John fiddled with his fingers as the late summer breeze pushed across his face. The chill in it left the tip of his nose tinged pink. It played lightly with a few stray strands of his hay coloured hair. He leaned back against the cold stone and let out a long breath. It hitched slightly near the end and he quickly drew his breath back in the calm himself. His left hand shook ever so slightly. Adjusting the collar of his coat he cleared his throat.
"It's been over a year and my therapist said it would be good for me to visit your grave. Said I should tell you anything that still might be on my mind that I hadn't said before," he scratched the back of his neck, remembering his first and last visit to Sherlock's grave. A prickling sensation formed in the back of his eyes.
"I went back to the flat the other day. Mrs. Hudson left everything as it was. I never thought I'd set foot in there again. I had to go back though. It felt more like a home than any other place," John blinked and streaks of water glinted off of his cheeks.
"I-I went into your room today. The sheets were…" his voice hitched as more tears spilled down his cheeks, "were still a mess from when you last sl-slept there. I-I made the bed for you. I know you don't like me m-messing with your things, but I felt… I felt you wouldn't have wanted it to remain that way," A somber chuckle rumbled deep in his throat.
"Of all the things you left a mess, you... you couldn't stand your bed being unmade."
John brought his hand up to his mouth, muffling a few sobs he couldn't stop from escaping him. A short hiccup broke his breathing pattern as his tears grew in number and speed. His free hand wandered behind him and touched the stone, wishing it to be anything but what it was.
"I almost regret saving my words for after your funeral. But I could never have said… said those things… in front of so many people. You-You touched so many peoples' lives… Sh-Sherlock. Y-you should have seen the crowd." John rubbed his face with his arm trying to clear his face of the relentless stream.
"If I had spoken at your… funeral… I don't know what I would have said. I-I still don't know what to say to you. I'm just… just rambling."
John let his head fall back on top of the headstone. He let the tears just fall as he watched the leaves blow about. With autumn approaching a few of the leaves had already started to change in colour. Deep orange and red mixed with yellow and green. Everything was continuously moving on. No matter how many times in the past year he had wished them all to just stop… They just continued. John lifted his head and fixed his breathing.
"There is a song from my childhood that my Da' used to sing me. I heard it the other day… I… I think it is sufficient enough… No, I-I… It made me think of you. You probably know it…"
John took a deep breath and looked up past the leaves and to the bright blue sky. His vision was blurred slightly from the gather of tears and the edges. A few soft and wispy clouds floated about. He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again, taking in this moment before his lips parted.
"Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling"
John started softly and slowly, his voice deep and slightly gruff, yet sweet.
"From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
It's you, It's you m-must go and… and I must bide."
He took a shallow labored breath as tears over took him again. Despite the crack in his voice he continued on.
"B-but come ye back when summer's in the me-adow
Or when… when the valley's hushed and white with s-snow
A-and I'll be here in sun… sunshine or in shadow."
John swallowed, a few sobs escaping him. He put a hand over his eyes and gripped the grass next to him.
"Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so…"
Despite the grief that washed over him, there was warmth that kept his voice even for the final line. He let out a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Pulling his hand away he looked again at the sky. His vision less blurred by tears. He stretched his hand out as if to touch something imaginary.
"Sherlock…" It escaped his lips as a soft endearing whisper. He swallowed and blinked away the last few tears.
John stood and softly touched the head of the tombstone. With the tune he sang vibrating through his chest as a hum, he turned on his heel. Walking away from the tombstone he wiped his eyes again as the wind blew against him. The soft chatter of the leaves against it carried the final words of his song, tracing it through each branch and around the graveyard. The words stretched across the sky and were taken away like the wispy clouds.
'I love you so.'