This is my first time writing sherlock fan fiction, so its not great, but hopefully I'll improve as I write more. Reviews and favourites are very very much appreciated! This will go on for a few chapters, and may have a few olderreferences later on, hence the rating.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. They all belong to the BBC
Thank you!
John thanked the taxi driver absentmindedly and handed him some money. Climbing out of the taxi, we walked down the now familiar path to his least favourite place in the world. Sherlocks grave.
Stopping short of the grave, his breath caught in his throat. His head starting pounding and for a second he thought he was going to fall. Someone was standing in front of the grave. Someone he knew.
Hurrying towards the grave, he stopped beside the woman and stared at her incredulously "What are you doing here?" He demanded, a tinge of aggression colouring his tone. The woman raised her perfectly kept eyebrows at him and smiled. The smile wasn't what John was used to seeing. It wasn't cocky or triumphant. It was sad. Very sad.
"He was a great man," said Irene Adler, a mixture of admiration and sadness in her voice.
"Can't I pay my respects to him as well?"
"Yes but how are you alive?" Exclaimed John incredulously.
Irene tilted her head to the side slightly and stared at John thoughtfully. "He really never told you?"
"Who never told me what?" Asked John impatiently.
"Sherlock."
"What about Sherlock?" Demanded John angrily, the pain still fresh in his voice.
Irene raised her eyebrows and sighed. "As much as I hate to admit it, Sherlock saved my life. "
John shook his head resolutely. "No. That's impossible. Mycroft investigated your death himself."
Irene rolled her eyes. "John you knew him better than most. Perhaps better than anyone. Do you really think he couldn't cover up something trivial like that?"
"Trivial?" Exclaimed John. "The footage Mycroft found, showed you being murdered."
"Merely some editing on Sherlocks part."
"He tricked his own brother? One of the smartest men who's ever lived?"
Irene sighed once again. "Mycroft underestimated Sherlock. I underestimated Sherlock. So did Moriarty. Everyone who met Sherlock underestimated him."
"Moriarty didn't underestimate him," said John quietly. "He killed him."
Irene tilted her head again. "That's not what the newspapers said."
"Yeah, well screw the news." Said John, quiet anger in his voice. "We both know Sherlock would never kill himself by choice. There must have been a reason. And it must have been important, or Sherlock would never have had to die. "
Irene turned to stare at the grave. The headstone was very plain, and wasn't surrounded by flowers like the other graves. However it was well kept, and Irene could guess by who.
"No one ever visits, they all think he's a fraud." Said John quietly, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.
"I need to go," said Irene calmly.
"Wait!" Said John urgently. "I want to know more about this."
Irene turned and stared at him. "I'll see you tomorrow night. At your place."
"You don't know where I live." Said John.
Irene regarded him for a moment. "You live at 221B, Baker Street."
"Not anymore." Said John slowly.
"I'll see you at 221B," said Irene, then walked away, leaving John to stand alone at the gravestone of his best friend, like he did every day.