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The graveyard seemed unfitting, for Maggie McRender. Angels weeping into their hands, and cracked headstones made poor companions for such a lively spirit. Sherrinford stared at the freshly laid mound of dirt, with a marble stone engraved with "Margarita Emily McRender". With a pale, shivering hand, he lowered a blood red rose. "For you, Maggie." He said through tight lips.
It was unjust, that the young should die. Life was cruel, and meaningless. Sherrinford knelt slowly, slumping before the grave. "It's so hard without you. I feel as though I cannot breath." He went silent, almost waiting for a reply, but he knew, that it would never come.
She was gone.
Murdered, by James Moriarty.
Sherrinford's mind wondered back to the small child. Their daughter. He could still hear her cries as he handed her over to the Child's Foster Home. "You know I just...I just can't look after her." He wept. "I'm not strong like you." His mind went back to the day Moriarty had played a recording of her death, only to inflict more suffering upon him. How feisty and brave she had been in her last moments.
His heart felt as though it were suffocating, aching like a thousand knives were thrust into it. "Maggie, I swear I will never love again. No one but you." Sherrinford managed to croak out a few words, before covering his tear-soaked face with his hands. And he stayed their, tears flowing, until the darkness of evening drew near.
When he left, he had no idea, that the body of his beloved Maggie, was not in the grave below.
