This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot. A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other.
London is hit by the zombie apocalypse, Sherlock and John are fighting to survive and have to find a way to escape the terrible fate that may be waiting behind every corner.
We were one with our destinies entwined. When I thought that I fought this war alone. You were there by my side on the frontline. When I thought that I fought without a cause. You gave me a reason to try.
Sherlock: Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, we agreed.
John: When did we agree that?
Sherlock: We agreed it yesterday.
John: I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.
Sherlock: It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.
Hello, old friend. And here we are. You and me, on the last page. By the time you read these words, Rory and I will be long gone. So know that we lived well and were very happy. And above all else, know that we will love you always. Sometimes I do worry about you though. I think once we’re gone you won’t be coming back here for awhile. And you might be alone. Which you should never be. Don’t be alone, Doctor
I’m running to you, and Rory, before you fade from me. Every time we flew away with the Doctor we’d just become part of his life. But he never stood still long enough to become part of ours. Except once. The Year of the Slow Invasion. The time the Doctor came to stay.