"We'll see to it a new service dog is issued," Nicholas heard the woman say to his mother. Molly worried the telephone cord in her hands, glancing at him.

"Yes…well, we aren't sure yet…it's too soon, you see," trust his mother to understand how he felt. "Yes I understand she was a working dog but that hardly- no- I don't see how any dog could be 'just' a dog! I will call if we change our minds, goodbye." She hung up the phone with a touch more force than necessary.

"I don't want a new dog," Nicholas said from his room. Molly sighed heavily.

"We have to consider-"

"No." and he shut the door to his room.

Molly looked wearily to Sherlock, who only shook his head.

"It is too soon for him yet. Let him bury her first."

The ashes had been delivered the day after Sayyida was put down. Mycroft must have stepped in at some point because they arrived in a walnut box with an engraved lid.

"I want to bury her at Grandma and Grandpa's," Nicholas said. Sherlock and Molly both agreed it would be a good resting place. "And I want the Watson's to come too."

"I'll call them and see if their weekend is free."

Lake District, Holmes Family Property

On a hill stood an old oak tree, and in the shade of the boughs, Sherlock dug down deep until he could fit the length of his arm in the hole. There he set the box of ashes, Molly spread over it Sayyida's old blanket. Nicholas was keeping her collar. The hole was filled in again, and everyone murmured something kind to Nicholas.

"I want to stay a minute," Nicholas said, and Molly nodded, pressing his forehead.

"We'll start lunch," Mary said, and ushered John and Sherlock toward the house. Ella stayed behind.

"You don't have to stay, you know."

"I know." She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.

In the distance they could hear birds fluttering on the breeze.

"It's hard…saying goodbye," Ella said at last. Nicholas scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling his muscles ache more keenly than before. It was too cold for him to be out, but he didn't want to go in yet. He couldn't just leave Sayyida here, all alone.

"When my cat died," Ella continued. "I didn't want to ever stop saying goodbye, because…it's like you can't let go of them. They were a part of you for so long that life without them is too painful to comprehend. Once the farewells are over, that's it." He looked at her, eyes red-rimmed.

"Yes."

"If we could just keep saying goodbye, then it's like we can delay it a little longer, that they aren't really gone yet."

"But they are," he contradicted. "They're gone forever."

"Yes," Ella said, and looked at him finally. "And that's the first step towards moving on." Nicholas looked back at the fresh turned earth; Aunt Mary had woven together cypress boughs, spreading them over the dirt. After a moment, Ella reached for his hand. "You're cold."

"Would you please take me inside?" he asked quietly. She turned his chair around, and he stretched his hand up, fingers cramped and white from the cold, reaching for her arm. Tilting his head back, he looked up through the branches of the tree to the sun shining through the leaves and sighed heavily. The ache in his chest lessened, and he blinked back tears.

It was time to move on.