Buckingham Palace, 2012...

"Goodbye John..." Sherlock started, looking away. He held the mobile with a trembling hand, his signature coat and scarf flapping in the wind. Arthur watched the television in suspense, clutching a union Jack cushion with both arms. His eyes grew wide, his shoulders tensing, his grip on the pillow tightening, as Sherlock tossed the mobile to one side and composed himself to jump off the roof of the hospital.

"No." he whispered, terrified, unaware he was slowly standing up and leaning closer to the TV. Sherlock opened out his arms and tumbled off the side of the drop.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, perfectly in sync with John crying Sherlock's name. He paced Arthur paused for a moment, fat tears welling in his eyes, before turning his face away from the screen. "Wanker!" He sobbed pathetically. He plopped to the floor and yanked a blanket from the sofa, wrapping it around his body and over his head. He continued to watch, a crumpled frown on his face. "What the bloody hell, John!" he erupted, two arms lashing out from under the blanket. "Watch out for the bike, you tit!"

"Arthur?" A voice called from next door. Her majesty popped her weary head round the corner to find the nation mumbling insults through choked tears, under the pink blanket belonging to her. "Arthur, what on earth is all this noise! Oh! What did I tell you about watching those shows?...Are you cryi-"

"No!" he defended pitifully. "I'm not crying, am I, flying mint bunny?" The Queen sighed, passing a hand to her head.

"Reginald!" she called. A pristine, polished butler came sauntering down the hall.

"You majesty?"

"A pot of tea. Extra strong-he needs it."

"As you wish, your Majesty."

The next day at a UN meeting...

"Britain!" Francis remarked. "What are those 'orrid bags under your eyes?"

"Never you mind, wanker."

"They're not tiredness bags...they're emotional ones! What were you doing last night?" Arthur turned his head and blinked absently, a dark look in his exhausted face. Suddenly, Francis' eyes lit up.

"Oh honhonhon! I know! You were watching Sherlock weren't you! Let me guess, something terrible 'appened to one of the characters."

"Sherlock's dead!" Arthur wailed, smacking his head onto Francis' shoulder. The man smiled wryly.

"Ah...you British people and your strange little TV shows."

"Hey!" Arthur piped up, drawing himself away from Francis. "I'm a Cumberbitch and proud!"

"But what will we do now, Sherlock's dead!" a voice sounded from down the table. Everyone looked to Ivan, who sat with his head down, a mop of hair covering his face. Britain and France exchanged confused glances. Suddenly, Russia shot up from his chair and prized apart his coat, revealing a Johnlock t-shirt. "I have no use for this t-shirt now! I'll have to waste it and strangle Latvia with it instead!" The room became completely silent for a moment before suddenly, in unison, everyone cried out 'Russia, you're a cumberbitch?!'

The End

A/N: I should not be given the internet as a toy. I am not safe :3

I had a ton of fun writing this and I hope-for those of you who didn't this offensive towards every British stereotype ever-you enjoyed it too! Also, just a quick shout out to the queen-please don't execute me. I'm british too, so it's all good right?

Until next time-asta la pasta!