To: Sherlock Holmes
Subject: Gravestone
Your gravestone is boring. Mycroft picked the tombstone. It's black. Just your name on it. Boring.
You'd hate it.
He finally visited the graveyard again after two months. Standing next to Sherlock's grave, by himself, he can't help but let a dry sob push past his lips.
"You idiot," he muttered, although he didn't mean it.
There was a long period of silence.
"I hate you."
Again, he really didn't mean it. How could he?
"I knew that you were lying when you said that you were a fraud. I just knew. And then when they found Moriarty's body, I knew that you were forced to do it. You didn't want to do this. Which I suppose is some comfort. You didn't willingly subject me to this mess. You didn't mean to hurt me, you were probably doing some noble act in trying to save me."
There wasn't a response. He wasn't really expecting one.
"One more miracle, Sherlock," he whispered, echoing his words from all those months ago. "One last miracle, for me. Please. Please don't be dead. Don't leave me alone."
But it had been months. Sherlock was dead, and he wasn't coming back again.
John still wasn't coping.
To: John Watson
Subject: Error
Delivery to the following recipient has failed permanently: Sherlock Holmes.