Rila: It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Darth Real Life has gotten to me big time as of late, but it's slowing down so I should be able to update more regularly for a while. So, um, this isn't Star Wars, but I should have something up for that soon too. I posted this on my tumblr a while back (re: like...a week ago. if that.) and it got a couple of notes (seriously, didn't think people would reblog it) so, yeah. It's a bit rough around the edges, but just something before Series 3 in January.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Lives.
Word Count: 370
Head bent and collar turned up against the bitter wind, John Watson stared down at the grave before him. Hesitating just a moment, he reached out and began brushing dried leaves and grass off of it. Hand falling back to his side, he sighed softly. He wanted to think 'how long has it been?' but he knew better than that — he hadn't forgotten, and he probably never would. But things had changed in Sherlock's absence — how silly that sounded even to Watson, because "absence" implied that there could be a return — and he shifted, remembering his purpose here.
"Sherlock," he began, stopping to look around before, quite certain he was indeed alone, he began again. "Sherlock, if you can hear me…" He sighed again. It'd all sounded so much easier on his way over, and he couldn't shake the feeling that if Sherlock could indeed hear him, he was calling him an idiot. Or worse. Shaking his head, Watson cleared his throat and continued, "It's been a while since I've been here." He rocked on his heels, searching for the right words, "I just thought I'd tell you that, um…" He swallowed. "I've moved on."
How cold the words sounded, made even colder by the quickly approaching winter — but they were words that had to be said, if not for Sherlock, for himself. He'd visited for days after — and then days had bled into weeks, and weeks into months.
He wondered if at some point, he'd stop visiting completely.