The plane lands. I quickly get out of the airport. I don't have to wait for luggage because I didn't take anything with me. It was a quick decision. Stupid and sentimental one. I shouldn't have come here. Am I letting my feelings get the best of me? I take a cab. As the cabbie asks me to where I want to go words spill from my mouth. "221B Baker Street."
The thoughts continue to occupy my brain while I'm sitting in the cab. I look through the window. It's raining. That's a typical weather in England but I still feel like the sky is also crying for him. Like the weather somehow resembles my mood, my feelings. As I watch the rain pouring down the Sky and washing the windows of the cab one question lingers in my brain: "Why do I care?"
The cab arrives at Baker Street. I get out of the car. I'm nervous, I'm angry because I still feel a little bit of hope. I can't be that naive. I know he is dead. But still I can't kill that little bit of hope inside of me. I ring the bell. A few minutes later an old lady opens the door. She is the landlady, I remember her. She looks at me as if she tries to recognize me. I am worried that she will realize who I am. Than I remember; we have never met. I don't know her too I only know that she is Sherlock's land lady. She is probably thinking I am weird for wearing sunglasses while it's raining. But I realize she doesn't even looking my face. She doesn't care who I am. She just looks sad.
"I want to see Mr. Holmes, I am one of his clients." I say for the sake of not giving away my real identity.
She suddenly looks a lot more sadder. Her eyes filled with tears. "Didn't you read the newspaper?" She says. Almost accusing. "He died."
With these words the little hope inside me brokes into million pieces. I am so stupid. Such an idiot. How could I think that he is still alive. That he is sitting in his flat, healthy, solving cases. I am once again so angry with myself for my stupid hopes. My eyes start to fill with tears again. I am glad that I have sunglasses on. Mrs. Hudson looks at me with almost sympathy.
"Are you sure you're only his client?" She asks.
I nod. I am scared that if I speak my voice will tremble, or the words won't come out of my mouth at all. I wait for a few seconds.
"Do you know where they buried him?" I ask. Trying to keep my voice as straight as possible.
She looks suspicious as she answers me. I thank her as she closes the door. I found another cab and tell him where I want to go.
I'm going to visit his grave. Another bad and terribly stupid decision.