John walked up to Sherlock's grave and put the bouquet of poinsettia on it. "I know you'd probably berate me for the flowers, but I happen to know you liked these particular ones." He sat down in front of the headstone. "And it's Christmas tomorrow. It's been almost two years now. My therapist says I should stop coming to talk to you, because it's encouraging my 'delusion of life'. But I really don't think it's a delusion. Anyway, I met a woman the other day. Her name's Mary, Mary Morstan, and I think she might be serious. See, I am moving on. I'm taking her out to this new restaurant on North Gower Street next Wednesday after work. Yes, I'm working again the week after Christmas. I thought working in a clinic rather than the hospital might have spared me that, but apparently not. Well, to be fair, I did say I would. We had the official Christmas party last week. I spent most of the time in the corner drinking champagne and talking to Sarah. There were rather a lot of the high-up managerial people there. I'm still friends with Sarah, despite everything. She's put up with a lot, but she's a good friend. I feel like you know anyone who puts up with almost being killed on a first date and still talks to you is someone you're going to be close to. Suppose it applies to us too, though not in quite the same way. Do you remember that case? It was only the second major one we solved together. I helped Lestrade with a case about a bombing the other day. I still get calls from people about cases. I usually just have to turn them over to the police, but I do sometimes help them if I have time off from the clinic. I've been reading Lestrade's cold case files lately, so I'm thinking I might try to accept some more of them to stop myself from bothering Greg too much." He looked at his watch. "Oh, I have to go now, I'm seeing Harry at 2:00." He levered himself up and groaned. "I'm getting old and stiff." he grinned. "Goodbye, Sherlock." He nodded at the headstone and walked away.