Sherlock Holmes drew his bow across the translucent strings of the violin, a sad tune circling the air around him. He shifted slightly to adjust his position atop the gravestone, and tried to turn his tune to happier notes. But the sky was red today, and another poor soul would soon be joining the graveyard. When a headstone began to materialize in the plot next to him, Sherlock froze his song, and the sky's blood hues dissolved to slate. “Ah, John. How wonderful of you to join me…but how terrible that you’re here.”
John blinked a few times, looking around. "Sherlock... I thought..."
"That I was dead?" Sherlock still didn't look over, but he could sense John's head nod. "Well, I am. And, unfortunately, so are you."
The silence stretched out as John absorbed the information. "I thought so."
Sherlock's violin began to play again, but much softer this time. "Do you remember anything?"
John thought, his brain still filled with fog, and his confusion still clearing. Then, slowly, he began to remember. "You were killed in a car crash last year. A drunk driver slammed into you when you were crossing the street with Hamish and I. You... You pushed us out of the way..." John reached out and brushed hair away from his dead lover's face to look at the blood painted across his misty cheeks.
Sherlock's violin never stopped. "That I did. But, I was asking if you remember what happened to you? By the wound on the side of your head, I would guess gunshot." Sherlock said a silent prayer for murder, rather than face the thought of his kind John committing suicide.
John remembered and suddenly began to laugh. "I died trying to keep your legacy alive! It was quite ridiculous, actually. I was trying to solve a murder, but because I was somehow RIGHT in my deductions, I got a hit out on me. I know, it was dangerous and stupid, but looking back, it's quite silly. I must have been shot by a sniper while leaving work. I was--" He broke off and suddenly panicked. Sherlock's violin stopped when John wildly grabbed him by the arm. "I was on the way to pick up Hamish from school! Sherlock! Our boy's all alone! Lost both his parents in such a short time!"
John began to clutch at his hair looking around for a way to ease his pain, but finding he was helpless, he collapsed to the ground and leaned against his headstone. Sherlock eased down next to him and gathered John into his arms, rocking him gently. "Mrs. Hudson has him, there's nothing you can do now." John began to sob into his arms, relieved to feel Sherlock again after the pain of losing him, but the grief of losing and leaving his son crashing in waves and threatening to drown him. Sherlock rubbed John's back, just the way he liked it, and felt the army doctor slowly relax. "The pain of the loss will ease over time to a numbness." They were silent for a while before Sherlock whispered, "Your deductions were correct?"
John laughed weakly through his tears and sat up straight. Rubbing his eyes, he said, "Yeah. The daughter murdered her father because his husband fell in love with her, and the husband murdered me. It was really backwards..."
Sherlock began to laugh a low, warm laugh. One that John hadn't heard since two minutes before Sherlock's head had impacted with the hood of that car all those months ago. "John Watson: Consulting Detective."
They both dissolved into spiraling laughter, falling into the grass between their plots. "I told you it was ridiculous!" They continued to laugh and lay in the warm grass together, grateful to be in each other's arms again. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head, and whispered 'I love you's were exchanged.
As they fell asleep with fingers intertwined, neither noticed the sky. It changed for a moment from grey to red to grey, and a headstone appeared directly behind them. A small, young boy with dark black curls and a keen mind sat cross-legged on top his plot, a sharp red line stinging around his neck.