Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

Epilogue - Painting Murders

I smiled at the gravestone, "And then I got a job! Can you imagine that? I mean, yeah, I have to design and create a security program but I'm getting there slowly." I chattered away, concluding my story that had taken me a whole hour to tell.

I guessed to passers-by I was just a teenager sat talking to a gravestone, which probably looked crazy since the grave wasn't exactly going to talk back.

But they could never see it the way I did. Really I knew, somewhere, mum was listening to me and desperately wanted to talk back. To me though, she was talking back. And, wherever she was, she was watching over me and Dad and she was proud.

"So yeah," I said with a smile, crossing my legs underneath me as I shuffled to sit more comfortably, "You'd have laughed when you saw the way I bugged the software by accident. Mycroft went mad." I laughed at the memory.

"And Lestrade isn't keeping such a close eye on me anymore; In fact he's lightened up a bit. I think he knows I'm not really reckless and maybe knows I can't do much wrong now that I have an 'important job'." I wiggled my fingers and laughed again.

"Oh and Mum," I said sitting forward, "You would love John. He's a doctor. Well he was a doctor in the army but he got shot . . . but don't worry he's fine. He shares a flat with Sherlock, which is hysterical especially when Sherlock leaves body parts around after doing experiments. But John's really nice, Mum, you'd have liked him." I smiled then clicked my fingers thoughtfully.

I glanced down at my watch but it was only early afternoon, then I remembered something.

"Oh, and look what I found," I said, unzipping my backpack, and fishing out the little wooden box with 'Mum' engraved on it that I'd bought from the market, the day I'd had a conversation with the man who I would later find out to be a kidnapping mad man.

I'd varnished the wood to make it waterproof and lined the entire lid with rubber so water wouldn't be able to seep into box and make it rotten on the inside.

"I found this, and had to buy it," I said, leaning forward to put the box down on the base of the headstone.

"I got one for Dad, he's using it to store pens for his writing, which is going brilliantly by the way. I also bought one for myself, it says Eve on it, which was the closest I could get to my name." I chattered happily.

"Then for some reason I got one for Sherlock, but I haven't given it to him yet." I admitted, setting the box down and smiling admirably at it.

I'd already removed the dead flowers that were on her headstone from the last time I'd visited. Now a fresh bouquet was there, all purple and blue flowers.

"So," I sat back and hugged my knees, "I guess that's pretty much all I have to tell you." I said, looking at my watch again and standing up, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder.

"So, yeah," I always felt awkward leaving the grave. I felt like I wasn't spending enough time with my mum, which made me feel guilty. I felt like it was my duty to sit and talk to her all day, every day.

"Bye. Love you always." I said, kissing my hand and pressing it to the cool grey marble of the gravestone before scooping up the dead flowers and walking away to the path. I walked out the tall iron gates of the grave yard, nodding at the caretaker who smiled back.

I put the flowers into the bin as I got to the road.

"Clearing up?" A voice said just as I put the flowers in the bin.

I turned to see Sherlock stood there, hands in his long coats' pockets, his blue scarf around his neck, ebony curls sweeping his forehead in the tiny breeze.