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When a loved one passes away, then the proper time must be taken to grieve, and then it is in order when a bit more time is taken to return to base-line. John Watson had spent the past week alongside Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson, arranging the affairs of Sherlock Holmes in his departure from this mortal coil. He had mourned, and he had written. He was proud of the work he had done to commemorate and immortalize the greatest and wisest man he had ever known, and now it was time for him to follow due course and take a holiday with his beautiful wife to Brighton.
Unfortunately, there was a package delivered before he had even the chance to get his suitcase ready. A package from a ghost. At first it excited him wildly, yet deeply in his heart there was also a feeling of dread. Had he really been through all that for nothing? All the days John had spent detaching himself from someone he had cared so much about, and yet it now seemed impossible to actually move on. At length, he found himself smiling- of course if there was someone Sherlock Holmes would choose to haunt in death, naturally it would be the honored veteran Dr. John Watson, for being so bloody tolerant of all his bullshit.