The funeral was days after Sherlock woke up but it seemed like a haze of nothingness. Grey and cold and empty. He sat in a pew on the left of the church. This is wrong. He shouldn't be here. This can't be real. The vicar, a grim character with grey hair and a grave expression, began to give his sermon. Sherlock didn't listen. He didn't even bother to deduce the vicar's life story. There was no-one he could tell. He stared into space, not crying. Sherlock Holmes never cried. He just felt empty. Somewhere behind him, Sarah was sobbing uncontrollably. To his left, Mycroft let a tear slip down his cheek. Anderson, who, to be fair, did look upset, was comforting a crying Donavon who was mumbling about it being 'her fault.' Harry sat on Sherlock's right looking anguished. She was holding another woman's hand. Clara. It was a horrible place for a first meeting. The vicar raised his hands. Everyone stood prayer books in hand. They began to sing a hymn and Mycroft put a hand on his brother's shoulder for support. It was a gesture that everything would be all right. But it would never be all right again.
The wake was held at Angelo's. Everyone gave a speech about the brilliant John Watson and how much they would miss him. The tables had black velvet on them and small candles burned in remembrance. Some war friend spoke of John's bravery, Stamford spoke of his skill, Mrs. Hudson spoke of his kindness and Sarah spoke of his love. Sherlock didn't say anything. Everything he could have ever said was spoken by others. He felt useless and heavy. Strangely, Harry didn't say anything either. But she was crying and showing emotion unlike the detective. Maybe this is why Sarah singled him out.
"WHY AREN'T YOU CRYING? WHY AREN'T YOU SAD?" She screamed in his face.
"I..."
He was interrupted by her wails. "HE WAS TEN TIMES THE MAN YOU'LL EVER BE! I BET YOU'RE HAPPY HE'S DEAD! HE FELT SORRY FOR YOU. SO BE SAD! CRY A LITTLE! SHOW YOU CARE!"
The last words struck him hard. He stood up and placed a CD in the CD player. It began to play and Sherlock began to sing slowly and mournfully. All of his emotion was poured out through his music. It was surprising he didn't falter.
"When I think back
On these times
And the dreams
We left behind
I'll be glad 'cause
I was blessed to get
To have you in my life
When I look back
On these days
I'll look and see your face
You were right there for me
In my dreams
I'll always see you soar
Above the sky
In my heart
There will always be a place
For you for all my life
I'll keep a part
Of you with me
And everywhere I am
There you'll be
And everywhere I am
There you'll be
Well you showed me
How it feels
To feel the sky
Within my reach
And I always
Will remember all
The strength you
Gave to me
Your love made me
Make it through
Oh, I owe so much to you
You were right there for me
'Cause I always saw in you
My light, my strength
And I want to thank you
Now for all the ways
You were right there for me
You were right there for me
For always
In my dreams
I'll always see you soar
Above the sky
In my heart
There will always be a place
For you for all my life
I'll keep a part
Of you with me
And everywhere I am
There you'll be
And everywhere I am
There you'll be
There you'll be"
Sherlock stopped the CD and step out of the restaurant. He flagged a taxi and ordered the driver to go back to Baker Street. He stumbled into the flat and opened a box that he found under the sofa. It was labeled 'Memories of John'. Inside there was photos and John's beige jumper and another box. Sherlock picked it up and opened it. A needle and a test tube sat inside. His secret hoard. Picking up the needle, he twiddled it between his fingers and plunged it into his skin. The liquid flowed into his body and he slumped over sobbing. A haze of tiredness hit him and he laid his head on his arms.
Sherlock could feel himself floating. He was surrounded by stars and the sky he was floating in was velvety. Suddenly he caught sight of a pair of big brown eyes. The eyes shimmered and in their place was the eyes owner (and the eyes).
"John! You're dead!"
"Nope. Look, I can do this now." he shoved his hand into his stomach. It came out the other side. John didn't seem to be in any pain, even when he wiggled his fingers.
"Impressive." Sherlock grinned.
"Oh. Almost forgot. I've got something to give you." A cupboard appeared and John opened the door. He pulled out a small wrapped-up box. "Here you go."
"What is it?" The detective shook the box and stared at the label. John neat handwriting decorated it.
"Open it."
Sherlock was to tear the paper when John grabbed his hands.
"Sherlock, I need you to wake up."
"Wake up? I'm not..."
Sherlock jerked, panting. He picked up his phone and speed dialed Lestrade. What was going on?