Author's Note: It's a Sherlock-focused chapter. I love those!

Chapter Fifteen

They had failed. The Doctor, Mycroft, River, Jack, and Sherlock entered the church sporting black clothing and heavy hearts. Several people gave them smiles and a few even clapped but most merely turned away.

"Some days," the Doctor muttered, "Some days, you don't win. I don't like those days."

They had technically won, but it was a shallow victory. Yesterday, the three had landed on a planet that was rumored to make the best pies in all of space and time. The pies had been delicious but short-lived. As it turned out, a monster had been rampaging through the village.

The five had managed to finally stop the monster using their wits, a few pies, a nifty invention from the Tardis, Jack's ability to not die when he was swallowed, and sheer luck.

Unfortunately, the monster had still managed to kill several families.

They took their seats and River reached up, sadly adjusting the Doctor's black bowtie.

"I really hate funerals," Mycroft sadly whispered and the Doctor put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Sherlock squirmed in his suit and glanced up at the closed coffins. It was a community funeral. The entire village seemed to be packed into the small church. Sherlock tapped his fingers and glanced at the others. They all looked depressed, even Jack and River!

Sermons were sorrowfully read and memoirs were offered by friends.

An hour passed and then another. Sherlock's back ached and his head throbbed. He was bored. But saying so only caused Mycroft to sharply glare at him.

"How long do these usually last?" Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock, that's enough," the Doctor quietly said, "Please, show some respect."

Sherlock was slightly wounded by the Doctor's tone and asked, "When we're done, can we go back and get a few pies?"

"Probably not, Sherlock," Jack sadly murmured.

A chorus began to sing a beautiful song but Sherlock wasn't paying attention. While everyone else was wiping their eyes, his eyes glazed over. He was utterly bored.

"Sherlock," Mycroft hissed, "Focus! You're acting extremely insensitive."

"But, I didn't even know them!" Sherlock argued, "Why do I need to…?"

"Sherlock," the Doctor reprimanded.

Somebody from behind hushed them.

"Quiet!"

"This is a funeral!"

Mycroft gave Sherlock a strange look and muttered, "What's wrong with you?"

"Mycroft!"

Sherlock leapt up and blindly pushed his way through the church, bursting outside.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock ignored the Doctor. His eyes stung and his skin prickled. He hazardously crossed the parking lot and used his key to enter the Tardis.

He briefly pondered the feeling; he hadn't felt like this for quite some time.

He was upset. Genuinely upset.

Something buzzed to his left. The Tardis had taken the liberty of preparing him a cup of tea. Sherlock appreciated the thought but declined.

"Sherlock!"

The door flew open and Mycroft and the Doctor entered.

"Sherlock, what…?" Mycroft shouted before pausing.

"Oh," the Doctor said, suddenly looking alarmed, "Oh no, oh no, not good."

"Why are you crying?" Mycroft asked in an extremely small voice.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Sherlock snarled. The Doctor reached out but Sherlock pulled away and entered the library, slamming the door.

Mycroft reeled back, both hurt and guilty. His own eyes bristled with tears but he was seemingly unaware of the fact.

Once again, the Doctor put a hand on his shoulder and Mycroft whispered, "What did I do? I didn't mean to…"

"I know," the Doctor reassuringly said.

"No, you don't get it!" Mycroft anxiously cried, "I have always been the one who comforted Sherlock. Everyone else either teased him or yelled at him. Especially when he doesn't …emotions haven't always been his strongest point…but he's just Sherlock. He doesn't get funerals and I knew that…and the worst part is that I'm not the first person who has yelled at him at a funeral."

Mycroft looked away and the Doctor softly said, "It's alright, Mycroft. I'll talk to him and see if…"

"No you won't," River corrected as she and Jack entered, "No offence, Sweetie, but he isn't going to want to talk to you."

The Doctor looked dismayed and Mycroft immediately said, "I'll talk to him."

"Nope," River retorted, "That's not going to work, either. It looks like it's up to me."

"You?" Mycroft skeptically asked.

"Yep. Let me through."

