"Hello Sherlock, been awhile since I've seen you. Well... Ok I haven't seen you since you helped me with the HOUND of Baskerville. Been wondering what I would say to you, all the way up here. I suppose I should really say thank you. You saved my life, in more ways than one, you changed my life. Things are going great now, really great. Got myself a girlfriend, having far less nightmares, my life has gotten quieter, but happier." Henry took out his phone, skimming through the pictures of him and his girlfriend.
"I couldn't believe it when I heard you'd died. You just seemed so, happy I guess. You weren't like me and I nearly did end it all. But then I suppose, with the media hounding you, stress from this Moriarty person, people calling you a murderer, a fraud. Everyone has their breaking point. This was yours. It' doesn't seem fair. But then life I suppose, isn't really. I just want to say thank you, Sherlock Holmes and that I believe in you"
"Do you think he's really dead?"
"You were there, I wasn't boss."
"Yeah but I was sort of...dead at the time, remember?"
"How could I forget. Look, I saw the body through my scope, you have the pictures in a scrap book. Dr. Watson is mourning. I'd say, yes he is dead"
A darkly, clothed figure crouched down in front of the grave stone, adding more flowers to the ever growing pile. "I'm disappointed Sherlock. I thought you and I were a pair. You should have run, left them to their fate. They weren't worth your time" He stood back up, kicking over a vase and watching the contents bleed out.
"Now you really are on the side of the angels. How ordinary"
John had finally made the long walk to the grave of his best friend. His eyes widened as they spotted the forest of flowers, newspaper clippings proclaiming his innocence, photos and badges. It was like a shrine. John smiled sadly and knelt down in front of the headstone.
"Hello Sherlock" He no longer faulted on that word. "I know I only saw you recently, but I thought I'd come by and say hi just the same. You would probably think it stupid of me. Talking to someone who isn't there. But I like to think you are here, in a way. I don't really believe in ghosts to be honest, but your memory refuses to stop haunting me anyway." He wiped away a stray tear.
"Cleaned out the flat today. Not everything, but a lot of things. Mrs Hudson isn't planning to open it up for tenants any time soon but I can't stand to live there anymore. It's not right without you there. Packing away your things was so bloody stressful. You have a lot of junk, did you know that? Cluedo boards gone, good riddance! So's the harpoon and a lot of other ridiculous items. Keeping the skull there though, your friend and of course the violin. Don't know what to do with it. Think I'll keep it if thats alright. Your coat is still there, on it's hook. I hope it's ok if I use your old scarf sometimes, I can't be bothered to buy my own and I don't know, I feel like a part of you is with me when I wear it. Silly, isn't it?"
He sniffled and cleared his throat. "I still don't get it Sherlock. Things were really bad, and going to get worse, I get that. But...I don't get why you killed yourself. It doesn't fit you. You were too... I'd say full of yourself but that wouldn't be right. It just wasn't you. But then, I wasn't the one they were calling a fraud and you were so proud of that brain of yours. Our friends were even thinking, maybe, just maybe, you were a criminal, my brother wasn't the one who gave away vital information to the enemy and it wasn't me that had a criminal mastermind ruining my life. I suppose those are all valid reasons in your mind, to jump. Not in mine. Never in mine. You should have told me."
"It hurts me Sherlock, I know you arranged to get me out of the building. It really hurts me to hear you call yourself a fake, to try and trick me into believing you were a lie. But I lived with you, I know you weren't. It really hurt to hear you break other the phone. To hear you so sad..so without hope, I broke with you. My heart stopped. Seeing you fall...seeing all that blood. I felt dead Sherlock. Now I just feel empty, numb. I only knew you for maybe..eighteen months or so. But somehow we learned everything about each other, became so close..that now the world seems fake without you. Unreal, like it's all a dream. I wish it was a dream. But it's not."
"You know, I've seen comrades, die in war, violently. Friends I worked with everyday. And it hurt. But nothing compared to this. People have suggested, that we were special. You know the saying, two halves of one coin? You hear of people who have this incredible bond, closer than siblings or spouses. Inseparable, like twins. Was that us Sherlock? Or were we leading up to that?...Never know now. Never know anything now."
He stood, leaning heavily on one leg. "You know what hurts the most? Besides the fact you never confided in me that you felt like this. It's the fact I see you everywhere. Every bloody thing reminds me of you. I can't even go into the flat. I see you in every inch of it's walls. Every discarded paper, every sodding chemical beaker, every bloody dressing gown. Sherlock you had more than four dressing gowns. Who needs four dressing gowns? And your bloody armchair. I still see you in that too." You never could seem to sit properly Sherlock. You were either perched on it like a cat, slouching, sitting on it but constantly twitching with anticipation, boredom, withdrawal. And one time after you'd sustain a blow to the head I found you upside down on it. I forget your reasoning at the time, you weren't exactly making sense.
"I'll probably come and see you again soon. I'm looking for a new job. Something quiet for awhile maybe. Away from this part of London. I want to move on Sherlock but I feel if I let go, I'll be the one to fall. That I'll loose you all over again. I don't want to forget you Sherlock. In such a short amount of time you made an irreversible impact on my life. It's imprinted really, right here." He tapped his chest just as his phone began to beep wildly. "Have to go now mate, job interview. Hope they don't think less of a man who's been crying. Still staying angry for you for awhile, arrogant sod. It'll pass, I never could stay angry at you for long. See you, Sherlock."
John picked up his cane from it's place on the grass and limped off.
A solitary figure watched from the shadows, not even noticing he'd shed an unwanted tear. Forget me, John Watson. Please. I'm not worth your tears. Just forget me and move on. Forget you ever met me. It will make things easier.
I feel numb too.