In spite of the bitter winds and chilly January air, it was actually a sunny day at a small cemetery just outside of London. The cemetery was empty, and only one of the other graves was draped with flowers; it was pointless to put out a bouquet of flowers when it was too cold to sustain them. Sherlock and Riley quietly walked through the creaking gates of the cemetery, towards the only fresh grave in sight. She clutched his hand and he shot her a sideways look, unsure of how well she was holding up.
No one stood over the grave; it was freshly covered with dirt to signify that the coffin had just been lowered. They must have missed the burial, which Sherlock was thankful for- it was stupid enough, in his opinion, to mourn this monster in the first place. But Riley had insisted, and Sherlock did not want to deny her request for a bit of comfort on a day like this.
She stood over the foot of the grave for a few minutes in silence. Occasionally, she up looked at the headstone, but then her eyes drifted back towards the grave. Sherlock did his best to avoid looking at her, but he found it difficult to do so and occasionally peeked down at her to make sure she was alright.
"I'm fine," she said. She shifted uncomfortably on her heels. Sherlock took off his overcoat and draped it across her slender shoulders, as she was shivering.
A minute or so later she began to cry, and she curled into Sherlock. He had never comforted anyone before, let alone a woman standing over a grave, and he was unsure of how to proceed. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she cried into his chest.
"I hate this," she whispered. Sherlock resisted the urge to say "I told you so," and he also assumed that she was talking more so about the situation in general than she was about whose grave she was standing over.
"It's over now," Sherlock assured her. He felt stupid saying it. It wasn't "over." It would never be "over" for Riley. It had taken her years to come to terms with what had happened to her, and now she had to deal with the aftermath of this trauma as well. Sherlock felt his fist clench as he thought about it all.
Although this would never be "over" for her, Sherlock was determined to keep anything like this from happening again. If he couldn't satisfy her with a "normal" relationship, as he was sure he could not, he at the very least would do anything to keep her from another event like this, at any and all costs.
"I know," was all she said.
Sherlock tugged at her hand to move away from the grave, but she wouldn't budge. "Just give me a minute," she said quietly, "and then we can leave."
Sherlock let go of her hand and stepped behind her to give her privacy. He looked at the nearby graves- only one of which was covered in fresh flowers. They were lilac flowers- like the ones Riley wore pinned to her dresses, or kept as bouquets on her tables. Sherlock, finding this odd, approached the grave with the bouquet and bent down to read the card pinned to it. His name was scribbled on the front of the envelope in messy, bold font.
He checked behind his shoulder and Riley was still at the grave. She was mumbling something that Sherlock could not hear and he assumed she'd be another minute. Sherlock opened the card quickly; inside it said, "The place she almost died. Thursday. 7pm. Alone, or she hurts again." He tucked the card into his pocket and left the flowers at the grave.
Riley finished mumbling after another minute or so and turned around to face Sherlock, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath and then said firmly, "let's go." She gently took Sherlock's hand and started walking towards the cemetery gates.
Sherlock's panic was difficult to contain. This was not going to happen to her again. He would prevent it at any and all costs. Riley had stopped crying and remained quiet on their ride home. Sherlock tried not to stare at her; but he found this difficult once again, and she piped up with another "I'm fine." Sherlock was not convinced. And in fact, he was not fine, either.