Lestrade and his men arrived moments later.

"Doctor Watson, what's- oh my!"

I looked at him, tears running down my face.

"Is he…?"

I nodded sadly.

"I'm so sorry. We came as quickly as we could."

"I know. Holmes wouldn't wait. We just… let our guard down."

It took four constables to pry Holmes' body from my arms; two holding onto me while the other two pried him from my vise-like grip.

As they took his body away numbness washed over me. I suddenly felt empty and alone. I stared after them, feeling as though a rather large part of me was gone.

"Doctor Watson!"

I turned to Lestrade, who, judging from the tone and volume of his call, must have been saying my name for a few moments in an unsuccessful attempt to gain my attention.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"Does Mr. Holmes have any living relatives?"

I blinked at the question then realized that Lestrade probably didn't read my stories upon actually working with Holmes from time to time and therefore knew little to nothing of what bits of Holmes' personal life I had written about.

"Yes. An older brother, Mycroft."

He nodded.

"He will need to be notified at once."

"I will do so myself once I… get back to Bakerstreet."

The thought of returning to Bakerstreet without Holmes ever being there again was more painful that I ever thought it would be.

"Very well, Doctor. Now, can you tell me what happened?"

"I would… prefer to wait, Inspector. At least for a couple hours. I need some time after… all of this."

His expression was quite easily read as a mix of sympathy, pity, and understanding.

"Understood. Clark and I shall come by tomorrow afternoon. Go on home, Doctor."

Nodding in thanks and farewell, I left.

If I had thought that the thought and notion of returning to Bakerstreet with the knowledge that Holmes would never be there again hurt, then the actually act of it was agony, excruciating torture. I nearly broke down into the tears the very moment I stepped in through the apartment door.

"Doctor Watson?"

I turned to see Mrs. Hudson. Holmes had always been fond of her and she of him, despite the trouble he often caused her.

"Mrs. Hudson,... something has happened."

Her expression became worried.

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you once Mycroft is here. He needs to know, too."

Mycroft soon arrived.

"What does Sherlock find so important that he must drag me from my work?"

"Holmes didn't call for you, Mycroft. I did."

He looked at me.

"You, doctor?"

"Please sit down."

Picking up that something was wrong, he obeyed, sitting near Mrs. Hudson.

"Where is Sherlock, doctor?"

I sat in my chair.

"Something happened."

Mycroft stiffened, and I could fear glittering in his eyes. Despite their differences and rather strained relationship, neither brother would ever wish harm upon the other.

"Is Sherlock all right?"

I took a breath, knowing I was about to shatter part of their lives. Holmes had always been a strong presence in their lives, in all our lives.

"He's dead."

Mycroft's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Mrs. Hudson covered her own mouth, tears filling her eyes.

I dragged my gaze to my friend's brother. He was staring at me in shock and disbelief. His eyes, intense like Holmes', seemed to beg me to tell him it wasn't true.

"Dead?" he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse.

I nodded.

"Yes. About an hour ago."

The elder Holmes seemed to deflate, still shocked.

"How?"

I sadly recounted the tale to them. Once I finished I saw it; a single tear slid down Mycroft's cheek.

Mycroft and Holmes were about as different as day and night, but, deep down, they had cared for each other. Now Holmes was gone, torn from us before his time.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, but there was nothing anyone could have done for him," I said gently.

He nodded and stood, looking rather numb.

"I'll leave it to you to make the arrangements, doctor. You knew him better than anyone else."

He paused at the door.

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

He looked at me.

"You were his best friend. Thank you."

With that he left.