Johnlock Oneshots

The Grave

I lay on his grave, my cheek pressed against the cool marbled stone of his grave. I take the poem I'd wrote out of my pocket. It's all crumpled, I sit up and use his headstone to unwrinkle the poem. I read it one more time....

Roses are red,
His scarf was blue,
If he doesn't turn up soon,
I might have to jump too
-J.W.

It deserves to be here. It's proper to leave it with him. I fold it back into a square and place a rock over it. I slowly get to my feet and grab my cane from against the tree. My limp has returned since his death, so have the nightmares. I cry out in the night and walk to his bed and snuggle under his comforter; it helps the nightmares. Sometimes I play violin tracks to help me sleep.... but it's not the same. I grasp my cane relying on my left leg. I take my time walking back to the apartment as the sky darkens, work's over and I have little else to do with my day. The apartment is lonely and too quiet some days but others it's calming, it reminds me what I fought for. I call good night to Mrs.Hudson as I climb the stairs nosily with my cane. I make the decision to sleep in his bed tonight. I can't stand the throught of the revolver in my room right now. I turn on the violin cd in the corner. I placed a cd player with violin cd's in his room after he died just to taste the music he used to make. I put Waltz No.1 in A major in the cd player, hit play, and crawl into bed. I drift into a dreamless slumber.
*8 hours of night*
I rise after my first nightmare-less sleep in 2 years. Things feel good. I throw on a jumper and head into the kitchen to make a cuppa. I turn on some crap tellie and drink my tea appreciating the warmth. I have today off work; before I would've been on a case with him but now I go to his grave instead. I have been ever since the fall. I think about what I could've done to stop him; Molly and my therapist tell me not to think about it. Mycroft made me begin seeing my therapist again after my limp returned. She's not very helpful but I know she means good. I ponder how I could've saved him, those tend to be the days my revolver is removed from my draw and magnetically drawn to my head. Yet I dare not shoot. I realize I've finished my cup of tea, nearly an hour has passed. I lose track of time when I'm thinking about the world post him. I shrug into a jacket and clonk down the stairs with my cane.
"Off so soon hun?" Mrs. Hudson ask from the bottom of the stairs.
"Just to his grave." I give her a smile to show her I'm ok.
"It'll get better John." I nod my head and thank her.
I step out into the crisp autumn air and signal for a taxi.
I step into the 1st one and spout out the address I know by heart to the driver. He nods and is off. I lay my cane next to me and tape my right foot as something to do. The drive is so short I could walk but my knee aches in this weather. I pay the cabbie and thank him. Through the entrance I make my way through the headstones until I reach his. I sit down and trace the name on the headstone. I feel my eyes brimming with unwanted tears. I look and find my square folded poem under the rock. I pick it up and unfold it. I read...

Roses are red,
My favorite scarf is blue,
Just wait a little longer, John
I'm coming for you
-S.H.

I feel myself begin to sob.
Sherlock Holmes is Alive.

AN: Credits to the author who original wrote these poems they are beautiful.