Dear Normund,

Shit mate, I don't even know how to answer this. If you're in trouble and I suspect you are, perhaps I can help you. I know people, not on good terms with them right now but I know people high up who might be able to help.

What's happened? What's wrong? I want to help you. Please let me help you. God yes, please come and visit. We have a spare room here, it would be wonderful to finally meet you face to face. Please come visit, we would love to have you.

Your worried mate,

John.

Tick tock goes the clock

And what now shall we play?

Tick tock goes the clock

Now summer's gone away

Jim

Dear John,

You wouldn't mind? I would not wish to be in the way or a bother to you. I would be quiet and keep to myself. I feel perhaps if I were among friends I would feel safe and happier. Thank you. Please inform of when would be a suitable time.

Sometime in the new year perhaps? If I am correct I may only have January left. And then he will find me. But I will try not to dwell on such mournful things. Till the new year, John Watson. Thank you again, you do not know how happy this has made me.

Normund Sigerson.

Dear Normund,

Of course we wouldn't mind! We would really be happy to have you here. Please don't feel like you would be a bother or feel obligated to keep to yourself. We can go out for drinks, meet my friends, hang out. It will be great!

January's busy for me. But perhaps after the 20th? Me mates getting married on the 20th, I'm busy on the 15th, and for much of the first two weeks with work. But hey, anytime after the 20th just pop on over!

Who will find you? Who is after you? It's best not to dwell on something that's making you upset. Promise me you will explain everything when you come over, ok mate? Ok.

Till the new year.

John.

Happy New Year Lockie!

Jim

Dear John,

Thank you. Really. I don't think a hundred thank you's would suffice and that is an awfully ridiculous amount of thank you's. I look forward to meeting you and your lovely Mary. And your friends of course. You are so fortunate to have so many. I wish only I had such luck.

Yes, I promise to explain absolutely everything when I arrive. Tell your friend, good luck and congratulations on his wedding day. As it is now the new year's I feel odd replying, till the new year again. So instead, happy new year John Watson. I hope it will be a good one.

Normund Sigerson.

A year. One year, 365 days. No, wait. 366, It had been a leap year. Although, technically it won't have been exactly a year for about two weeks, but it was as good as. He still couldn't believe so much time had passed. Time should have stopped, without Sherlock Holmes in it. But instead it just carried on. Instead the world had started to forget. Until John Watson decided to do something to prevent that and written his friend's adventures down on paper, so the world could understand what it had lost.

What he had lost.

Almost a year had past since Sherlock had seen John Watson, as himself and not as someone else. Part of him had died that day, occasionally it would revive itself, in a laugh, a taunt, a joke. Until Jim. Until Jim took his whole self and tore it too shreds. Mycroft tried to put it back together, but the glue never held. Instead he was stitched together, like some patchwork person, like Frankenstein's monster. No one knew, it didn't show itself physically.

But there were physical scars. Scars that he never used to have. Wounds which never should have existed. Scars criss-crossed his back, they dotted his legs and upper arms. Burn scars were fading on his chest. The brand was still there, as clear as it was when it was burned into his flesh, he remembered trying not to scream. Didn't want Jim to have the satisfaction, but it wouldn't stay in and it tore itself from his throat and he roared. How could such a small thing hurt so much?

Day's. Weeks. His world slid to a halt. It was today. It had been today. 366 days ago, today, his best friend had jumped from St Bart's. His life had been spread across the pavement. The rain had washed it away, he hadn't even waited for John to say goodbye. John had been too late. But he no longer blamed himself so harshly as he once did. After all, it hadn't been suicide. It had been sacrifice. He had died to protect the people he cared about.

Mary held his hand tightly in her own, stroking his with one finger. "It's alright to cry, John" He shook his head. No it wasn't. He was the solider, he had to remain stoic, in control. Especially in front of his friends. They were all waiting in front of the grave, all in black, waiting for him. The best friend. Everyone was there, except Mycroft. Good. He'd only punch him if he showed his face now. He still wasn't ready to forgive him

Lestrade gave him a smile and a nod, waiting patiently in a black suit, his hands clasped in front of him. Anna stood beside her fiance, a bump showing through her black dress. In a few months her bump would grow and then, a new life would be born into the world. John would be there to help welcome him. The godfather, the uncle.

Mrs Hudson stood on the other side, next to a quiet, and extra shy, Molly. Mrs Hudson was dabbing at the corners of her eyes. It was sad, so few people had come to remember him. He knew that many would come in the following days, but only his closest friends, his family, had come to the Anniversary.

"John"

"Greg"

"Did you want to start us off?"

"Of course"

He smiled sadly and stood at the head of the small little group of mourners. He stood opposite the headstone itself. John fished through his pockets for the folded piece of paper he had spent the whole night writing. He opened it up and cleared his throat.

"Sherlock, we stand here today to remember you. To not remember your death, but your life. To remember the good times, rather than the bad times. We remember your smiles, your smirks and grins. We remember the pranks and the teasing. We remember your chuckles, the rare genuine laughs and the giggling at crime scenes."

"We remember the brilliant deduction's, how you could see what no one else could, how you could make that amazing leap of logic and faith and solve a mystery in mere seconds. We remember how your face and eyes would light up when you discovered a clue or far more likely, the answer."

"I remember. I remember the experiments. The body parts where body parts shouldn't be. The early morning music sessions. I remember the frustration whenever you got sick from lack of eating and sleeping, whenever you got yourself hurt from being reckless."

"But I also remember your hidden heart. How you made me smile when you let your human side peek out. How you made me laugh, how you made me feel I was alive again after almost dying in war. You had a heart, despite what you thought. Because I knew it was there, we all did. I know why now, I know why you kept it hidden. Because people hurt you. It's all right now Sherlock. No one can hurt you anymore. Be at peace. We love and miss you very much."

John couldn't see the ground, or the headstone, his eyes were blurry with unshed tears. He didn't even remember crying. Mrs Hudson was holding Molly, both weeping. Lestrade rubbed his eyes, Anna had her arm around his waist, holding him close. Mary was hugging him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder.

"That was wonderful John"

She murmured, kissing his cheek. Mrs Hudson nodded. "Perfect dear. Just perfect." Molly smiled shyly, agreeing with Martha. Greg nodded as well. "Brilliant mate, but then, you're a brilliant writer" John chuckled, putting the paper back in his pocket and taking the wreath from Mary and laying it against the grave. The other's all turned to leave, planning to meet up back at John and Mary's place.

John rested his hand on the cool, black stone. "Are you there Sherlock? I hope you are, but I also hope you've moved on too. It's funny, grief. I used to feel you were everywhere, but now you're nowhere and I still miss you. Um, Lily made me a drawing for christmas and it made me cry. It was beautiful. There was me and Mary, smiling and holding hands, Lily was holding mine, James holding Mary's hand. And right up the top, sitting on a cloud, was you. You had this big, white wings. And, it just made me cry. Not in front Lily mind you. I had it framed. She was ecstatic."

"Look, I don't know what's going to happen in this year, nothing used to happen to me and then everything did. And now, I think it's somewhere in between. I know there will be a wedding, I know a new friend will be coming to visit. I know around April or May there will be a mini-Lestrade. But beyond that..is anyone's guess."

"There's one another thing. He's alive Sherlock, Moriarty. He faked his death. But I promise you I won't go looking. Not unless he finds me. And he won't. Your brother has made me a promise. Bastard or no, he keeps his promises. So don't worry. I'll be alright. I'll stay safe. Goodbye mate."

If John had only looked to the left, he would have seen the hunched over figure of a tall, dark-haired man in a blue hoodie. With angel's wings.