"How would you describe me John? Resourceful, dynamic? Enigmatic?"

"Late."

-Sherlock and John, The Blind Banker

A small stooping figure stood silhouetted against a blood-red sky as soft sobs racked her body. She sniffed, bent down, and placed two bouquets of white roses on the ground by her feet, one in each side of her. She let out a final cry and turned away in a hurry. She almost ran from the site at which she had been standing and was soon out of sight of the tall, lean man hiding behind the tree.

He wanted to run to her, to comfort her, but he knew his presence would not be wanted. Guilt pulled at his posture and he stood less tall and less proud than before. Much of the arrogance that had once filled his features had been washed away in the past three years. He was a new man. When he had been away all he had been able to think about was his partner in crime, his doctor. I guess the saying is true, he thought sadly, you don't realize what you have until it's gone.

As soon as he had made sure Mrs. Hudson was gone he stepped out from his shadowy hideout and slowly walked towards the spot where she had been standing. He reached down and picked up the bouquet on the right. He ran his slim fingers over the cold, smooth surface of the gravestone, his gravestone, that the flowers had been lying in front of. He let his hand drop and sighed. Today would have been the day, the day he would have returned after three years. He had been looking forward to today for years and now, but he had come home only to find that his best friend, his only friend, had passed away in his absence. After doing some investigating, however, he had discovered that John H. Watson had not only passed away, but had committed suicide.

Now he finally did look over at the simple gray gravestone that was placed to the left of his. In loving memory of Dr. John H. Watson, he saved many lives in more ways than one.

With some more snooping and investigating he had found that his big brother, Mycroft, had been the one to suggest that the last phrase be engraved in the stone. Mycroft had worked out his feelings for John a long time ago but had, respectfully, kept the information to himself.

He stepped over so that he now stood directly in front of his best friend's grave and placed his hand on the top. He hung his head and let the tears he had been holding back fall to the ground at his feet.

"John," he started, "John I am so, so sorry." He had watched as John had given a speech like this to his grave, but he had never dreamt that he would be doing the same thing to John's only three short years later.

"I had never imagined that this would affect you so much. I knew you would be hurt, you had to be in order for me to convince everyone of my death, but I never thought I would cause you so much pain." He stopped for a breath and sobbed through his teeth. He had never thought it would be this hard to say goodbye.

"I didn't know, I just didn't. I admit it, the great Sherlock Holmes was wrong." He laughed softly through his tears and closed his eyes. He had never laughed much before John came.

"That saying," he gestured limply to the engraving, "it's true, 100 percent. You saved me John, completely and totally saved me. Before you wandered into that laboratory looking for a flat mate I was in an awful state, just ask Mycroft. I would lock myself away for months and not see or speak to anyone. I never ate, I rarely slept, and I was becoming more and more depressed by the day. Even I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you." He shivered at the memory of those dark days.

"You meant everything to me John, I know I never told you but you did. And I never told you why." He sucked in a breath, it was now or never.

"John I loved you. I know it doesn't matter now but I loved you. I loved you and I'm sorry, now there's two things you don't usually hear me say." He smiled sadly and stood up. Wiping the tears from his face he took one last long look at the grave and turned away. He slowly walked back out of the graveyard and knew in his heart that he wouldn't come back.

That night he visited Mycroft which was an oddity in its self. He explained himself to him and told him what he needed. His older brother had refused. He had kept at it though and only after actually begging him did his brother concede.

He stood solemnly as the cool wind ruffled his hair and he wrapped his scarf around his neck a little tighter. This very building was where his whole life had changed forever, and this very spot is where it all came crashing down, quite literally. He knew that what he was about to do was stupid and illogical but for the first time he didn't care. Right now he was going to let his emotions rule his mind and this was where it had led him. He reached into his pocket and closed his fist around a small glass object. He took a deep breath and pulled out a tiny glass jar. Mycroft had told him how John had done it and knowing had only made him feel guiltier. He knew it was stupid of him to think it was all his fault but he felt that if only he hadn't kept that pill then John might still be alive. He sighed again and unscrewed the cap, Mycroft had been the one who saw John take the pill and had sent an ambulance over straight away. Unfortunately there was no stopping the deadly poison that had already entered John's body. It was this that he was hoping to accomplish now.

He poured the small pill into his hand and held it up. This is what he had begged Mycroft for, he wanted to go the same way John did. Mycroft had also agreed to help him in the disposal of his body. As soon as the poison had taken full effect and he had passed away Mycroft was to send a group of men up here and, under the cover of darkness, take his body away back to the graveyard. There they would dig up his empty coffin and deposit him inside. That way he really would be buried next to John. He hadn't told anyone he was alive yet so this time no one would be hurt when he died. The only thing that would be different was that there would now be a real body under the gravestone marked Sherlock Holmes.

The lonely man smiled to himself and knew it was time. He glanced around himself one more final time, and took the pill. Almost immediately he felt the poison take effect and he fell to the ground, clutching his throat. He coughed and wheezed, but he hardly seemed to feel it, he was too engrossed in his own thoughts. Mycroft had also told him everything John had said to Mrs. Hudson when he was dying and he smiled as he choked. John had taken the pill to come back to him, just too see his face again. John had loved him. John had loved him and that was all that mattered, because-

"John, I love you too." He sputtered.

They were the famous last words of the great consulting detective.

END