Prolouge -

The grief was unbearable.

Who knew that someone could have such an affect on another human being?

True, Sherlock was a handful and was arrogant and annoyed him endlessly with his rudeness towards people at times - but he was his best friend...

Turning some, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Mrs. Hudson was a good ways off and couldn't hear him. He didn't want her to hear the important things that he had yet to bring himself say to this piece of stone in the middle of the graveyard.

When he was sure she wouldn't come prancing back over or something, he turned back to the grave before him and took a breath.

"Um-"

He had to stop.

'Breath, John. Just breath.' He told himself.

"Hmmm..."

He swallowed hard and forced himself to gain his composure and speak.

"You...You told me once that you weren't a hero." His voice cracked here and there. It was obviously difficult for him to get out. He had been holding back on this. He hadn't wanted to visit Sherlock's grave since the day of the funeral.

He just couldn't bring himself to do it - just like he couldn't bring himself to go back to the flat.

But he needed to do this.

What was in his heart needed to be said.

He continued. "Um...There were times I didn't even think you were a human but let me tell you this: you were the best man and the most human human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So… there."

He thought he was done.

He felt like he had said what needed to be said.

His heart was aching badly though, but he tried to ignore it, tried to brush it off like he was just feeling the sorrow of the moment, and so he stepped forward and gave Sherlock's tombstone a little awkward pat.

But then he stopped, his fingertips resting there on the black stone.

The words just slipped through his lips, unable to stop them. "I was so alone. And I owe you so much."

His eyes began to fill with tears.

They threatened to flow from his eyes like waterfalls, but he wouldn't allow that to happen. No. He needed to be strong. He held it all back - Sherlock wouldn't want him to be sad. He wouldn't want him to be like this.

Turning, he began to walk away, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

There was more he needed to say.

Something that he had been keeping to hismelf since the day he had seen Sherlock fall from that building.

He pivoted around, "Please there's just one more thing. One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be… dead. Would you… just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

That was when the tears finally came.

He put his hand over his face, feeling a bit shamed that he was crying over this. In his heart of hearts he felt that Sherlock was not gone. He couldn't be gone. Sherlock was too smart to let it all end just like this. He wished though that his friend would stop this act and just come back.

He never said it before, but, he needed him.

"I don't have any friends, John...I've just got one."

Sherlock's words rang through his head.

He felt the same way...

Pushing aside all thoughts, Watson gathered himself together. With one final look at the tombstone, he turned and marched out of the graveyard.

He was sure he wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.