Jim really couldn't believe it. It had been three years he had waited and still no sign of Sherlock. He had won, and he wasn't happy about it. He went back to London, after being away for so long and stopped by the florist to pick up some flowers. It was a Sunday evening. He went into the cemetery and up to Sherlock's grave, placing the flowers there in front of it next to some that must have been there for over a year. People had stopped visiting. He stood there for a moment in silence. It wasn't fair. He needed an enemy, someone as smart as he was, a challenge. Someone who was worth it. He needed Sherlock.
"You know, it isn't fair." He said, though he knew Sherlock couldn't hear. "I faked it, my death. you were supposed to do the same thing. I waited and waited and still you haven't come back and I know now that you didn't. It was a game, you imbecile. It was a stupid game and you didn't follow the rules!" He shouted in grief. "I never meant for you to actually die. You were supposed to be clever, you were supposed to figure something out but you didn't!" He was yelling loudly, probably disturbing others but he didn't care. Tears were streaming down his face. It wasn't supposed to end this way. This wasn't it. There had to be more. He sunk to the ground in front of the grave and hugged his knees to his chest, putting his hands on top of his head. After a few minutes, he had collected himself well enough to stand back up. "You win." He muttered, as he turned on his heel and stalked off the grounds, leaving his heart behind.