I tried not to make this too sad. (Stillownnothing.) Review?:D

-AT

"I find it sickening, Watson, how life can manage to continue on, even after such dreadful events occurred today," Sherlock Holmes said. Doctor Watson sat next to him, feet dangling precariously over the seawall, the dark and murky river Thames swirling around below. Holmes took a swig of his whiskey, bottle gripped loosely in his rough hands. Watson only nodded and stared off over the brilliantly lit city of London, not sure how to comfort his friend. The Doctor had managed to find Holmes here after the funeral, but only after searching for hours. Luckily, he had remembered to bring Holmes' jacket and gently placed it around the detective's shoulders.

In one of Sherlock's hands, Watson noticed, he clutched something delicate and shiny. "Holmes...may I see what is in your hand?' he asked, and Holmes complied, handing the object over. Upon further inspection, the Doctor noticed it was a necklace—diamond, to be exact, square cut, with a long gold chain. It was her necklace. He only blinked at the trinket before setting it on the brick next to Sherlock, careful not to disturb him. Sometimes, when it was just best to provide support, words were not necessary. This was one of those times.

Holmes finished the last drop of his drink and set the empty bottle next to him, picking up a small square of parchment. He stared at the photograph for a long time before folding it neatly and sliding it inside the glass bottle. Sherlock took the diamond necklace, and with one last stroke, he caressed the jewel, praying that maybe, maybe a hint of her perfume may still linger on the gem. That too was placed in the bottle, along with the photograph. "Watson," Holmes murmured, staring out over the dark water, "I really did…love…her. Her witty and clever mind, the devious spark her eyes held, her..."

He broke off, not comfortable admitting to such things. "I could have protected her from such fate." Watson turned to look at his friend, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't your fault. You know she wouldn't want you to feel guilty." Holmes replied smugly, "Actually, my dear Watson, she would have reveled in the fact that I felt some sort of discomfort."

Both the men laughed quietly at that, knowing very well that The Woman would have loved making Holmes uncomfortable. Sherlock stood, bottle in hand, looked up at the few visible stars, and murmured nearly inaudibly, "Today, the music died." And with that, Holmes threw the bottle that contained the most precious things he ever did own into the depths of the Thames River, and watched it sink into the dark unknown.