WakingDream93

Chapter one It was 8 in the morning when he arrived. He got out of the cab and walked to his destination. As he did the years before, he carried a large bouquet of white flowers. There was still no one there because it was early in the morning. He walked down the path, past the other graves. It was a cold morning, it was foggy and dark. He lay down the bouquet in front of the stone with Sherlock's name on it. "Three years it has been," John said, "I know that it is impossible, but I still pray, Sherlock. I pray every single day, that this is all just a dream, that this isn't real, that you didn't- You know." He sighed and looked at his watch

"You've sold yourself to the Devil," Mycroft remarks one rainy afternoon in a small café, gazing out the large glass window into the summer downpour. His umbrella is gripped lightly in one hand, a small pool of water gathering on the floor at its tip. Across the table, Mycroft's companion is silent and resentful, refusing to meet his eyes. Steam rises from the two untouched cups of tea on the table between them, but neither is inclined to drink. "Is Sherlock the Devil?" John Watson asks, his eyes focused on the wall behind and to the left of Mycroft's head. He wasn't kidnapped today, per se, but when he had walked into the café to

………………………………………………………………… "You know, he's secretly pleased to see you here." "Yeah, he likes to see familiar faces together. It appeals to his…" "Asperger's?" ………………………………………………………………… The large pile of papers made a satisfyingly large thumping sound as they hit the bottom of the recycling bin. John smirked, rubbing his hands against the knees of his jeans in an attempt to rid them of t