Don't come back it won't end well. [PSL]

[exequies]

Now you've really done it, probably for good.

The little, nagging voice in Undertaker's head wouldn't be quiet. He sat perched on one of the gravestones in the little cemetery behind 1201 Sugar Plum Grove, after having dusted the two inches of snowfall off of its top. Spring should be coming soon to the Meadous, but the evening was still a crisp, cold wintery landscape as the sun began to set behind the treeline. He wasn't paying very close attention to it, though, neither to the wispy breaths that rose up from his scarf.

Just dig yourself a new hole and lay in it; I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind another body to add to his collection. The ground'll be hard and punishing to break through, too. Couldn't even wait for the spring thaw to make it easier on yourself, could you?

The depressive thoughts were back and stronger than they'd been in a long time. He'd had to get out of his house, away from the things that kept reminding him of how much he'd cocked things up. Coming to the graveyard probably wasn't the best of choices either, apparently, but he wasn't ready to go inside for the night, yet.