Reichenbach Return

A man stands stooped over a grave. Looking at the grave, you can see only two words. The stone itself if shiny, as if it were brand new. It isn't. Someone comes regularly, polishes it. He polishes the stone at least once a week. It used to be every day. That was the first year. The beginning of the second year, he would miss a day or two in a row. It's the third year, third anniversary, actually. If you listen, you can hear him start to talk.

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1. Gravestone

A man stands stooped over a grave. Looking at the grave, you can see only two words. The stone itself if shiny, as if it were brand new. It isn't. Someone comes regularly, polishes it. He polishes the stone at least once a week. It used to be every day. That was the first year. The beginning of the second year, he would miss a day or two in a row. It's the third year, third anniversary, actually. If you listen, you can hear him start to talk.

I'm standing over his grave. Sherlock's grave. I've been here often enough, I know exactly where to go. I've slept here, fallen asleep after I sobbed wholeheartedly into the earth. The ground that held my friend.
My best friend.
"I should've told you," I said. "You deserved to know. You were my best friend. I said this the first day, about being so alone and owing you so much. I do. And now I can't ever pay you back. And even now, I'm asking favors of you. If you gave me this one, though, I wouldn't ask for anything anymore. I wouldn't." I took in a shuddering breath. My first friend in years. That's what he was. The only person to understand everything about me. Truly understand, not just know about me. He understood thngs, he knew when to back off and when to push my buttons. Normally, he truly didn't have a conscience when it came to people. Except me. I was the exception. ''Sherlock Holmes' only friend''. He said it himself, he only had one.
"God, Sherlock. You came out of nowhere. You made me happy again. And here you bloody are, lying in the ground, because I couldn't save you. I don't believe what you told me three years ago. You weren't a fake. You could. Remember? You. Could. Only you. It was only ever you. I just-" my voice broke. I paused, breathing heavily.
"Do you remember Sarah? Probably not. She- she was the one who hit the Chinese man for the Blind Banker case. No? Well, anyway. We, um," I cleared my throat. "I've been. Been going out with her. Two years ago tomorrow. I bought her a ring." I pulled a box out of my pocket. "If you were here, I would have asked your blessing. You always came first. If you had said no, I wouldn't have bought the ring. Then again, if you-" another pause
"-if you were here, I wouldn't be with her again. She helped me, Sherlock. I was a mess. She cleaned me up. I can function on my own. All I have left is a limp. Same limp as before. Nobody's noticed it. You would've. You would've cured it again. God, I want you here. I'm planning on proposing to her today. I'm going to her place after I'm done here for the day. I still can't bring myself to move out of Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson passed away yesterday. She left me the deed to the flats. She -her last words. They were about you. 'I believe in him'. She never doubted you. Not once." I started to cry.
"I've only got Lestrade left now. I've lost the two most important people in my life, Sherlock. What am I supposed to do? How am I- how am I supposed to carry on? You'd tell me Sarah. I haven't forgotten about her. I suppose she'll keep me alive. Physically. But Sherlock, my heart died with you. I was. I was in love with you. Didn't really realise it until you were gone." I stopped. It was out. I had said it.
"I, um. I really should get going now, but I'm going to ask one last time. Please, Sherlock. Don't. Be. Dead. Come home. It's way past time." I started to turn away.
"And, I know you loathe repetition, but I suppose, if its my last chance to say it: Sherlock Holmes, I-"
"You're correct. I do despise repetition. It's so tedious." I froze. I haven't heard that voice in years. Three, to be exact. I had missed that voice. But, then that old mean... I turned back toward his gravestone. There he was, standing in front of his own grave. Sherlock Holmes.

To be continued? Yes or no?
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