Post Riechenbach, No copyright infringement intended
The cemetery was peaceful, that's why I liked it, no raised voices, no arguments just the slow drift of time above the silent graves. Every day people drifted in and out stopping to lay flowers on the graves of loved ones, but through the years I knew they would stop coming; they always did. Their visits would become infrequent until, eventually, they moved on with their lives, grief forgotten, erased by time. Except for one visitor.
He always came alone and would stand, silent and erect in front of the same headstone every time. I remembered the day that grave was filled; knew the inscription the headstone bore. Sherlock Holmes; I didn't care much for gossip but apparently Sherlock Holmes was a fake genius, a madman, a criminal. So why did a respectable well-dressed, gentleman come to visit his grave every week, sometimes twice, always bring flowers. He would stand there quietly, a picture of misery and grief, sometimes he stayed for hours; one hand resting on the polished marble of the headstone.
Every time I saw him, I smiled a little sadly. Even the most faithful friends, the closest family members, the most passionate lover stopped coming eventually. So, when two years passed and the faithful man still came, every week, I felt a grudging admiration for him. He was different; I'd never known any one who was torn by grief that it never stopped.
I heard him talking brokenly sometimes, pleading in a voice that held so much longing. "Sherlock, please, one more miracle, for me." But if the man who slept beneath the ground heard him he gave no response.
Weeks passed and he still came; him and no one else. Until, a tall man in a long coat came to visit. He stood before the grave his mouth curving in a slight smile as he looked down at the flowers. He stooped and plucked a single, white rose from the bouquet and tucked it into his button hole.
"So John," he said softly. "Mycroft was wrong; you haven't moved on after all." He smiled again and walked away, turning up his coat collar up against the icy wind.
I watched him go and felt that somehow the grieving man's desperate plea had been answered. One more miracle; just for him.