John had demanded that he carry Sherlock's coffin.

"He was my best friend," he all but growled at Mycroft, "I will take one corner. Greg Lestrade will take another. We were his closest friends."

Mycroft had pursed his lips, but had called the funeral director with the new information.

On the day of Sherlock's funeral, John found himself in the funeral car with Greg, Mycroft, Mummy Holmes (who he had met once or twice before), and two other men, one who shared Sherlock's curly hair, the other wore the icy grey Holmes eyes.

They'd arrived at the church, Mummy had insisted on a ceremony, and marched to the hearse to help. Mummy had stood close by, gently dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

John's eyes widened when he lifted his corner.


After depositing the coffin at the front, John and Greg join Mycroft and Mummy in the front pew.

He was amazed by the amount of people who turned up. The church was full to the back, and John only recognised half of them. Some had the Holmes curly hair and bone structure, others John recognised from private cases he and Sherlock had taken, he even saw some familiar faces from Scotland Yard.

John tightens his jaw and unfolds his note paper as he walks up to the front. He makes eye contact with as many people as he can and starts his speech;

"Someone once told me that Sherlock Holmes was a great man…"


It's only ten months before Sherlock makes his miraculous return from the dead. When he reveals himself to John he braces himself for the tirade of, I buried you, you were my friend, you lied to me, but instead he's greeted by a hard stare.

"You knew?"

John nods slowly, "worked it out pretty quickly." He breathes a laugh when Sherlock remains silent, "finally something the great Sherlock Holmes can't work out." He watches Sherlock for a moment and sighs, "it was your coffin."

"My coffin?"

"Yep. Far too heavy. Sherlock, I knew exactly what you weighed then. I was your doctor, I carried you when you fell asleep in taxis or in inappropriate places in the flat. When Irene drugged you I had to give you a bloody piggyback."

Sherlock blinks, "you carried it?"

"I don't know how you felt about me, but you were my best friend," he drags his fingers through his now almost completely grey hair, "I wanted to do it, so I spoke to Mycroft. It was me, Greg, and two of your cousins."

"And how did you work it out?"

"Like I said, the coffin weighed too much," John shrugs, "I brought it up with Mycroft and he came clean with the whole plan. Told me how you did it and how important it was that I didn't tell anyone, so I continued to play the part of the grieving best friend."

Sherlock shuffles nervously, "and will you have me back?"

"I'll forgive you if do me a favour, let me watch when you tell Greg. I bet his reaction will be priceless."

Sherlock grins and finally relaxes into his long winded explanation of where he'd been and what he'd done, John leans back in his armchair and thinks that even though it might take some time to get back to where they were, in time, they would be alright.