Mycroft walked into the flat first, purposefully, not really acknowledging John when he first entered. Lestrade next, glancing apologetically at John before saying, "My? Just wait a moment." lest Mycroft should continue to wander through the entire flat. He shook hands with John. "How are you getting on?"

"Fine."

Mycroft spun around.

"John you are clearly NOT fine. You've been moping around this flat for nearly a year now. Going through the motions. In one whole year- John, you've barely lived! If breathing wasn't a sign of life, I'd say you've been dead this past year, because by God-"

"Mycroft. Love, just...calm down a bit, hey? Let's not barrel straight into him the minute we've walked through the door, hmm?"

"I'm FINE Mycroft. However whilst you've been on bloody expensive trips around the world with your husband, I've been sat here at home waiting for the day when I'll see Sherlock again. When he'll walk through that door. I've been bloody mourning, Mycroft. What've you been doing? Relaxing on a £100,000 yacht? Sunbathing in the Bahamas, skiing down the Alps, need I say more? There's no remorse in you. I wish to God I had died with him that day. I thought..." John trailed off, and Lestrade and Mycroft looked at each other in dismay. That was not part of the plan. Greg coughed.

"But, John, mate, he...he died, didn't he, you saw him lying dead on the ground, John. He isn't coming back. He would want you to be out there getting on with life. If there's a heaven, or...whatever, don't you think he'd want to be looking down on you taking all the advantages and all the special things life can offer you, and living a damn good life, instead of mourning his for all eternity?"

"His life was worth a thousand of mine."

Something inside Greg Lestrade snapped. He suddenly felt the emotions that had surged through his husband a moment earlier.

"John Watson, bloody hell! Can't you hear yourself? Maybe it's easier to see from the outside looking in but God, that man adored you! He said once, when you two were on a case, and neither of you looked particularly...ahem...healthy, that I ought to make sure you were alright first. I kept trying to fix his...arm I think it was, and you had stopped breathing, so I went to try to resuscitate you. I was on my own in a single squad car, and Sherlock said that if he...went, stopped breathing, I wasn't to stop saving you, because, and I quote 'I would gladly die for him any day.' So don't tell me your life was not worth every bloody thing to him!"

Greg was fuming, upset, tired and angry, though he couldn't understand why he was so angry, or who with. He looked at John, staring at the ground, tears falling down his face. He looked at Mycroft, also crying, and he couldn't stand to be there any longer.

"Good morning, John."

Greg walked out of the front door, Mycroft, shaken from his daze, following behind. They left John alone in the flat, and what Lestrade had said slowly began to sink in.