The clothes have long since rotted off his body so he lies down naked in the ash. There are meteors and he busies himself with estimating how long it will take each to fade. He’s getting very good at that. He sleeps for awhile and when he wakes up there are still meteors, brighter than the reddish sky.
“I don’t know why You’ve done this,” Sherlock says, as all of existence rattles with God’s next exhale. “But I hope you’ve got a damn good reason.”