John stared at his best friend's body, as people carried it away. He fell to his knees. He wanted to be alone, to mourn. Or to cry. Or best - find out that somehow, Sherlock is still breathing, his heart still beating.

He just couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.

He was too shocked and overwhelmed by every single emotion he could have sensed, he had completely forgotten he wasn't the only one Sherlock had left behind. And that other person knew how to track down his phone, since he wasn't answering it.

He heard a car door being slammed.

"John! Is everything alright? Why are you sitting down like that?" her voice called from a distance. He could hear her quick steps getting closer and closer, but he was too weak to get up.

"John, what is this? Is this… blood?!" she finally understood and ran to him.

"John, are you ok –" she asked, and then she saw what he was looking at.

She screamed. It wasn't a regular scared scream, but it was a sad one, as sad as it could get. It was full of grief, sorrow and agony. All the people around the body turned to look at her, but she didn't even notice their presence. Two people, a man and a woman, or two men, she hadn't quite noticed, caught her and held her so she won't get to near to him. She shook them away, without removing her gaze from Sherlock, and ran to him. She bent down beside him, and her hand was shaking as she touched his cheek. John put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly, but she didn't seem to feel it. In fact, she didn't move. Not a bit. Just stared at Sherlock lying still on the ground, with her hand on his bloody cheek.

"Dana?" he asked quietly, and as he thought, she didn't response.

"Dana? Dana, listen to me." He said more loudly, but she still didn't move. People lifted his body and put it on a stretcher, and her hand moved with it as if it was attached to him.

"Dana. Dana!" he was shouting now, but she didn't even blink. The people started lifting the stretcher, and she didn't remove her hand. She was in some sort of a trance, and she didn't seem to be aware of what was going on.

"Dana, listen to me!" he shouted even louder, and he pulled her hand away from his cheek. Her gaze moved to his face, but it was still different. There was still something strange about it. Sherlock used to say, and it hurt John deeply to use the word 'said', that people see instead of observe. And she was doing neither. Her eyes were in front of him, but they didn't really see. John kept talking to her, but she didn't seem to notice he was. John desperately held her hands in his and pressed them, and she didn't react.

This was her official breakdown.

The last straw that led all of her sanity drift away, and all she had left was her madness.

No way to express her feeling,

And no one to share them with.