"Put the tie on, Sherlock," John demanded, tugging the blazer over the detective's shoulders, and buttoning it up, "We're going to be late."
"Why does it matter if we wear these suits?" Sherlock asked through a sigh of resignation as he slipped the tie underneath the collar of his dress shirt and fumbled around with it awkwardly, "I don't even know how to tie this stupid thing."
John rolled his eyes, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt and playing with the shoulders of his sports coat. "Turn towards me, I'll do it," he sighed, expertly tying the tie that matched his own on to the other man.
Sherlock gave John a small, closed-mouth smile, "Thanks," he said, fidgeting with his tie and the lapels of his coat silently looking for a way to put on his own, familiar clothes.
"Yeah, any time," John muttered, grabbing the keys to the flat and his phone off the table before taking Sherlock by the hand and leading him out into the street. The frosty air nipped at the men's exposed hands for a few minutes, but before the chill could spread, the black London taxi edged up to the curb and the doctor and his companion scrambled inside of it.
It was a quiet, long-feeling fifteen minute cab ride. Rain started pouring in buckets along the roadways and avenues as they neared the cemetery and John solemnly led Sherlock out on to the soaking grass and up the hill where a small gathering of people bowed their heads beneath black umbrellas in memoriam.