On a warm spring day, John walked through a graveyard. He knew the path well and automatically followed the trail as his mind wandered.
Though, he was mainly thinking about family.
And loss.
With his parents deceased, his sister drunk and no other close relatives, John did not have much of a family left.
He still loved his sister, but there wasn't a relationship there anymore. Neither of them made any attempt and when they did talk, it was always strained.
The family he had formed in the Army had been taken away as soon as the bullet hit his shoulder. When you were in a warzone with people, you couldn't help but form a sense of family.
And of course, perhaps the greatest loss had been the loss of the beginning of his new family while he had been away.
He stared down at the familiar gravestone and gently placed the velvet pink roses in front of it.
Mary Watson.
1970-2008
A cherished daughter and wife
He had a new family now, with home as Baker St and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.
But he couldn't help but wonder if that too might be taken from him.
I promise to make it my personal goal to write something fluffy. Because all I seem to be able to spew out is sad, oh-my-gosh-(insert name here)-is-actually-evil! or angst stuff. And yes, I borrowed Mary Morstan. So, I don't own her. Or anything for that matter.