Prologue
"Thou shalt show me the path of life; in thy presence is the fulness of joy, and at thy right hand there is pleasure for evermore"
Try as he might, this was it. The wall was crumbling and his shell was cracking.
He tried to be brave, he tried to be strong, but the levee was breaking and there was nothing that could be done. John Watson's whole body heaved as he dared glance down to where his beloved would eternally lie. A deep mahogany casket shone in the sunlight as it was slowly lowered into the ground.
"Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our sister departed, and we commit her body to the ground"
How had he lost her? He fought so hard, he begged her to stay.
Waves of pain washed over his chest as her screams of agony echoed around his mind.
How could such a beautiful moment become the worst day of his life? How could he not have seen this coming? Why on Earth couldn't he help?
"Earth to Earth..."
He was shaking now, his knees threatening to give way.
A firm arm snaked around his shoulders, offering the support his own body couldn't provide.
This wasn't fair, how could he be so cursed? How can the universe put him through so much pain when all he ever did was help people?
He risked his life to save the lives of men and women he'd never see again – so why did the universe insist on taking away the men and women he knew and loved? It just wasn't fair.
"Ashes to ashes..."
John's head swirled, and he felt the arm grow tighter around him. Reality was lost on him.
This wasn't actually happening, was it? Was he really standing at a graveside? Had he really lost his wife?
Had his best friend really returned from the dead and convinced him suicide wasn't the solution? Was he really wishing Sherlock would just go away and that Mary would just come back?
What if he had in fact, just gone insane? Was the man standing next to him a figment? Did he even have a wife? No, not any more. She was lost. All was lost. Or was it? He looked up and laid his eyes upon the woman who was once his dear old landlady, more importantly though, he looked at what she bounced gently in her arms. A child, his child. He had to brave, he had to be strong. All was not lost, not entirely.
"Dust to dust..."
