Goodbye, dear friend.
I do not own Sherlock, the BBC does. Any mistakes are my own.
No parings, this is probably going to be a one shot. No spoilers.
The rain was falling steadily and there was a definite nip in the air. Soon we were inside. It was a lot warmer and many people had taken their coats off. The smell of wetness hung in the air. A bit like the smell of earth after rain. There was a metallic tang in the air as the condensed air reached the rafters.
Many people were here. It was surprising how many people had connections. Who knew whom? Well London is a tight knit community; many people know others personally or know of them. Anyway, everyone knows everyone one way or another.
That metallic taste is in my mouth. There was no way to avoid the rain it was snowing earlier. Now the air was a little warmer so it turned to rain. I suppose it made it easier for people to get here. It made traveling easier. People had come all over the country for this.
I can feel a trickle of rain running down my neck. There must be a leak in the roof. Typical. Why did we have to sit at the front? It did not make it any better. We would still be able to hear everything.
I shifted in my seat. They were never very comfortable. I remember as a child, sitting for hours on end in a place like this. Not being able to talk. That is when I started to live inside my head. Scoping people out just by looking at them, what they are wearing, and what they smell like. However, everyone has the same smell today. The wet smell. Like when a dog has not been washed in a while.
I never did like being sandwiched between people. Maybe that is why I never use public transport. I always get cabs everywhere. Not to mention I helped a few of the drivers out a few times so they owe me. I never do pay full price fare anymore. Maybe it is why I never go on holiday either. I never did like going on holidays with my family. I prefer my own company, even now I still do. However, I have had to get used to having other people in my life. There is always someone with me now. More often now, why is that?
What is that noise? It was coming from all over the room. Why were people doing it? However, people were trying to do it quietly, so?
So maybe they don't cause a scene and interrupt the person speaking? However, why would they care? It is only Molly speaking. I always talk over her and she does not seem to mind. Why is she standing up at the front?
I felt Mary's hand cover mine. I looked down and then back up at her, there were tears streaming down her face. She gave me an encouraging smile. Why did I need encouraging? Alternatively, maybe it was a reassuring smile/ but what? I was perfectly fine.
Why did people have to cry at events like this? Everyone looks so morbid. Even me. John made me wear an entirely black suit. Obviously, I agreed, I normally wear dark suits with dark shirts under it. In addition, I had to wear a tie. What was the pint of wearing a black tie with a completely black outfit?
Then everyone stood up. Was I meant to stand to? John pulled at my arm and held me a book. He showed me what page to turn to as the music struck up. Everyone started singing. Even John and he hated singing. I suppose I had better sing alone with the rest of them.
John pulled at my sleeve again, urging me to sit back down. I looked around the cold, wet, and smelly room and realized I was the only one left standing. I sat willingly and John took the book back off me. I watched as he shoved them into a little box under the seat. He then faced forward. I saw him looking out the corner of his eye at me. John had been fretting for days, coming round more often and making sure the fridge was well stocked and I had enough to keep me going. I knew he was looking after me. It was his way of coping I suppose. He became more involved with the cases I was on. He and Mary were moving again soon. A couple of streets away from Baker Street. It would be more convenient for me. I needed an assistant from time to time and having John close by would be like old times when he was living with me.
Everyone is standing up again. Filing out of the room now. That meant going back outside. I stood up, the rest of the congregation smiling at me wearily and nodding. Why were they doing that I felt john push me forward slightly.
It is snowing now, making the path slippery. I watch as Mary hangs onto johns arm as they walk with the pushchair. It is only a few short steps away and we all gather round. One big crowd looking down. Soon though a box is passed round. John and Mary throw some dirt in and then it is my turn. I clutch a handful and throw it in, hearing it trump against the wood.
People are patting me on the shoulder and saying things. To me and to Mary, john and Molly. Then it is just the four of us left. I sense the three of them looking at each other and they walk slowly away from me, they are keeping their voices in hushed whispers. I know what they are talking about. They are talking about me and how I am, how I am coping, if I am getting enough sleep or eating enough. I pretend that I am fine. However, it is just a facade. I do not think I will ever be alright. A chunk of my life has gone and I know that it is never coming back.
I hear footsteps. It is more of slush now, but I would know those tread anywhere.
"Sherlock."
I turn my head to look at my sorry excuse of a brother. Clutching a large umbrella and covering from the cold.
"You came then." I turn back to the open air and watch as the gravediggers go about their work.
"Of course I came. Did you think I would not?"
"Quite frankly Mycroft, I do not know what to think anymore. You change your mood and attitude more than you change your clothes." I say. However, in a way I am thankful he came. It was another line of support that I needed.
"How are you Sherlock?"
I turn to face him fully. He is wearing a sombre expression, although it might actually be genuine. "Let's not do this. I haven't had enough to drink yet."
Mycroft smiled. It was one of the first times I had actually seen him smile properly. "Cigarette?"
"In a minuet. There's something I want to do first." I say and watch Mycroft as he walks back round the church. I turn back to the grave and step forward. The man looks up briefly and nods then carries on what he is doing.
Her final resting place. Mrs Hudson.
I look up at the dark sky. Maybe she is up there now. Looking over me.
I am not your housekeeper.
I laugh, accidentally aloud and make the gravedigger jump.
Before the coffin was sealed, I placed a letter in her pocket. It was for my own piece of mind. I wanted to thank her, for everything that she has done for me. She had taken so much abuse from me, running her flat and generally making a mess. However, she never once got angry. Never once threated to throw me out.
You are like a second mother to me Mrs Hudson and I will never forget you. Goodbye dear friend and rest in peace.
I smile as the snow stops and the sunlight begins to peak behind the clouds and I walk slowly away, back to the people who are still here and who love me most.
Reviews are welcome.