Author's Note: Do I post the last chapter an hour after the fourth?... yes...

"Get out!"

I winced as a chair clattered on the floor. I stood for a second, watching Sherlock pull at his hair. I could tell he was truly broken. Not like when he can't figure out a case after he's worked on it without sleep or food for days. Not like when Moriarty had him at gunpoint. And even worse than when John was in danger.

I guess he just thought it would never happen. John would not be hurt.

Because he wouldn't allow it. He would burn ten times over before anyone laid a finger on him. Or Mrs Hudson.

Because he did care. Mycroft always tells me that he wished Sherlock would realize that caring is not an advantage. Sherlock may agree with that. But, in no way whatsoever, does that stop him.

So I went outside with a sigh and breathed in the cool London air. I waited to take him away.

I looked over at Donovan who was leaning against the car. She didn't seem to have much emotion. She never really did. Maybe that's not a terrible quality as a sergeant.

Mrs Hudson was sobbing silently. I went over and saw that she was shivering. I fetched a blanket to keep her warm and tried to comfort her a bit as I slowly stroked her arm.

Then we heard it.

A single gunshot.

Mrs Hudson sobbed louder and Donovan's mouth dropped open.

My heart fell to my stomach and I couldn't breathe.

"Oh my God…"

I ran back up to the flat with Donovan and at least five others behind me. Sherlock was in the kitchen, leaning against the wall with John in his lap. There was blood on his face and a gun lay next to his leg.

Jesus Christ. Why did I have to leave him alone?

I didn't know what to do. As a detective, you see people dead more often than you'd like. But after a while that initial shock fades. It never goes away completely, though.

Then you see something like this. Two of your best friends, laying on the kitchen tiles together. And that shock comes back.

And it's worse. Multiplied by a thousand.

And it hurts. The ache in your chest paralyzes you.

A few men came and moved their bodies out.

Still, I stood staring. I looked back and forth from the bottle to the gun to the phone.

Just like the first time. It started with a phone, pills, and a gun. And that's how it ended. At least here on earth.

There are heroes in this world. They don't fly around in tight pants and capes. Thank God. They are the people you trust. The people who are loyal and who never let you down. The people who may not be loved widely, but who are loved deeply. Your best friends.

The world lost two of them today, but I hope with all my heart that, wherever people go after this life, they are happy there.

~Gregory Lestrade