I step out of the taxi a few minutes after it stops. I was frozen. I am so not ready to do this, so not ready to face it. The tomb in which the famous detective Sherlock Holmes lies. I am not ready to see it. Even though it was what I came England for. To visit the graveyard. I am looking like a ghost. A pale, worn face. A body without a soul. I walk between the graves, looking for his. I pray that it isn't there, I pray that this isn't real. I pray so hard for this even though I am not religious. But then I see it. A stone that has Sherlock Holmes written on it. And everything loses its meaning. It feels like time froze. It feels like I am going to faint. It feels like I am not even there. I grip the rose I bought for him tightly. The thorns hurt my fingers but I don't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing does. I come closer to the grave. Just staring at it blankly. I am not sure about what to do. I don't know how long I stared at the grave. I am so numb. I feel tears running down from my cheeks. Dropping on the ground. Dropping on his grave. I get out of my trance when I realise tears aren't the only thing that's dripping. There are drops of blood on the ground, on his grave. I am confused for a second and then I realise I am still gripping the rose and the thorns are still digging into my palms. I feel a sharp pain in my hand. With that I loosen my grip and put the now bloody rose on his grave. There are lots of flowers from his friends, family and even some of his clients. He is -was a well-known man after all and I know that even though he was often rude to them a lot of people admired him. Loved him. Maybe some more than the others. I am lucky that no one else is here. I sit down beside his grave. The ground is wet from all the rain but I dont mind that my clothes got dirt all over them. Although it isn't raining right now, I can feel a storm coming. I put my head on his gravestone and just sit there for a while, unsure about what to do. Then for the first time, I let myself cry. I cry and I beg and I scream and I shout. I am not exactly sure what am I saying. I am probably cursing him for leaving. For leaving his family, for leaving his friends, for leaving this world, leaving the people who need him, for leaving - me. I shout until my voice goes away. My screams echo in the empty graveyard. Returning to me after hitting the stones. I rest my head against his tombstone. I dont know how long I stayed like this. Probably until I ran out of tears to shed. Then I pull myself together. "We never had a chance to have dinner, did we Mr. Holmes?" I am trying to be sarcastic but I can't manage it. My voice cracks mid-sentence. Tears fill my eyes once again. "How could you do that? To all of these people? To me? To us?" I start to cry once more. I thought I didn't have any tears left. But apparently I was wrong. I don't even remember the last time I cried so much. "I loved you." I whisper. So quietly that even I can hardly hear myself. But I said it. It is the first time I ever admitted this out loud. I didn't even admitted it to myself until now. I guess deep down I always knew. Since the day I first saw him. But I chose to ignore that feeling. I denied it. Even after I change my password with his name. Even after he saved me from dying. I told myself it wasn't love. But it was. It always has been. I tried to convince myself. And I did it pretty good until I read his death on the newspaper. I told myself that love would make me weak. I told myself it was a disadventage, I quoted him on that. I told myself to not be sentimental. But I am still here anyways. I am still going to do what I came here for. This time my voice is louder. I am not scared to admit it anymore. "I loved you. I loved you, Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I still do. I would do anything for you not being dead. Or to be with you again. In fact, I will." I open my bag and take out a gun. I knew I couldn't carry a gun in my bag while I was travelling with a plane so I found one when I arrived England. One of the street rats gave it to me exchange for some money. I didn't have enough money so I ended up trading my favorite necklace for it. Not that it matters anyway. I hold the gun in my hands. Its weight gives me a weird comfort. I am supposed to be scared but I am not. It will give me a chance to reunite with the man I love, if the afterlife exists. I don't believe in these kind of things but if there is a slightest chance I am going to take it. If it doesn't exist, well, I don't want to live knowing he is dead anyways. I put the gun under my chin. "It's funny how love makes you do crazy things. I wasn't even ready to admit my feelings just a few days ago. Now I am willing to die for you. I will die for you. Maybe you were right. Maybe it is a disadventage. But there is nothing I can do to change my feelings at this point. I am sure you would laugh at me. You would say I am an idiot, call this a human error. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am an idiot. But if it takes to be an idiot to do this, I will gladly accept it." Tears are still running. I make an attempt to laugh but it just comes out sad. "The reason I left England was to protect myself. I was trying to survive. Now I returned here to commit suicide. Isn't that ironic?" I try to smile but I can't. I swallow hard and place my finger on the trigger. Just before I pull it, I whisper quietly; "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."