"I was so alone, and I owe you so much. Do you remember the first time I said those words, Sherlock?"
John looked around at the closed casket beside him.
Beautiful New England oak wood adorned with flowers and a photo of the younger detective. He must have been in his late 40's when that photo was taken. Just before they were married.
John smiled an awkward smile at the picture. Sherlock had always looked like that to John. From his 30s up until 78, John had always seen the same youthful, unruly mop of dark curls, even long after those curls had turned grey.
"You gave me everything, Sherlock. You gave me purpose; a reason to live. You gave me love like no other, you gave me family and you gave me a son."
John stopped a moment to look up and smile at Hamish who was sat in the front row with Abigail and little Toby.
"The years we had together were better than I ever could have imagined or hoped for, and the legacy you leave behind, our son and grandson, is truly a blessing."
John glanced at Mycroft, sat on the other side of Hamish, twirling his umbrella around. He caught the man's eye and smiled.
"And Sherlock," he continued, "We shall all look after your brother."
