I am but a shell of a man. Like the shell of a bomb, my life has exploded and I am left empty. The words have dried up in my mouth. A simple grave, black with white words, like a piano. But it wasn't a piano for him, just a violin. Simple, sad, beautiful. He was a great man. An angel, my angel. He filled my life with the adventure and excitement I'd missed from my time fighting. Now he's gone there's no more fighting to be done, I let the tears fall. The tears fall as he did, and I prey for my final miracle. Sherlock Holmes, please, don't be dead.