The flowers where blue. A beautiful dark blue, the same color of his scarf. I didn't know their names, I'd been sort of out of it when the florist was explaining them to me. I thought he'd like them. In the least, after he was done scolding me for being a 'sentimental idiot'.

The sky was a clear, bright blue. The type of blue that is only found after a long and relentless rain. It was, to be frank, a stunning day. Even the damn birds were happily chirping away.

I walked slowly, making my way past graves. Graves of grandfathers and grandmothers. Of mothers and fathers, of sons and daughters, of lovers and brothers, of husbands and wives. And in far, far too many heartbreaking cases, of the children, who never got the chance to grow up. I walked past all of the names. For that's all we are after we're gone. Just a name, and hopefully, the memories in the mind of those we loved, and those we were loved by.

I paused at last at a rather curious grave. The headstone was pitch black, and polished. There were only two words engraved in white onto the surface. "Sherlock Holmes". This was all that was left of that madman. Just two words carved onto a stone, in a silent graveyard, with a pile of rotting bones and flesh underneath. In the dark, damp earth.

I placed the flowers carefully before the grave. "Hello again." I spoke at last, finding my words and forcing them past a dry throat after many moments of silence. "Hello again Sherlock. It's been too long, I know that I really do. A whole month." I fell silent as the implications of that settled into my heart. An entire month, without Sherlock Holmes. A month with me being without my madman, and him being without his blogger. "And I'm very sorry about that, I truly am. But I'm sorry Sherlock, I just. I just-I couldn't come. I couldn't come to the place where my best friend was buried. Where one of the only people I've ever really cared about was left to rot in the dirt." My voice was hardly above a whisper, but I knew that if I tried to speak louder, my voice would crack, and he'd somehow be able to hear all the emotion still present in my voice.

My lips twitched into a small and rather pathetically sad smile. "I still can't believe you're dead you know. I keep thinking to myself, any day. Any day now he is going to walk through that door, and I'm going to give him hell for leaving me alone again. I can't help but feel that you're still alive." I let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. "There's honestly a large part of me that thinks that you must have bugged your own tombstone and are listening to this entire thing. If you have, and that would be more than a bit not good, then you are a bloody tosser, and you need to come home now."

"I miss you, you know. And no matter what I said, no matter any of that, please, know this. I care-cared for you Sherlock. And I honestly don't know how long it's going to take, but I will hunt down that bastards' web and kill every last bleeding one of them." My lips twisted into a cold smile. "In fact, I've already started. Mycroft, the twat, is helping me, since he owes me for all eternity for giving Moriarty what he needed against you."

I love you, you idiot. I fucking love you. I want you to come home to me. To wrap me in those spindly arms of yours and take me back to the way things were. I could think, and even write those things, but I couldn't say them out loud just yet. What I could say was this, "Lestrade needs you back on the cases, he's been having more than a few issues. Molly says hello, she seems much quieter these days, can't say I know why, other than the obvious. But I don't think that's the only reason. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't stop crying you know. Kept sobbing for days on end. Even now, whenever violin music starts up I-she gets teary." I took a deep breathe, I can do this, it's his fucking grave for God's sakes, who the fuck is it going to tell, "I need you too you know. Far too much. It's been to quiet, and I miss the sound of gunshots echoing up to my room. I miss your papers lying everywhere. And everything is all just too damn boring without you around. People still come around asking for help on cases. I help when I can, but these days, far too many people are dying due to the, how did you say it, the ineptitude of the police and private detectives."

I was starting to lose it now. "I need you back in my life. I never realized how much you really meant to me until you were gone, and now I need you back." My voice cracked on the last word. Trying to keep together, I got up from where I'd been kneeling on the ground before my best friends grave and whispered, "Come home to me you great bloody git." The last thing I could say came out in a broken whisper before I turned and swiftly walked away.

"I love you, so come home to me Sherlock Holmes."

More editing fun was had... Thanks for all of you who stuck with it! Hope you keep reading and enjoying, it's been fun to work with it again... for all of you who are reading, thank you so much, it's really great. I, once again, own nothing, it's all up to BBC to create the characters, I just mess around with them. See you later lovelies!

Next Chapter: Author's Note, please do read