It was dark out and only two were left. The black sky overlooked them with a bright full moon, lighting the cemetery as if it were day. The funeral was not over, and the body was not buried. It was cleaned and it was pretty, pretty as he always was.
Everything was silent but for the muffled sobs emitting from Mrs. Hudson as she cried into her small lace handkerchief. John looked to the glossy black casket and admired the red silk lining in utter and complete silence, having no words to say.
Silent night,
Holy night.
All Is calm,
all is bright.
John sat upon the soft ground, the wind pulling at his short, graying hair. A tear trailed his cheek, dripping down from his chin onto his coat. He pulled his knees in close to his chest, ducking his head, furrowing into his own sorrow. He shook, trying to escape the sounds of Mrs. Hudson's sobs.
She wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He was more than just a man, a renter, or a friend. He was the air she breathed as she put the kettle to the stove, he was the mist in the morning air, flocking to her window sill. He was the air of energy flowing through the building, the glow about the place. He was every nook and cranny to the place she called home.
He was the light in the dark, and more than just the savior to her husband, although that didn't last too long. He was the right in everything wrong and a part of him was hers, she just knew.
With the poor man gone, lying cold and glorious in his casket, she sobbed. She could not wonder anymore as she stared and cried, whether or not he was dead, so she touched his hand. It was cold, the bones firm in their place. She held her breathe and hugged him close the stench of death escaping her as she remembered the smells of chemicals and crime upon his signature coat, embracing the shell he once was.
Round Yon Virgin,
Mother and child.
John saw Mrs. Hudson, hugging the corpse, feeling she had lost her wits, but he could not stand to save her from her misery. He let her stand there, soon letting him go for the last time. Without a second glance or a word to John, Mrs. Hudson walked away, dignity yet pain in every step.
John stood upright, seeing Mrs. Hudson's strength and feeding from it, gaining his own. He looked into the trees and saw a shadow. There was a rustle in the leaves and it was gone, foreshadowing all of the memories that would come to life over the next few years within his mind.
He walked over to the casket, cane supporting him just barely. He slid his fingers between that of Sherlock's and wept upon the face of the dead man and the true soldier in his own right, fighting for the angels' side.
Holy infant so tender and mild.
He held tight to the cold hand, feeling the death fresh upon the porcelain skin and the bones beneath it. There was no blood flowing, no cells working, no heart beating anymore. Everything was shut down and for once, the busy detective would get a well-earned rest from all of his running about London, sleeping eternally in the lap of the finest luxury, decaying into the months and years gone by all the same.
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.