John looked at the silver pieces moving from side to side, without actually paying much attention. Counting time was something he had stopped doing a long time ago. Memories drowned him whether he wished them to or not, so he just stood there, looking without even seeing and letting time go by, hurting him with its passage. The stairs creaked but he did not pay attention. Mrs. Hudson would regularly enter and exit the house without a word. She had learnt that he rather be left alone most of the time. Sadness is something you can get used to, and he did not wish to talk about it.
As he contemplated the object in front of him it stopped abruptly. A hand grabbed the ticking iron spheres, ceasing the rhythmic sound. John looked up. Staring down at him was his best friend. Sherlock Holmes had returned from the death to stop Newton's cradle and, as John got up to try and understand what he was seeing, he felt the weight of gravity upon him. Sherlock only had time to reach out and grab him before he hit the floor. He sighed. So much for the dramatic entrance.