Later that evening, Dottie had asked the group to gather at Baker Street with the family lawyer so she could read Mrs. Hudson's will.

When she finally reads through it, everyone is in complete shock. Sherlock had gotten the entire Baker Street building, John had gotten her precious Aston Martin, Molly had gotten all the rights to Speedy's Café, including the business funds for it, and Greg and Rosie (John until she's older; to save for her university) had gotten a nice sum of money. Greg, Sherlock, and John had also been gifted with splitting amongst themselves whatever they wanted from her late husband's jewelry and knick-knacks, of which he had many from when he ran the cartel, and she never gotten around to selling them. She had been saving them to sell in case she found herself in a tight situation financially, but never had.

Dottie got the rest of her personal money and their family heirlooms that were in Martha's possession, with one exception. There was a pure silver hairbrush that she had from when she was a child that was her great-great grandmother's. It went to the oldest girl of each generation, but neither sister had ever had children to pass it along to, so she had saved it for Rosie. On the back of it is all the initials of the women who had owned it. John tears up when Dottie takes it from her bag and hands it to him. When Mrs. H was sick, she had told Dottie to replace the bristles, as they do when passing it down, because she had a feeling she wasn't going to get better. She also had it engraved with "R. M. W", for Rosamund Mary Watson.

John sniffles and smiles. "Thank you. I'll make sure she remembers her, and this is a lovely token of the love she had for Rosie."

Dottie nods and hugs him. "I know. I know that all of you will keep her alive in spirit and in memory."

"I was a very lucky person, to have her as my big sister", she sniffles and tears up. "She was the best, she really was. I don't know how I will go on without her. It's a bit crazy to think I'm alone now."

Molly goes over to her and hugs her close. "I know what that feels like, and I'm so sorry. But listen...you were her family, so you're our family too. You're welcome here any time. Any time you need someone to talk to. You can phone me too. You're not alone, Dottie."

Dottie smiles warmly and cups her cheek the way Martha used to. "You're such a dear, miss Molly."

Molly tears up and chuckles. "Thank you."

Greg stands up and hugs her next. "I'm so sorry, she was the sweetest lady...she really was. I feel very special to have been thought of, because we didn't spend too much time together, but when we did, we were usually scolding Sherlock, she was right about that one!", he grins.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Mhh, SHE was scolding me, you were standing there nodding in agreement like a buffoon."

"Yeah, yeah", he brushes him off.

Rosie smiles and grabs the brush. "I get to keep this? It's so shiny!"

John nods and strokes her pretty blonde hair. "Yes, you do. It's a very very special gift from Nana Hudson. She loved you very much, Rosie."

Rosie looks at the brush and tears fill her eyes. "I love her too...why can't she come back? I didn't want her to go away to heaven...make her come back, Daddy."

John lifts her into his arms and cuddles her close. "I know you didn't sweetpea...I'm so sorry you're sad. We're all a little sad. We're gonna miss her so much, but she's always gonna be in here, okay?", John taps over her heart gently. "She will always be in your heart because you love her. And she'll be your guardian angel now, okay? You can't see her as an angel, but...she loves you so much that I bet she'd do anything to protect you."

"Why can't we see them?"

"Well...it's kind of complicated. You see, when we die, our soul comes out of our body and goes to heaven to be an angel."

"What's a soul?"

John takes a deep breath and looks at his curious and wide-eyed six-year-old. Sherlock smirks, handing him a beer out of spite. "Right um...well, it's...um...it's who you are. It's your feelings and what you like and don't like and how good you are as a person, how much love you have for people. When you die, you don't need your body anymore because it no longer works...so, your soul goes to heaven to be an angel instead."

Rosie furrows her brows, thinking. "So...if Nana Hudson is in heaven and she's an angel, she can see me cause I have a body, but I can't see her because she doesn't?"

John sighs in relief but is also a bit shocked at how intuitive she is. "Yes, that's it."

"So...that's why her body is in the ground? Cause she doesn't need it anymore because it doesn't work?"

"Yes, you're a very smart girl, huh?"

Rosie puts her finger to her lips, and John can see she's still thinking hard, he braces and hopes she doesn't have any more existential questions.

"Does everyone become an angel when they can't be a person no more?"

John pauses for a moment, then smiles, deciding on the short answer. "Yes, sweetie."

"Oh. But I'm still sad I can't see her..."

