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~
