The sea spread out to the horizon- a vast expanse, deep and inky and beautiful.
Lights from the city far over by the harbour were reflected in the choppy sea, distorted, spliced and shaken up, and yet somehow exactly how they should be. The moon hung low in the sky, a silvery orb of unattainable glory, sat in a velvet blanket of deep rich blue, peppered with sharp white glares of splendour that constituted stars.
When John Watson approached the scene, he could not help but be momenterialy stunned by it's ... by it's staggering.. well, for want of a better term, rightness.
There was an air of such calming finality about the sea. It had been there for many hundreds of thousands of years before John and Sherlock came along, throwing about all their problems, and it would continue to be there long after their bones were nothing but sand, their sorrows dissapated out in the wind, and gone with the passing tide.
"Don't worry," the sea seemed to say. "It doesn't matter. People have always had issues, and I carry them all. Someday, I will carry yours too."
It was comforting. Tears once again crept down John's face, as he realised that life really never would be the same again.
Without Harry, it all seemed so empty... such a loss he had never suffered before, and he simply couldn't cope any more.
He needed to end this pain.
Now.
So caught up in his reflections was John, that it took him several minutes to realise that Sherlock was already waist deep in the water.
He knew that he should have been running, but he wasn't.
His steps were soft and gentle, leaving light marks in the sand where he trod, and though he knew he should stay out of the water, he didn't.
The water was freezing, he knew. Well, it should have been, but John felt no change, merely a comforting touch of fluid against fabric.
He called out to Sherlock, and Sherlock waited.
John waded out, out up to his chest, and when he reached Sherlock, Sherlock held him like an infant, and pulled him to deeper water.
"Do you really want to do this, John?" Said the tall, dark man.
John smiled. Of course Sherlock knew what he was thinking. He always knew.
"I know you want it too, Sherlock."
They both knew that John was right. Neither man could survive without their sibling.
"Mycrof-" John began, but Sherlock silenced him with a single scentence.
"He's not there anymore. He's here."
"They're here." The two men said together.
The truth in their words was absolute.
And together, they plunged, deeper and deeper into icy depths, the water rushing over their heads, into their hearts, filling their souls.