"I know Rosie. She's going to be missed so much."

She tears up again and her lip trembles.

"It's okay to cry sweetheart, I know, it's so sad."

Rosie cries into his shoulder and John rubs her back in circled gently until she falls asleep, tears falling down her cheeks. He sighs softly and kisses her temple, wishing that Mary was there and hating that she has gone through so much loss at such a young age. He opens his beer and drinks it as everyone chatters around him. He can't help but remember different times Mrs. H was in that room, saying the darndest things, and he smiles sadly as he looks around at matching solemn faces.

Sherlock sits in his chair quietly and watches the buzz as Greg, Molly, and Dottie chat about Mrs. H some more. After a moment he quietly leaves the room, going into his bedroom and closing the door. He sits on the side of his bed and buries his face in his hands, finally letting out the deep sobs that had been threatening his guard all day long.

Feelings of guilt overrun him as he sobs some more, wondering how he had gotten the chance to escape death all those times. ALL those multitudes of times, and yet she got one fucking illness and it killed her. He had overdosed many times, been stabbed as a teen, been shot, nearly been poisoned, nearly tossed off a roof, and he's still bloody here. Why? Why does he still get to be here, and she doesn't? Eighty-four is elderly, but there are plenty of people sicker than Mrs. H that are well into their nineties. Why couldn't she have?

All the times he was rotten to her flood his mind and expand his guilt, until he finds himself on the floor of his closet, looking through shoes and boxes for anything. Cigarettes, a bit of cocaine, maybe a needle of morphine.

Suddenly Molly comes into the room and gasps. Sherlock shoots straight back to the bed like a bullet, his face like a crook who has been caught red-handed, but with a tear-streaked face.

She closes the door silently. "Sherlock..."

"Look, I know, alright? I KNOW. Just go."

She swallows and still approaches him. "Sherlock, I'm sorry you feel out of control. I know she meant the world to you. I know that you're not used to feeling so powerfully and when you do, you act out. Please, if I can prevent you from becoming anything like the way you were last time, I will. You nearly-"

"What? I nearly what? Died? Would that be so terrible? But no, I didn't, because you know why? I never fucking do!"

Molly sits and grabs his hands in her own smaller ones, it dawning on her. "You feel guilty...for surviving? Sherlock, she'd never want you to do this to yourself. Ever. You know that. It worried her terribly to see you like that. You have nothing to be guilty for. Nothing. Mary wanted you to survive, and so does Mrs. Hudson. Do you think she'd be happy for you to fall apart again? To overdose again?"

He sniffs and looks away.

"You know she wouldn't."

"It doesn't matter then, because she's not here."

"Maybe not...but you promised to make her proud in that church today. Not only that but you're not alone, Sherlock. Do you get that yet? You're not fucking alone. You have a small arsenal of people who still care about you! I care about you!"

He swallows and wipes his face, looking at his hands.

"Maybe that doesn't mean a hell of a lot to you. I don't know. But I think we have been through too damn much for you just go back to your old ways. For everyone's sake."

"You told me that I mattered once. So if it ever really did, let it matter right here, right now."

"I'll be fine", he mutters. "It was a moment of weakness, I'm fine."

"Sherlock."

"What?"

He looks towards her and sees her face, utterly crushed and scared but also determined.

"I remember us making up after Sherrinford, I remember you promising me that you'd stop lying and hiding and just be real with me. And I accepted your apology on that one condition."

"He voice cracks and his eyes water. "I-I think someone should stay for a few days...t-to make sure I-..."

Molly hugs him close. He tenses at first but then hugs her back tightly. "I'm sorry", he cries weakly.

"Don't be. I'd way rather you be 100% truthful with me than to end up in the state you were in last time. You know by now that I am not the type of person who would ever air your dirty laundry to random people. You trusted me with the biggest secret you had ever kept and despite how absolutely soul-crushing it was, I kept it for you. You know I can be a confidante when you need me to."

"I know", he chokes out. "It's just so hard for me to let myself..."

"Feel? I know it is. I've always known that. I know you. I know this is killing you. I don't have work for a week for bereavement. I'll stay here for a few days, okay? I'll go and change the sheets up in the guest bedroom."

She gets up and grabs a set of sheets from the trunk next to his dresser.

"Molly..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you", he whispers a bit.

"Any time, Sherlock", she replies softly.