Cross My Heart & Hope to Die

The adventures in 221B continue as someone close to Sherlock and Watson is murdered and a mysterious girl turns up on Baker Street just a few days after the funeral. A series of clues lead them to a baffling case of 13 killings. Moriarty? He's dead, but Sherlock is convinced he is connected to the case.


2. Chapter 2 ~ Tears of Tragedy


~ Two ~

Tears of Tragedy


    John stared at the coffin, his face impassive. He could see all the mucky fingerprints dotting his late wife's coffin. It was disgraceful. The coffin had been lowered into the ground now. All heads were lowered, everyone quiet, the only sound the rushing of the cold wind. The priest spoke his words of sorrow, but it was white noise to John, it was all blurry and unhearable. Sherlock glanced down at his friend. Nothing, no response, no emotion, there was nothing at all. John was falling apart slowly and it was only the second week without his wife.

    The grave was slowly filled in while helping men gripped the gravestone. John wanted Mary's grave to stand out. He didn't want boring Times New Roman font. John had ordered it to be graceful and flowing, just like Mary was.

    "Shame about your now late child." A man would whisper at John's right shoulder. Sherlock's eyes flicked to the man but nothing more. Sherlock was a sociopath, but even he was in too much of a state to figure people out. John's eyes were screwed tightly shut, calming his anger. "Would've been smart, just like you. And like me, if I must brag." The man smiled at John. "The name's Mike Yousouf." John gave a sad smile back and looked down at the coffin. It was nearly covered in mud. Mike put a friendly hand on John's shoulder, under normal circumstances, John would've shrugged the hand away, but he was too battered down with grief that John didn't do anything. Sherlock looked at Mike with an intense gaze out of the corner of his eye. There was some sort of sly smirk on Mike’s face, but Sherlock shrugged it off, many things could be seen if the angle wasn’t correct, and with Sherlock’s gaze mostly looking down, there was no telling what he was seeing. But despite Sherlock’s inconvenient angle, there was still nothing that came up. Sherlock’s gaze flicked to John and everything seemed to come up, tired eyes, a little bit of stubble appearing, paler face, looking more gaunt, shirt not ironed, a hint of Mary’s perfume lingered on his skin.

    It was tragic for Sherlock seeing his closest friend fall apart in such a terrible way and under such trying conditions.

    Neither John or Sherlock got to look at her body before they were dragged off away from the morgue, tears streaming from John’s eyes, his voice faint as he tried to yell out. Swallowing, John tried to hide deeper in his suit, he wanted to vanish off the face of the Earth and go into oblivion. Looking up he sighed and gripped Sherlock’s wrist tightly. The grave was finished, the mud piled up and flattened. What would make the day any worse would be if it began to rain. But it wasn’t going to rain. It was a bright, cold, sunny day.


“We can go back to Baker Street if you want?” Sherlock offered, leaning out slightly. It pained him to smell Mary’s perfume faintly. It had been her favourite, Dior, John had always bought it for Mary on her birthday because she got through so much. Sherlock smiled as John accepted his offer and they stood together, looking at the grave with its elegant writing as the crowd dissipated and they left.


    Mike had left the cemetery, but he stood at the Church’s side cemetery entrance, chatting away on a phone. It was a one sided conversation, and no one was around to hear the words uttered which would’ve made everything click into place. Not even Sherlock’s keen ears picked it up. Sherlock, too, was consumed by grief.



Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...