I continued to watch Sherlock faithfully over the years from my place in the stars. I watch as he becomes a consulting detective and furthers his love of deduction and chemistry. I watch at he overcame all the challenges in the way and as he slowly repaired his shattered relationship with Mycroft. I watched as side by side he and John took on the world and faced all the darkness it had to offer with their combined light. I watched as their hair because grey, and their faces because wrinkled. I watch as they retired together in the country where they spent their days looking after bees and sharing kisses under the shade of an oak tree. I watched as the years flew by and I watched Sherlock grow ill. I watched John cry and I heard Sherlock reassure him by mummering, "Don't worry I will be with Redbeard." I know he meant the words as hollow comfort to the one he was leaving behind. Sherlock Holmes did not believe in anything after death. Yet here I am watching over him. After all even the great Sherlock Holmes can be wrong.
Two figures meet in a field. One has brilliant copper fur that looks like fire in the bright light of the sun. The other is a man running towards his faithful friend. He starts slow and grey, his steps unsure, but as he moves forwards it is as if time moves backwards. His back straightens, his strides lengthen, and his hair turns from shocking white to the same black as a raven's wing. Then he becomes shorter and younger with an innocent and youthful smile lighting up his face. Boy and dog collide and the boy strokes the dog's thick red fur and laughs while the dog licks his face. Around them flowers grow in a plethora of colours. Here it is always warm and you never grow old. A few years later another boy joins them in the field. They spend their eternal days together in the beautiful sunlight. It is the perfect place for a boy and his dog to run free.
