It is raining. Night has long since fallen on the paved streets of London, and few would be out in this weather even had it not. A few subdued lights glitter through half-shuttered windows.
At the curb, a sleek black car pulls up, its sheen continually marred by splashes of airborn water molecules called back to earth. A tall, serious man dressed in a suit steps out, carrying the umbrella over his head instead of swinging from his hand as usual. He pauses in the doorway of the apartment, looking at the address plate – 221B – and, taking a breath, enters.
Rain is a soothing sound. By its quiet pattering and the feeble light of her phone, a black clad brunette taps away on her keypad, keeping her focus where her employer sometimes cannot – on their duty. The windows are awash with Heaven's tears, fading the world about into picturesque tones of black watercolor.
She sees movement out of the corner of her eye and moves to open the door of the car, stopping abruptly when she sees the man lying prone in her employer's arms. The latter looks almost worried.
Only his brother has ever drawn that emotion from him.
The world is black – now physically as well as mentally, as since his friend's death he has been unable to think of anything else. He cannot bring himself to care. No one needs him anymore, he is just another stranger...
Through the haze of distant war and rooftop descents he hears familiar tones – not those of the one he mourns, misses, but still familiar in a distant way. The voice is frightened, making him wonder if it is just another hallucination, come to torment him.
Arms tighten around him as he finally gives in to the blackness, safe at last.