John was wondering if he ought to be alarmed by the sudden lack of music. The audience seemed to think it was over and was packing up to go home. Irene had set herself up on top of a tombstone and started texting, leaving John alone to wonder what was happening to his heartbroken friend.
Eventually, he had to come to the conclusion that Sherlock was done and that he was hurting. Being a straightforward man, he decided to venture into the cemetery and offer what support he could. He was stopped before he could carry out this plan however by a gentle hand on his arm.
"Let him be, John." Irene's voice was softer than he had heard it before.
John gazed at the white-topped tombstones which hid his flatmate, his best friend. If this was John, if it was he who was alone and crying out through plaintive strains of the violin, John was sure that Sherlock would be there for him. If John was in pain, Sherlock would be there, trying to make it go away. Granted, it would be in some weird