Sherlock seemed to be coming back here, to his own gravesite, quite often. People had stopped visiting much. John still came by every couple of months, but he didn't speak aloud anymore. Lestrade had come by a couple times, Molly quite a few. He sat behind a large mausoleum so that he could see his own grave but be hidden from the view of anyone who might be there. He was surprised to see Anderson walk up. What would he be doing here? He sat forward on his haunches.
Anderson stood awkwardly by the tombstone. He knew Sherlock was dead, he knew he couldn't hear him, but he had to talk. He had to say things to him like he had never been able to while he was alive. He forced a smile. "Um…Hi." He muttered. "I know I don't come by often, Lestrade works me to the bone." He chuckled.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the mention of him bringing some nicotine patches. Why would he bring nicotine patches? It didn't make sense. But then again, neither did he. Was he actually… grieving? Anderson? Over his death?
Anderson blushed in embarrassment at himself tearing up. "I guess you…you want me to face the other way now right?" He asked, his voice wavering with the knowledge that he would get no response, ever. Sherlock would never say anything to him again. "I'm sorry." He sobbed, tears falling from his eyes. "I'm so sorry." He bit his lip, sinking down to the ground and burying his face in his hands.
Sherlock sat back and pressed his back to the wall. What was going on, why was he so upset? His heart pounded. It seemed Anderson hadn't hated him all that much. And for some reason he felt like it was his fault. He felt terrible for making him feel that way, he felt a terrible guilt settle in his stomach and he couldn't understand exactly why. He wasn't used to feeling guilt at all, least of all over Anderson, but he did. He had been nothing but rude and terrible to the man and now here he was, sobbing at his graveside. Something wasn't right. He wanted to go and comfort the man, tell him he was alive, tell him it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't. He couldn't tell anyone until the last of the web was destroyed. So he just watched as Anderson sat by his grave, crying for a while until he eventually stopped. He ate lunch there, getting out a sandwich and staying to eat it by the tombstone. Eventually he made to leave.
"I'm sorry." He whispered once more before turning around and walking from the cemetery.