((AN: Hello C: First order of business, I hope you enjoy this story C: Second, I warn you now that my Beta reader cursed my existence... so have tissues ready. I sincerely hope you all cry, with the best of intentions ^.^and lastly, if you have any criticism ((constructive)) I will gladly take it. Don't be shy C:))
Sherlock opened the door of his apartment flat and found a strange, tall, lean and muscular male standing like a stone statue; the only source of life being his breath. One quick look of his uniform, the dried mud on the back of his shoes and the wet one that fell on the floor in front of the door told the male he was from the army and had traveled a long way to come here. Next the brunette looked at the ranks on the male's uniform; a general. The other thing he noticed a split second later was the way he had his shoulders slummed, even in the way that his stance seemed to be perfectly straight. John used to do that all the time when he worried about him but tried not to show it. John. The general brought bad news about John. He held his belonging in his hands.
"Don't tell me he got shot again..." The detective laughed "when is he coming back home?"
"What?" The male asked surprised as his eyes widened slightly
"Look, you have dried dirt on your boots which means you must've walked a long distance to get here. That and your pockets are diligently wrinkled which must mean you might've tried to get a cab but had no money. You also have mud sliding down them which means you stepped on that wet puddle outside before coming here. You're wearing an army uniform and have the embellishments of a general. You're also holding the belongings of my dear friend John and your shoulders are slightly slummed which means you bring bad news, so what is it?" The brunette asked
"Ah, well... Blimey sir, you are as impressive as John said!" The male brightened for a second before the sparkle in his eyes left. "Sir, John Watson is dead..."
"What... What do you mean dead?" The male asked bewildered with as much of a monotone voice as he could manage. "he can't be dead. My John-" he let his emotions slip but quickly caught guard of himself "I mean..." He cleared his throat. " John can't be dead..." The legs of Sherlock Holmes began to tremble although he showed no sign of struggle or pain as the general officer stood in front of him with a letter in his hands and the few of the things that the blonde once used to own.
"I am sorry to inform you." The other male bowed his head slightly and removed his hat exposing a clean, bald head "Major Watson was a great man and server of his country."
"Major? He told me he was Captain." Sherlock asked before raising a brow.
"Major Watson was promoted sir." The dark skinned male explained before extending his arms and placing the uniform that once belonged to the Major with its many decorative badges and pins that represented his rank; as well as the letter onto the extended hands that Sherlock had subconsciously placed.
"He always spoke about you sir. Every day and night about the wonderful adventures the both of you had." The young male attempted to sound as sincere as possible "The wonderful Sherlock Holmes. The man who could solve and deduct the simplest of details." He gave a shrugged smile "and he wasn't overdoing it."
"Yes, thank you..." Sherlock gave a slight nod "what is your name?" He asked
"General Willis, sir."
"Thank you general Willis." Sherlock was just about to close the door before the male saluted him.
"John had a dying wish sir. I was the last person he spoke to and he told me to go and find the small apartment flat 221B in Baker Street. I did it as a friend as well, but he said to tell you... He said to tell you what he never had the nerve to do in person."
"Yes? What is that?" Sherlock stopped for a fraction of a second, his own mind not having expected a secret from John Watson.
"He said to read the letter, and to keep living without him."