I walked alone in the empty graveyard to his grave. It was snowing, so not many people were out and about.
The snow underneath my feet crunched as I walked up to my best friend's gravestone. Engraved on the stone was his name in cold, golden letters, Sherlock Holmes.
It had been three years since I last saw him. He had been standing on a hospital roof. I had wanted to run to him, to catch him when he fell. And yet, he asked me to stay right where I was, so I had kept my eyes on him the whole time. I saw him fall. I saw his dead, cold body on the ground. I saw the blood that oozed from his head.
I put my hand lightly on his gravestone and closed my eyes. I remembered all the good times we had together. I was his blogger...and in a sense, his doctor.
I laughed as I remembered the time when he had forgotten his pants, and came to Buckingham Palace in a sheet. Then there was the conversation we had in the sitting room about the solar system! Oh, the good times; the wonderful times. And the adventures we had!
I started walking away from Sherlock's grave, but as I moved farther away, I felt as if I was only coming closer.
I found myself in front of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. This was the place where Sherlock had fallen... I went up the stairs to the rooftop, standing where Sherlock had stood.
A tear slipped down my face as I pulled out my phone, dialing Inspector Lestrade's number. He answered, asking if I was alright.
I shuddered and answered him with, "I'm so sorry," for I was about to do something terrible, maybe even stupid.
"What do you mean by that?" Lestrade asked me.
"This...This is my note," I said.
"Your note?"
"Yes, and you can find my last will and testament underneath the roses by Sherlock's grave."
"Where are you?"
"That's not important. What's important is that you listen to me."
"Alright," Lestrade finally replied hesitantly.
"I'm following in his footsteps," I began.
"No. John, you can't!"
"Lestrade, it's not your decision. I've made up my mind."
"Why are you doing this?"
At first I was silent. I searched for an answer in my head. Why was I doing this? Even I wasn't sure. Then the answer came to me.
"I miss him," I managed to say.
"John..."
"I know, I know. But I think it's better this way. For me, at least."
"Where are you?" Lestrade asked me again.
"St. Bartholomew's Hospital roof," I said, "but you won't get here in time."
"What are you doing to do?"
"There's really only one way down."
"No, don't do that. Please, John. There are people out there who care about you."
"And I cared about him."
"You don't have to do it like this."
"Every life has to end sometime."
"But it doesn't have to end today."
"He didn't intend to die that day."
"Does anybody?"
I thought for a minute. "Maybe not, but I know what's about to happen."
"John--"
"If he does come back, tell him something for me."
"But--"
"Please."
I heard Lestrade sigh. "Alright."
"Tell him that he's too late. He didn't come back, so I'm coming to him."
"I'm so sorry. Please... don't do this... We--"
"Goodbye, Lestrade," I finally said. I ended the call, tossing the phone the aside.
The strange thing was that I didn't feel scared. I felt confident. Why? Because I knew that Sherlock would be there. He'd be waiting for me. We'd be together for eternity.
Yeah, maybe I'll be a little pissed at him every now and then, but that's how things go, right?
I looked up at the gray sky. Snow began to fall gracefully from the clouds. I smiled softly to myself.
I spread my arms like wings. I could feel the wind blowing from in front of me, brushing my face lightly.
Then I felt a warm breath near my ear, making my skin tingle and my hair stand on end.
And I heard a voice. A voice like no other. A soothing voice like a jaguar trapped in a cello. It was him.
I felt his cold yet warm hands brush against mine for a fleeting second.
He whispered in my ear, "I'm here."
"Will it hurt?" I asked Sherlock.
"Falling is just like flying, only there's a permanent destination," he said softly.
"I can do it."
"I know you can."
"See you below..."
"I'll be here the whole time."
And then I felt the air rushing past me. Nothing solid was underneath my feet. Everything was blurry and surprisingly quiet. It truly felt as if I was flying.
But then I hit something hard and cold. At first I couldn't feel a thing. I began to feel numb. I heard the cries of people and saw their blurred figures in front of me. My head hurt. I could feel the blood leaving my head. In my last moments of life, I saw Sherlock.
Oh, he was beautiful. The sun made his dark hair and face glow with warmth. He wore his long coat with the blue scarf as usual. He gleamed in the light like an angel. His eyes sparkled. Nothing else mattered now.
Sherlock extended his hand towards me. I took it, holding onto him firmly. I felt light as a feather. He tugged me gently forward. Sherlock walked with me, still holding my hand loosely. I didn't know where we were going, but it was so much better than the painful world. Everything was hazy and cloudy -- delightful, like a dream.
Sherlock then turned to me, smiling broadly.
I smiled back, not knowing what else to do.
He embraced me warmly, leaving partly surprised. It wasn't something he normally would do, but that was fine with me. I was glad he did it. It made me feel safe.
"It's just the two of us against the rest of the world," he told me, "and it will always be that way, John..."
And he was right.