A/N: The story is inspired by the Agatha Christe novel with the same name. I listened to the Five little pigs movie theme while writing this. It's beautiful and I recommend you to listen to the song while reading it or after it whatever. Just search after Five little pigs movie theme on YouTube.
R/R
Five Little Pigs
This little piggy went to market
Mrs. Hudson thought about going straight home after the funeral, but then she remembered she hadn't shopped for days. She knew she needed to buy something good to eat for her poor boy. John was broken and he had already started to limp again, just when it started to go so well.
It's terrible, it's terrible, Mrs. Hudson thought, she shook her head and hurried into the super market, it's terrible that I will never hear him play violin again, he was such an excellent violinist.
Mrs. Hudson felt a slightly pain to her hip, but she shook it away.
If Sherlock can kill himself I can stand a little pain.
She straightened up, like she was in the military.
Oh, I will miss him, I will miss him shooting on my wall and I will miss seeing body parts in the fridge.
Mrs. Hudson walked passed by many shelves with cake's and treats.
Sherlock used to love my homemade apple cake, he simply couldn't get enough of it, if he wasn't working on a case of course.
Mrs. Hudson picked a box of John's favorite cake and decided she couldn't do more shopping with her mind full of all these thoughts.
On the way home Mrs. Hudson hoped John would stay in Baker Street, then at least one of her boys would be there.
This little piggy stayed home
Molly Hooper hated it, hated it! She hated to play sad when she knew it was nothing to be sad about. She knew Sherlock was alright and it hurt her to see people sad because of it. She had promised Sherlock to not say a word, but she had always been a horrible liar and a bad actress.
Molly went straight home from the funeral, she didn't even look back.
After zapping through several channels on her television and waiting for her favorite show, Glee, to begin her thoughts was wandering back to Sherlock. She wondered where Sherlock has gone. Was he still in England or had he fled to Europe or Asia? She didn't know. It's a long time since she last saw him.
Sometimes it felt like a dream. Sometimes it felt like Sherlock really was dead. Sometimes she wondered if she'd only imaged it all, even his plea for help and support. She'd never seen him so sad and weak before, the words he said didn't make any sense to her.
Her cat Toby jumped into her lap, Molly ran her hand through Toby's fur and he purred. They watched Glee together, when the show ended Molly turned off the television.
"He is alive, isn't he?" She asked herself and Toby.
Toby raised his head and meowed.
This little piggy had roast beef
Kitty Riley didn't even plan to go the funeral, she'd only gone because of Rich Brook. Rich disappeared the day of the suicide, he probably ran away to hide from Sherlock Holmes or maybe… maybe Sherlock Holmes killed him and hid his body. Kitty tried to shake those thoughts out of her head and held it high, trying to look as proud as possible. She didn't stand with the others. John Watson had already spotted her and given her a murdering look.
She did it. She saved the world from Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Watson couldn't blame her for doing so. She saved him from living with a psychopath for God's sake! She didn't understand why he was so angry, sure they were friends, but a psychopath is a psychopath. He kidnapped children and killed people and God knows what else!
It wasn't many people at the funeral, it was; their housekeeper Mrs. Hudson, a pathologist named Molly Hooper, one police man named Lestrade and of course John Watson. It was also a man with a black suit and an umbrella too.
Kitty smiled, she loved to be a journalist and she loved to spread the truth. She found the notepad in her jacket pocket and wrote with big letters the title of her new article:
Funeral of a Fraud
Kitty closed the notepad and sighed.
This deserves a toast and a good roast beef, she thought to herself.
This little piggy had none
After the funeral Lestrade went to the pub, he sat down on a bar stool. The bartender asked what he wanted to drink, Lestrade only shook his head. The bartender nodded and turned to another costumer. Lestrade just wanted to sit there and think. He didn't dare to go home; he suspected his wife had the PE teacher over again, Sherlock was right, he was always right.
Lestrade tried to convince himself to think that Sherlock Holmes wasn't a fraud, but he never said it loud, he already got people looking at him at work. He knew Sherlock Holmes; he was a great man and maybe even good, or at least he thought he knew him.
True enough, Sherlock could be a stupid asshole, but he was never evil or cruel, well, not intentionally.
Lestrade remembered the first time he saw him. He was a drug addict at the time but still manage to solve a case that would take Lestrade years to solve. It turned out to be the butler, very cliché.
Lestrade wondered what made Sherlock commit suicide. Was he just tired of the press? Or had he turned back to drugs? Or if the gossip magazine was true, did he feel guilty of it all? Lestrade shook his head again. These thoughts just made him confused. Lestrade called the bartender over. He was pretty sure he wouldn't leave the pub sober.
This little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home
John felt like he'd just woken up from a state of dreaming and woken up to a dull and boring life again. Under then funeral John managed to hold a straight face, but all kind of thoughts was going through his head. Sherlock's goodbye was ringing in his ears. John just wanted to crawl under bed and keep his head under the pillow as he did when he was a child and made the world to disappear.
After the funeral John stayed for a while. He said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson who said she was going to the market, he said goodbye to Molly who said she was going home, he said goodbye to Lestrade who didn't mention where he was going and he shot an angry glance to Kitty Riley.
He looked on the gravestone, such a simple and plain memorial for a genius man and his best friend. John touched the cold stone and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes it felt like he had woken up from many years of sleep.
John left the graveyard and didn't look back. In the cab he cried silently. John Watson cried! The brave soldier doctor from Afghanistan cried! Ridiculous!
He entered the once shared apartment. Mrs. Hudson was still out shopping which made the apartment quiet. John sat down in his normal chair and stared at Sherlock's armchair. John closed his eyes again and imagined Sherlock in the armchair; Sherlock was leaning back into the armchair and pressed his fingertips together under his chin.
Mrs. Hudson interrupted his thoughts when she came into the room with three plates of cakes.
"I thought you wanted something to eat," Mrs. Hudson said quietly and handed him a plate.
John smiled thankfully, he didn't notice before now that he hadn't eaten at all that day. They ate in silence. John placed the third cake in front of Sherlock's armchair, imagined him eating too, something he rarely did when he was alive. When they were done eating Mrs. Hudson went down with the two plates, but left the third uneaten cake on the kitchen table, John couldn't stand to look at it and threw it in the trash can. He then sat back in his chair and imagined Sherlock on the armchair beside him.
This little piggy went to market.
This little piggy stayed home.
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
This little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home.
And this little piggy was watching the others in his own funeral
A/N: Sorry if you was expecting Mycroft, but it wasn't place for him in this rhyme.
Bye and remember to always look on the bright side of life!