A/N: I'm in a poetry kind of mood! I know I've already published this one, I just thought it fit better here than alone.

I walk into our old flat, remembering times past,

tears dripping down my face.

I know it's been a while,

but I still haven't found my place in a world without you

I'm looking at the yellow smiley face you painted on the wall.

So happy, yet not, because, as you know

It's shape is marred by bullet holes.

Quiet music starts to play,

A sad and forlorn melody.

I whip around to the empty music stand

But I don't see you with a violin in your hand.

But I still whisper, barely breathing, "Sherlock?"

There is no answer, so I turn back to the wall

and whisper again, "Sherlock."

This time it is not a question.

I know what's going on.

This has happened before.

Every time I am reminded of that day,

that unforgettable day,

the day I

watched

you

fall,

I hear it.

When I think of it,

the day I lost it all,

I hear your violin

start to play.

Sherlock, I hear the Music of the dead.

Because you're long gone.

Not coming back.

I asked you to stop,

to not be dead,

But now you are,

And

your

Violin

Still

Plays