It was very awkward, to look at the grave of the same dead man, that was currently standing beside him. John cast a quick side glance to his right. Sherlock wore the same dark coat he had also on when he jumped from the rooftop, hands buried in its pockets and the pale gray eyes fixed to some point on the horizon. He looked so real, it nearly physically hurt.
He had hoped that maybe visiting his grave would finally tell his mind to give in and acknowledge to itself that Sherlock Holmes was dead (he still winced at those thoughts). But now he looked on the polished stone and the hallucination just would not do him the favor of fading away. Though he was not sure if it would be considered as a 'favor'. More the final breakdown of his world.
He was clinging to the past, he knew so much. Every psychiatrist he would go to would say him the same thing: Let go. Let HIM go.
But he did not want to go, to let the best part of his life end, the part were he had been finally completely happy and felt alive.
Briefly he wondered, if he could convince himself of the death of his best friend and the senselessness of his hallucinations if he would dig the casket up and open it.
The worst thing was that he just looked like he was still alive.
There were only few indicators as to why John knew that he was imaging things.
For one thing, neither hair nor clothes were ruffled by the sharp autumn wind, that always found his way under Johns parka and let him shiver in cold. Next was that his foots did not leave prints in the soft earth from the grave yard ways. And at last, the grass on the ground just went right through his slightly transparent shoes.
John sighed. The Sherlock-image was now following through three days straight. Had been a new record. The times before he used to stay just at a fixed point – like the edge of Johns bed or next to the table in his office (which had been very disturbing. After all, what good doctor was mentally ill himself?).
However, now Sherlock followed him – abnormal quiet and without the snarky comments or surprising deductions for which John had admiredhim so much.
"Boring."
John whirled aroundand stared at Sherlock, who looked back at him as if he was saying that a talking hallucination was the most normal thing of the world.
Alright, cut the 'quiet' thing.