This story is dedicated to my Grandpa.

The hospital was such a familiar place, but brought no comfort. John lay in a bed amongst the machines and beeping. Every breath a struggle, full of pain, echoing in the empty room. John was old and he was tired, life held no joy for him anymore, but his soldiers heart beat on.

Old withered hands clutched at a rosary, his right hand feeling the trembling of his left. His tremor had returned permitantely as old age forced his activities to slow down, he was lucky that his limp never returned. As John breathed in again, he knew that it wouldn't be long now.

John never expected this would be his end. He always imagined dying on the battle field when he was still in the army. Sometimes he honestly believed that he would die running behind Sherlock. But when he met Mary he thought he would die holding her hand surrounded by their children and grandchildren. But never did he ever think he would be dying alone. All his friends and family had already passed so many years ago.

The first had been his dear sweet Mary, he had finally forgiven her for lying to him, was ready to start their family together. But it was not meant to be, his Mary died in childbirth, both her and the baby, his little baby girl Alice. Who never saw the world never opened her eyes as she was born early, too early to survive. John had held her once, her tiny body no bigger than a loaf of bread with pale hair. She had Mary's nose and chin and his ears with the tiny notch.

Sherlock had been his rock through the whole deal. He let John lean on him, just like the times he had leaned on John. Sherlock was the only reason John stopped himself from following. A favor he returned almost 15 years later when Mycroft suffered a stroke and died three days later without ever regaining consciousness. The loss of his elder brother shook Sherlock to the core, pushing him back to the drugs until John caught him. John had spent the rest of that night holding Sherlock as he finally succumbed to his grief and broke down in John's arms.

Mrs. Hudson hadn't been much of a surprise, as the years passed her hip bothered her more and more making her less mobile until she was no longer to mount the stairs to 221B. Sweet Mrs. Hudson who had been like a mother to both John and Sherlock, and passed quietly in her sleep leaving 221 to her boys.

Harry and Lestrade bad habits of drinking and smoking respectively caught up to them in their later years. Greg lost after a long battle with lung cancer, his last days spent heavily sedated to help with the pain and his remaining friends could do nothing but remain a vigil over his bedside watching as his hands went cold and white the blood leaving them to try to sustain the heart, he died quietly in his sleep surrounded by the people who had loved him. Harry died waiting for a new liver, having destroyed hers after years of alcohol abuse. John had let tears stream down his face as he buried the only member remaining of his blood family next to the graves of his wife and daughter.

Molly had been unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Crossing the street on her way back to Bart's she didn't see the man running the red light until her body made contact with the bonnet of the car, she was dead before she hit the ground. The driver never even stopped after he hit her just kept driving. It had been John and Sherlock that had tracked the man down and delivered him to NSY worse for wear.

Through all these things John had had Sherlock, and Sherlock had had him. Neither where left alone as slowly everyone they cared about died. That is until Sherlock began to forget things, and John learned that one didn't have to be dead to be left alone. Sherlock's slowly forgot more and more, and John's heart broke more and more as his friend struggled to remember him, until one day he didn't. That day and the days afterwards had been the hardest in John's life. Struggling to care for Sherlock, watching as his friend grew worse and worse until he did nothing more than stare out the window at London refusing to eat or drink. On that last day Sherlock seemed to know what was going on as he smiled at John his eyes sharp as ever. He deduced everything about John just like in the old days and preened when John had said 'Amazing' one last time.

It was if he was reassuring John that it was okay, because on his last breath he had smiled that smile he wore at the start of a new case and whispered, "The Game is afoot John" before those silvery eyes that could deduce your very soul dimmed as the spirit of Sherlock left, leaving John all alone in their home of 221B Baker Street. That was were John had spent the rest of his days, in the flats that were once filled with experiments and arguments, of crap telly and the smell of fresh scones. Unable to move past the pain that he felt of being the last survivor.

That is why so many years later John lay alone in a hospital bed, without a friend in the world left. His nurses whispered quietly to themselves when they thought he was asleep about his predicament.

"Such a nice man, but why is he all alone?" one young nurse had asked the older one.

"It's a shame, he's got no one left in the world, no family and no friend" replied the nurse, gently touching the back of John's hand. "You're too young to remember but this man was quite known back in the day, he and his friend solved crimes all over London for Scotland Yard."

Sherlock's legacy was much forgotten by many people, but a few still remembered the consulting detective. John legacy was to make sure that no one ever forgot Sherlock, he had written a book detailing every single case they ever worked with every detail from John shooting the cabbie, to Moriarty's return and beyond. It was scheduled to be released in a few weeks, and his publisher was certain that it would be a best seller. John was sorry he wouldn't find out if it was or not, but he hoped it was he arranged the profits from the books to go to several organizations from Wounded Warrior, to the city's homeless shelters, to scholarships for medical students and people going into crime enforcement. Hopefully the money would do some good for the world.

He sighed he was so tired, and wanted nothing more than to just sleep. John closed his eyes once more and when he opened them he saw them standing at the foot of his bed like no time had passed. Sherlock was garbed in his beloved Belstaff and blue scarf while Mary had a red sundress on, both were smiling at John.

"It's time to come home John" smiled Mary reaching out a hand. While Sherlock huffed and extended his hand also.

"Come along John, it's been terrible boring without you" his voice was ringing with impatience just like it always was. "Everyone's waiting at Angelo's, Mrs. Hudson has made some of her scones to welcome you home."

John laughed and reached out with his hands, not noticing that they weren't the old man's hands that tremble but his strong hands, and if John would have looked back he would have seen his body surrounded by nurses with a slight smile on his face and a hand reached outward. But John didn't look back, he only looked forward as he was lead on to the great beyond with the two of the people he loved the most.

There he was greeted by all of his family and friends, never to be separated again for he was finally home.