Hi Everyone! I am sorry about the loooooong wait times for future chapters of other stories (Please don't hate me!) . I take so long to write anything and when it do, it's sometimes a new story idea. I'm really bad for it and I'm terribly sorry. But for this one, this is just an idea of a story I had in my head because I've been on a total Sherlock kick and not going to lie, I am totally diggin' Benedict Cumberbatch right now. Anyway, I've gone through the three seasons over and over and though of an idea for a story (but I don't know if I will continue it yet I am not sure. Sherlock as a character can get way over my head sometimes and I don't think I am a strong enough writer to make his personality really shine).

Anyway! I am just going to put this here and maybe get back to it. It also gives people the chance to look and see if I could possibly do something with it. I DO have an idea of where this story MIGHT go, but it might not go anywhere as well. SPOILERS, this is taken at the end of the Reichbach Fall, AND... possibly (what am I saying? STRONG probability) a Johnlock story.

I'll let you guys be the judge.


John Watson couldn't believe it; staring at the cold, solid, rock of a tombstone with the etched name of his closest friend. SHERLOCK HOLMES. He couldn't turn away from those letters, reading them over and over almost as if he was carving them into his thoughts as he continued to stare blankly. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't standing in a freshly buried grave, slowly inhaling the turned brown dirt that had settled in front of the stone. A faint echo of a elderly woman's voice brought him back into a brief state of reality, feeling her grip tighten around his arm as she continued to speak, her tone soft but grieving as they stood there. Dear, Mrs. Hudson...

"I can't go back to the flat. Again, not for the moment..." he muttered to her. "...I'm angry."

This only sparked her to continue rambling on about things that John wasn't quite listening to, her voice raising in volume as she started to complain about some of the goings on that occurred at 221B Baker Street. He looked at her with slight irritation, wishing everything around him and in his mind could be silent and still for the moment. He opened his mouth and did his best not to completely shut her down.

"Listen, I'm not actually that angry." he replied. "Okay?"

Mrs. Hudson stiffened, turning her gaze behind her. "Okay. I-I'll just...y-you know-" was all she could muster before walking away quietly and not becoming a blubbering mess for the third time that day.

John was now alone, looking towards the base of the tombstone, seeing some of the splash of colour from the small bouquets of fresh flowers that were placed. The world had grown still around him except for his own heart beating steadily in his chest. For all the moments spent together, it was the first time that he had to look down to a man that he and held close to his heart.

"Uhm...ahh..." he started, trying to calm down before his shoulders started to shake. "...y-you..."

He paused, looking at the grave, trying his best to believe that in some way what he was going to say was to be heard. "You told me once..." he cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone clear. "...that you weren't a hero,

"Uhm, there were times that I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this- you were the best man, the most human...human being, that I've ever known. And no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So...there."

He looked behind him to see if Mrs. Hudson was still waiting for him nearby and noticed that she had gone, possibly to the car. John took a few steps and briefly touched the top of the stone, his composure chipping away slightly. "I was so alone...and I owe you so much..." he said before walking away, completing his goodbye.

And then he stopped, turning on a heel before looking back on the stone, a flicker of hope running through his veins. "O-Oh please, t-there's one more thing; one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock for me- don't...be...

"...dead."

He now felt like he was losing control, his voice breaking as he wanted to disbelieve everything that had taken place before this moment. That he was going to return to the flat they had shared and the man he was mourning was going to be standing there, waiting for him. "J-Just for me. Just stop it. Stop this."

He saw his own reflection in the stone, expecting some kind of reply that never came. He let out a sigh, and then a shallow breath before he felt his eyes welling up. He quickly wiped away the tears that wanted to flow down his cheeks and stiffened his posture, giving a silent nod of farewell before walking away from his dear friend. Flashes of memories wanted to dilute his focus back to the car, doing his best to think of a plan now that everything was over. His life felt emptier now than ever before, the rush of the chase now only but a passing memory.

But as he left, there was someone watching the entirety of the scene play out, quietly watching. The mans eyes were fixed on John walking away, wanting to say something, anything, that could give a single indication that he was there, but he couldn't. He put his hands in his waistcoat, not able to feel the fabric that once grazed his fingertips, his face not showing a single emotion. But his eyes, his eyes spoke volumes as he looked at the stone, seeing his name reflect back at him with a foreboding aura. He was now stuck there, thinking of what he should do, and how to do it.

Except for one...minor...problem...

The figure looked behind him, his eyes narrowed as he could see what looked to be a tunnel of white light that seemed to have cut itself through the world like a wormhole. Only one thing was in his mind now...

"I have miscalculated."


Sorry, pretty boring I know. But please comment and share your ideas and opinions. I love feedback, good or bad. :)