A/N:Prompt from W. Y. Traveller: Lestrade bumps into Watson some months after Holmes's death.

A continuation of chapter 25: snowflake

A drabble


Encounter


Sunset.

Watson had not stirred.

...distinctly cold...

He stretched

Cramped shoulder muscles,

Winced,

...and getting old...

~0~

Quite loathe to leave

His favourite bench,

...Holmes' favourite, too...

He stood,

Frost crackled,

Stamped his feet;

Now chilled right through

~0~

He trudged,

Head down,

Hunched up

And crossed the shadowed park;

Oblivious to

Footsteps nearing

Through the wintry dark.

~0~

A hail!

He halted,

Knew that voice,

And turned

Towards the sound.

Lestrade,

With spare wool cape,

Quite clearly

Watson bound.

~0~

The warmth,

Of cape

Wrapped round his shoulders,

Brought immense relief;

But not as much

As someone standing there,

Who understood

His grief ...

~0~