CHAPTER 2

On this particular morning, John was frantically getting ready for his big day. Miss Morstan was soon to become Mrs Watson, something John had been looking forward to for over 7 months now. They had met only a few months after the death of Sherlock. It was one day in February, there had been a strong wind blowing and it was pouring down with rain. John had been slowly walking back to Sherlock's grave, which he visited nearly every week, with a large bouquet of pink flowers. John's hands were growing colder and colder and his eyes were forming a thin mist of tears obscuring his vision as he saw the dark silhouette of the grave ahead of him. What little sunlight there was seemed to have drained away around the grave. It was one of the newest in the grave yard, still quite shiny with golden lettering. It was quite a simple grave but John thought simple would have been the way Sherlock wanted it. The funeral had been quite simple too. Only a few guests. Mycroft was there of course though he didn't seem too moved by the situation. He must have a heart of ice, John had thought while he walked to the front of the church to say his reading, not to cry at your own brother's funeral. John had started his speech but he couldn't see what he had written, his eyes had been flooded in tears and his throat had dried up. Once he had swallowed he had begun.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good." (Funeral Blues W. )

When he had finished he had looked up to see everyone in tears. "That was beautiful." Mrs Hudson had said.

John looked down at the ground and kept walking towards the place where Sherlock lay. He was walking so fast he didn't see the beautiful blonde haired lady in front of him. He crashed into her and they both dropped the flowers they were carrying. Both bouquets were soaked and covered in mud. They were completely ruined. John immediately bent down and picked up all the flowers. The woman was doing the same. He looked up and they held eye contact. She was beautiful, her blue eyes were sparkling and she was smiling a perfect smile. John smiled back and for the first time since the fall felt happy.

"Hi, I'm John." he said.

"Mary, Mary Morstan." she replied. Her voice sounded like that of an angle.

"What is a beautiful young lady like you doing at a graveyard on a day like this?"

There was a moment of silence as Mary's face fell. "I'm here to visit my father. He died when I was still at school. I come here every week to tend to the grave, put down new flowers and stuff. It's for my mother. She can't come here. It causes her too much pain. They were so in love and so close. It broke her heart. She's not been the same since then. It's been such a long time. They thought he committed suicide at the time but I don't think he did. He was so happy, never stopped smiling. I think he was murdered."

"That's the same with Sherlock. The papers say he committed suicide but I think he was murdered too."

"Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes?! I thought I recognised you from somewhere. You are, sorry were, his boyfriend."

"If anyone still cares, we weren't actually gay."

"Of course not." Mary's laugh filled the graveyard. John joined in, it was infectious.

"You know, that's the first time I think I've properly laughed since Sherlock's death." John smiled, but it was a genuine one, one he truly meant because he was actually happy, not just a fake one for the papers. "Know, let me buy you some new flowers." John put his arm around Mary's and walked towards the flower shop laughing and talking away to her.

After that they had started going out for coffees all the time. Mary had moved in shortly after. Their love was like nothing John had ever felt before. 'And now,' he thought 'we're going to get married.' Mary had saved John from depression and had brought some light to a time when darkness was shrouding him and his world.

"John!" Mrs Hudson called from downstairs. "It's time." John looked at himself in the mirror one last time. His black shoes we're shining and his hair immaculate. John walked out of 221C (He had moved from 221B, there were two many memories) and into the car waiting for him outside.

"Ready?" Mrs Hudson whispered into his ear.

"Ready." John replied, a massive grin across his face. If only Sherlock could be here to see him now, he thought. Sherlock would have been looking at all the guests and telling him where every single one had come from and their job and how may pets they owned. But he wasn't here and there was nothing that would bring him back.