The Final Goodbye

Chapter 7

I quickly grab a cab and presume my way to his grave. The weather was a bit snippy, and a little snowy, but that didn't bother me. I was hoping for a white Christmas anyhow. For the first time in a week I was going to see my best friend again. I don't know why I should be happy when my best friend has past, but something tells me that an extraordinary thing is going to happen, maybe a miracle. Don't kid yourself John, nothing is going to happen, I will lay the flowers on the tombstone and it will probably stay there for weeks, if not months. Maybe I should also buy him a yellow rose, that usually attracts someone to his grave. Maybe I'll catch the person who has been taking the flowers and leaving the presents.

The cab ride was the longest it has ever been. Probably I should consider it's a holliday, and there are more people than usual in London this time of year. This month had been stressful, still not knowing if I got the job at the hospital or not.

After forty minutes in a cab it drops me off at the gates to the grave. I walk across the street and go to the floral shop. As I always do I buy a yellow rose, I'm not so sure how well this poor little rose will do in the cold. I pay for it and tuck it under my brown coat. I slowly push out of the door and some one bumps into me. What the hell is wrong with people?

"Sorry," the person quietly speaks as he passes by.

I walk to the cemetery and, there were high new black metal gates. In the decor of the middle the metal formed a rose on each side. There was a light white blanket of snow that was forming on the gate, making it shine a little more. A gravel path as always leading the way but a slight crunch of the new snow beneath my feet, I loved the feel of this. The sound of the fresh snow  made me feel more calm when I  walked to Sherlock's grave. The walk seemed shorter than usual. Almost as if I was running to the grave. However, my feet were still at my safe walking pace. I guess I'm a little eager to see him.

When I reached his grave there was no snow on the headstone. Like it had been wiped off, but there was a single present there. Gold and Red striped, perfectly wrapped. Molly must have gave this to him, I know she adored Sherlock, A long medium sized box it spoke to me. There was a tag on it, saying:

Dear Watson,

I hope you get this present. It has been truly wonderful knowing you and hopefully I will get to see you soon.

"What how could this be?" I say aloud. Is this some kind of sick joke that someone is pulling?

I turn around in a circle with my mind at a daze. Thoughts racing through my mind as if it was a tornado.

"Whoever is doing this, please stop it, stop it right now! This, this right here, what you are doing it's, it's just wrong!" I yell out to whoever might be listening. I know that the person who put that gift they must be listening. Why would someone leave me a gift. Out of curiosity I set the gift and rose down, Sherlocks, and I pick up the present that it scribed my name on.

Ripping the golden wrapping paper off I open the white box, what was reviled was shocking. I step back a few feet and drop the box, I was almost in tears. The box prevailed a single red rose, it was fresh, this rose symbolized love. There was also a note on the inside that fell out.

Stabilizing my feet again I reach for the paper, but a burst of wind takes the paper away. I go and chase after it. The wind just carried it further down the gravel path, eventually I could not see the note. It had slipped out of my grasp, just like every other damn thing. I pull myself together and turn up my coat collar and walk back to the head stone.

"What was that note Sherlock?" I say to the head stone. "Was that you, please tell me that this is you who left the note and the present." I start to choke on my own words but I take a few breaths in to calm me down. "Listen Sherlock, if you are here and can hear me, please answer me. Just stop this, all of this." I grab my presents.

I lay his on his headstone. I take a few moments before releasing my cold sweaty hand from it. "Listen, I know this is some sick joke, all I ask is it to stop." I look around. "This present isn't that much but I hope, who ever takes it, will enjoy it." Laying my hand on the headstone again and whispering softly for him to come back. A few moments of waiting in silence I wipe my tears away and head the way to the gate. No Christmas miracle for me. None of my hopes will come true. No matter how many times I beg and plead.

The cab ride back I had realized that this visitation of Sherlock had become a habit, and trying to see if Sherlock was still alive became an obsession. For this little obsession of mine needed to stop, immediately. Next time I see Sherlock I will tell him. Huh listen to me, 'next time I see Sherlock,' it's like I'm visiting a living person. Sherlock is dead and he isn't coming back. I am just going to give up on him, on the search for the great Sherlock Holmes. The lack of sleep, eating, being my old self, it was all getting annoying. I know I have changed, dramatically, since the fall. I know that I won't see Sherlock ever again, but something is telling me to hold on, just for a bit longer. Well no more, I am through with this.

~~~~

The party was starting in a hour and I was getting ready. I had my beige knitted Christmas jumper and a nice pair of trousers on. Looking in the mirror and lip singing Christmas tunes, to get me in the mood of the holiday. I tussled my dirty blond hair to make it look messy, but classy. Eventually, after White Christmas was done playing I squirt my shirt with some of Sherlocks old expensive cologne. I sure smelled of a high class rich fellow. Now finally to top it off I put on reindeer antlers that jingled.

I hear one Knock.

Two knocks.

Then finally three, all synchronized the same length. Short an sweet.

Walking gingerly to the door and I slowly open it.

AUTHOR NOTE!!!
~~~~
Yes I know I don't usually do this, author note thing. But what the hell it's Christmas, well close enough.

I just want you to wish you all a m
Merry Christmas. see this is only the first part though.

I feel like you guys don't talk to me on here, to give me feed back. I kinda need it. As you probably can tell I'm not the best at grammar, nor spelling. You're probably thinking, "Why the hell do you write then?" Well I love to tell stories and make people feel. (also to slowly take over the world)

Anyways I hope you have a happy holidays, what ever you believe in.