Christmas Eve. Over a year after the Fall. Mrs. Hudson had invited John to a holiday party of course, but he declined.
What was the point without Sherlock's violin to serenade them?
What was the point if the guests were just going to talk about Sherlock?
What was the point if Sherlock wasn't there in the first place?
Instead, John took his iPod and portable speaker to Sherlock's grave, along with a Christmas wreath. He cleared away some snow and set the wreath down next to the stone before standing up to speak.
"Hey Sherlock. Happy Christmas. I uh... I couldn't stand being in the same room with so many people at this year's party. Nothing against them, I'm sure they're nice people, but... Either they're close to you, or they're curious about you, or they think you're a fake and you're NOT Sherlock, I keep telling them that but they don't listen- no, I'm sorry, it's Christmas, it should be a joyous holiday, spent with friends..." John let the tears break free, falling to his knees. "But how can I do that without you?" he mumbled between sobs.
With a shaking hand, John plugged the iPod into the speakers and started playing a Christmas carol.
"Silent night"
It's so quiet without you Sherlock. Every day I still expect to see you sulking on the couch because of no case or puttering around with some new experiment in the kitchen. Every day I expect to get a call from Lestrade saying he needs our help. And every day I'm wrong.
"Holy night"
I went to the store recently to get you a cake for your birthday. It wasn't until I was about to check out that I remembered the Fall. And that you wouldn't be coming back. I even got you a present. Remember that? I got you a few packages of cigarettes. And a few more packages of nicotine patches. I guess you've kicked the habit now though, now that you're up in heaven.
"All is calm"
It's too calm though. My limp is back, did you know that? And now it's worse than ever. I can barely walk two steps without that blasted cane unless I want to crawl for the rest of the way. I can't do ANYTHING anymore. And it's killing me. God I wish you were here. Maybe you could take my limp away again, like you did the first time.
"All is bright"
Is it nice, being up in heaven? Or is it boring? Too bad that horrible Moriarty went down to hell, I'm sure he'd have a wonderful time keeping you company. And you're right up there with the stars too. Maybe now the solar system matters more to you. I shouldn't be joking about this. Should I? I shouldn't, I feel guilty.
"Round yon Virgin Mother and Child"
You know, sometimes I really felt like I was your mum. Probably because you acted like such a 5-year-old prat half the time. The feud with Mycroft, the sheet, deleting the solar system... and I loved every second of it. Not only that, but at times I felt like I was the only one who could keep you in line. Lestrade offered to give me a bloody medal after I got you to cough up those stolen IDs. As I said in Buckingham Palace: we solve crimes, I blog about it, and you forget your pants. I really shouldn't be doing this. I guess making stupid jokes is a way of coping.
"Holy Infant so tender and mild"
But the other half of the time... Mycroft asked me once what we might deduce about your heart. And I've given it a lot of thought. You have the brain of a philosopher or scientist and yet you're a consulting detective? Maybe you're bored, yes. But that's not the only reason why you do this. You could make great leaps in science and philosophy and never get bored for a second. You took this job because you like to help people. And it's not a crime to feel that way. It's not a crime to feel period. The fact that you do so much for the people of London is amazing and wonderful and fantastic that I can't help but love you. Even when nobody else does.
"Sleep in heavenly peace"
Rest in peace Sherlock. You're still the greatest man I ever knew. I promise you, I will get Scotland Yard and clear your name. Happy Christmas. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
"Sleep in heavenly peace."
John blinked and looked around. The person on the recording was a woman, but the last line was clearly sung by a male. There. Right behind the grave marker was a tall figure with dark curly hair, a long black coat, and a blue scarf.
"Sherlock..."