They stood silent at the grave, staring into the deep-cut stone. It was a dreary morning, dreary even for London. The weather suited the occasion- hopeless and sad.
She held the coat in her arms, and he held the scarf. The coat, she noticed, still smelled like the dead man whose grave they were visiting. She almost smiled, thinking of the last time she smelled this smell. But this wasn't a time to smile. Both said silent prayers, each asking something of their dead friend.
Sherlock, the man next to her thought. Please. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me? He glanced at the girl, who was crying silently. And Rory. I believe in you, Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock, the girl, Rory, prayed. Why? Why'd you do it...? If only you could've seen the look on John's face. Oh gosh, Sherlock it was horrible. I'm worried for him now. Please. Just one more miracle, Sherlock, for me?
John watched Rory's lips moving silently. He ran his fingers down the scarf for a bit, until her eyes opened and she looked up at him. He arched an eyebrow and she took a shaky breath. They heard thunder rolling in and looked up to the sky. "We should probably go soon," John whispered, hating himself for wanting to leave. But he couldn't stand over his best friend's grave any longer. Rory nodded and reached out and laid the coat over the headstone. John placed the scarf on top of the coat and put an arm around Rory's shoulders. She leaned into his chest and they held each other for a moment.
Rain began to drizzle down from the gloomy London sky. "Let's go," John murmured. He made his way up the hill, and turned around halfway up. "Coming?" he called. Rory shook her head. "I'll be a moment, I don't mind the rain." John nodded, and left.
Usually he'd never think of leaving her alone, but Sherlock wasn't the only one who'd sealed his fate on that hospital roof.