically, very little real work involved.
Lestrade smiled slightly. He and Sherlock had argued once about gravediggers - Sherlock had said they were the only real people in Shakespeare's play. Greg had disagreed, saying Hamlet was as real, if a little removed from reality. They had argued back and forth for hours while John had acted as referee, laughing at them.
John would no longer speak to him. He missed the blond doctor, Sherlock's shadow, more than ever since he had been suspended from duty. He would have given anything to talk to someone who had known the consulting detective.
Looking back at the gravestone he realised his cheeks were wet with tears. Stepping closer he laid his hand on the headstone.
"Good night sweet Prince, God bless!"