A/N: Written for the LiveJournal watsons_woes community for challenge 27, short fiction.


That thoughts of Holmes would weigh heavily on my mind on the anniversary of his loss was not a surprise-indeed, I rather expected it. Reliving the memories of those last days was difficult, yet I recognized it as a normal part of grieving, which made it easier to bear.

What caught me unawares was the heaviness of my heart on his birthday. We had never placed any special emphasis on the observance of birthdays, but that date served as a particularly potent reminder of the passage of time and Holmes' absence from it.

The second year I knew what to expect and managed well enough, but the third year . . . after enduring the first Christmas season without my Mary, the arrival of what should have been Holmes' fortieth birthday was excruciating. They both died much too young, and my solitude in life seemed inescapable. I sank deeply into a melancholy that still had its grip on me when Holmes' miraculous reappearance shocked me into insensibility in my consulting room.

During the affair of the empty house, I could not stop staring at Holmes, hardly believing he had truly returned. When I sat across from him in our old sitting room after the business had concluded, I resolved that so long as I remained in his company, we would always celebrate our birthdays.