Hit Me by ShiNee 3:55

Molly

She'd thought it would be enough to go on, being the one person who knows, the one person he trusted enough to tell. But knowing isn't a substitute for seeing his thin face and making him a cup of coffee in the middle of the night. It's something, but it's not as much as she expected.

Lestrade

Sherlock wasn't his son. He wasn't even his friend, not in any normal way that anyone thinks of the word. But the inspector feels like he's lost both—a son and a friend. He puts the guilt away, the way he does when he loses officers in the field. But he still grieves.

Mycroft

He knows. Of course he knows. They never talked about it. Sherlock simply trusted that he would see beyond the surface, and he did. That's how he knows there's a little brother in a flat somewhere, and it comforts him. Sometimes, at night, he lets himself imagine that Sherlock is free, and he's glad. It's a sentiment that is unlike him, but he feels it all the same.