John had a good life. A wonderful life. But there was a constant presence he often wished for again. Sherlock. He missed the god so. But no doubt the man didn't miss him. Didn't think much at all on their time together. That it was just a blip in his eternal life.

He wasn't sure why, but he opened his eyes. He was old and but his mind was still there. And he knew that silhouette anywhere, that shape. Not saying anything, he moved his hand and reached out, touching Sherlock's. He smiled softly.

John was still warm like fire and as bright as light.