Sherlock Holmes

Two years had passed since Sherlock Holmes's death. Your mental state had been badly shaken by his death, and the memory of his body on the pavement was still vivid in your mind. Mrs. Hudson and Watson were no better, but they were trying to recover from it, and Watson had gotten a wife and moved away. You, too, had moved away to get away from the place that reminded you of him. Deciding to take an evening stroll, you heard drunken footsteps behind you and quickened your pace a little out of fear of pursuit. You didn't even notice how the footsteps behind you died away, and a silhouette came out of another alley to meet you. You stopped, and as the figure approached, you noticed familiar curls and facial features. Sherlock? His expression was serious, he didn't look you straight in the eye during the long silence, occasionally looking down until he finally spoke.

"Apparently I was wrong to show up so suddenly, it could have even led to a heart attack."