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"I was so alone, and I owe you so much."
Standing in the shade of the tree Sherlock watched, hearing every word.
"It's nothing to what I owe you, John." He whispered softly to himself, and saw the other man's head lift suddenly.
As a precaution Sherlock stepped further back into the shadow.
From across the graveyard, two people approached. Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade walked up to stand beside his grave. Mycroft indicated the bare grass to the left of the headstone.
"I thought here would be best," he said, and his companion nodded in agreement.
"Nowhere better." John said softly.
Greg didn't react, but Mycroft looked at John, puzzled.
"What about family?" Greg asked, "Don't they want to do something for him?"
"Oh please." John sighed. "Like that's ever going to happen Greg."
Again Greg didn't respond, again Mycroft startled at his comment.
Then, with a brief nod to Sherlock's headstone, the two men moved away. When they were out of earshot, the blond head turned in the direction of the other's hiding place.
"You can come out now Sherlock."
"How did you know?" he asked, stepping forward.
"How could I not?" John met him half way, grasping Sherlock's hand and pressing it to his chest.
The silver grey eyes widened.
"All it took," smiled John, "was one bullet."