The Reason
A.N. This is my first attempt at fanfiction in quite a while. Constructive criticism is appreciated. I apologise for any mistakes, they are entirely my own.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters mentioned in this fic, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss etc.
The gentle cadence of two beloved voices floated through the graveyard to twine around Sherlock. He closed his eyes in order to savour the sound, one that he distantly knew he would not hear again for some time. He opened them just in time to see Mrs Hudson leave John alone at the grave – his grave – and he carefully watched her retreating back, until she was out of sight, whereupon he slowly returned his penetrating gaze back to his blogger.
Black curls were ruffled by the light breeze that swept through the graveyard, rustling the leaves on the tree, under which Sherlock lurked. His ocean eyes were glued to the solo figure stood by the polished black gravestone bearing his name in gold lettering. A lone tear trailed unnoticed down the side of his face at the sharp realisation that this may be the last time he ever sees John Watson, at least the last time for several years. He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach at the realisation – everything that he had come to rely upon and had taken for granted had been swiftly and sharply yanked away from him, all because of Moriarty's twisted little game. Anger burned through him at the unfairness of it all; he had only just found a friend, and was forced to give him up. Sherlock almost stomped his foot at the injustice of it, but caught himself just in time, suddenly recalling that John was there. The anger evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, replaced thoroughly by a bone deep sadness at the thought of losing John's companionship. John's final desperate request for one last miracle reached Sherlock's ears,
"I am sorry, my dear John, you were never supposed to be there, you were not supposed to be hurt like this." A quiet whisper, lost to the breeze.
Strangely sad eyes watched the ex-soldier's respectful retreat from the grave as he shrank back into the shadow to avoid detection. Sherlock quietly murmured his final words to his best friend, blogger and doctor, one John Watson,
"Thank you John, for inspiring me to become someone better than I was."
As John walked away from Sherlock's grave he was sure that he heard Sherlock's voice. He dismissed it as his imagination, Sherlock would never allow sentiment, but he couldn't stop himself from casting a quick glance around the graveyard, just in case his miracle had been answered.
