I was going to make this a one-shot, but I decided to split it up instead, Please review if you like it.

John limped into the autopsy room behind Molly and Mycroft, leaning on Greg Lestrade in order to stay standing. He felt the same gut-wrenching feeling he'd been feeling the past few days as soon as he saw the body covered in a white sheet. He managed to make a small whimper of distress before he lost it. He felt his knees buckle beneath him and he crumpled to the floor, unable to will himself into trying to stand back up. "No—Sherlock, he's not dead. He isn't. Please, no. Jesus, no!"

John felt Greg's hand on his back, rubbing up and down. This wasn't the first time it had happened; this was close to the twelfth time in the three days, every since Sherlock's fall. Greg had already picked up on a pattern for when it happened. The first time John had broken down like this, Greg had dropped next to him, shaking him and pleading with him to stand up, unsure of what was going on. Eventually, after five minutes of shaking John and pleading with him, he had laid down next to him in defeat, allowing his hand to rest on John's back, slowly rubbing up and down as the former soldier lay on the floor, broken and sobbing. It wasn't until Greg had pulled John onto his lap and hushed him like one would to soothe a child that John's sobbing ceased, and he was able to regulate his breathing before regaining his composure.

This time Greg did the same thing; the same thing every time since the first incident. He didn't mind that Mycroft was watching. People always watched when it happened out in public, so Greg was already used to that. Nobody quite understood why, but Greg had taken it upon himself to make sure John was taken care of, and had temporarily moved into 221b. He felt that it was his responsibility somehow; probably because he was the second closest thing to a friend that Sherlock ever had. He sat up from his position on the floor and leaned over, hauling John onto his lap. Cradling him, he rocked and shushed him until John calmed down, his breathing starting to regulate.

Mycroft watched silently at what was happening. Sherlock had this much of an impact on this man's life. He made such a difference to this man, yet he'll never know.