One Last Time
John sat with Mycroft and Lestrade in the main car on the way to the funeral home. John was putting on a brave face, but Mycroft deduced, he was torn apart.
When the British Government had arrived at Barts he had come into what resembled a grenade going off. Anderson in shock, looking over the corpse, to see if it was really Sherlock, his partner in a state of hysterics and shock, and John… He had enveloped his brother's best friend before his partner.
"John… Its alright…" he had carded a hand though his hair, murmuring loving words of strength but he knew it was useless. Anderson came out to see the group, as cameras and people stalked outside.
"It is him?" Mycroft regained composure. Anderson nodded, and he felt Lestrade put an arm around him, John still clinging to his middle like a scared child.
"Yes, it is." Lestrade bent down to John and looked into his hurt eyes.
"Would you like to see him?" John noded, Mycroft gave a grateful look and the three of them made their way into the morgue.
John held onto his friend's lifeless hand and cried. He didn't even notice Molly coming in with Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft, mustering up brotherly strength, and attempting to look hurt, put his hand on John's shoulder.
"he loved you, so very, very, much… John please know that…" John didn't answer him, he was shattered.
"Stay as long as you need to," Lestrade whispered, he and Mycroft showed themselves out.
"Do you want me to stay?" Mycroft whispered, John nodded, sobbing into Sherlock's coat.
John clung, and sobbed into Sherlock's lifeless body for hours, he hand never felt such agony in his life, and there was little anyone could do. Mycroft just sat, texting on his phone (he was texting his baby brother but who cared).
John lay in Mycroft's bed watching the videos of the two of them on his phone. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't see anyone except Mycroft and Molly. Lestrade had given John say over everything for the service, who did what, and the grave site.
"John…" John looked up, Mycroft sat on the bed, and put a hand on his cheek, rubbing gently.
"You may have a private audience with him if you wish," Mycroft was attempting to make this whole thing easier.
"Can I give him something?"
"Of course,"
"Will you come with me?" John whispered, fear in his voice. Mycroft nodded, standing and pulling his brothers best friend up with him.
They made their way quietly out to the car, jut the two of them in the backseat; heated seats were on and it was warm despite the freezing rain that had taken a residence in town. Mycroft had private security guarding his brothers body, and they went in with ease.
"I love you, Sherlock. Wherever you are please know this…" he took a hart necklace and wrapped one half of it around Sherlock's wrist, putting the other around his own wrist.
"I have this one, and you have that one and I'll never take this off I promise, Sherlock. I'll where it every single day I am alive." Mycroft caught him as he collapsed on the floor in a state of angst.
"He knows, John. I promise you that, he knows," Mycroft whispered, holding tight to the doctor.