Meanwhile, Sherlock was wishing that his eyes would stop stinging. He wasn't sure why he had picked the library, until he realized that he was sadly going up and down the aisles, searching for something.

"Where's the dictionary?" Sherlock murmured.

A light brightened to his left, shining on the shelf that he needed.

"Thanks," Sherlock sighed. The Tardis hummed and he added, "Would you mind ke…keeping them out of here?"

The humming got louder and Sherlock repeated, "Thanks."

He gingerly picked the book up and flipped to the word:

so·ci·o·path

Noun

A person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.

The door opened and Sherlock quickly wiped his eyes. To his surprise, River was standing in the doorway with a concerned Doctor behind her. Even more surprising, River swiftly thanked the Doctor before stepping into the room and closing the door in his face.

"River!"

"Trust me, Sweetie," River briskly called.

She then turned and calmly said, "Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock merely stared at her.

"So," River said, taking a seat, "What's on your mind?"

"Everything," Sherlock mumbled.

River glanced around before admitting, "I don't think that I've ever been in here. Is it always this messy?"

Sherlock didn't bother to answer. He folded his hands and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her to leave.

Something suddenly changed in River. The smile flattened and her eyes hardened as she quietly said, "Alright. I'm not here to make small-talk, Sherlock. I'm here to actually have a mature conversation. But seeing as you've gone comatose on me, I suppose that I can wait."

She leaned back, staring at the spot that Sherlock was looking at, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

After a few silent moments, they heard a knock on the door.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called, "Please come out!"

"Go away Mycroft," River pleasantly called, "We're busy staring at ceilings."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry that I upset you!" Mycroft shouted, "I'm so sorry! Can you please let me in? Please?"

And then the Doctor's voice, "Please let us in, Sherlock."

The two heard the unmistakable noise of the Sonic. The lock clicked but River took out her own Sonic and relocked the door. She and the Doctor kept this up for a good five minutes before the Doctor finally shouted, "Alright! Well…we're out here!"

Then it was Jack's turn, "Sherlock, would you please come out?"

This got Sherlock's attention, though he merely glanced down and shouted, "Jack, you have a vortex manipulator! Why don't you just come in?"

"Because I may have a vortex manipulator," Jack called, "But River has a blaster. Several blasters. And other weapons. And I'm rather afraid of what she might do if I were to invade your guys' privacy. So I figure that if I can get you to willingly come out, she won't repeatedly kill me."

Sherlock glanced over at River who brightly smiled. Sherlock chuckled and wiped his eyes before muttering, "Why are you here?"

River chose her words carefully as she said, "I'm here to tell you that we have more in common than it may seem."

"You mean besides enjoying the rare qualities of ceilings?" Sherlock chuckled, though his eyes were still red-rimmed.

"Yes, besides that," River agreed with a wry smile, "Look, Sherlock. I understand…"

"Don't," Sherlock sharply said, immediately clamming up. His eyes glazed over and there was no mistaking the disappointed frown.

"Sherlock Holmes," River sharply said, "Look at me. Do you honestly think that I am the type of person who comfortingly says that I understand, so that people feel better?"

Sherlock glanced at her and River continued, "Believe me when I say that I did not want to go to that funeral. I feel sympathetic, of course. But I wasn't sad. The only time I was even slightly emotional in that church was when I realized that the Doctor was getting upset. Other than that, I didn't know why I needed to wipe my eyes and look depressed. No, that's not quite true. I knew why. It was socially acceptable. So when the chorus began to sing, as if hoping that the song would bring them back to life, I wiped my eyes and sniffed. It gets easier, once you know what you do, even if you don't know why you logically should."

"So, you're saying that I should have sat through the funeral?" Sherlock muttered.

"Oh, I don't care," River shrugged, "Sherlock, I'm not here to tell you what's right and wrong. Nah, the Doctor can do that. So can Mycroft and Jack and everyone else in your life."

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling, and whispered, "And that's boring."

Sherlock grinned at that.

"I'm here to tell you that I understand why you didn't want to sit in that funeral," River continued, "And I'm here to tell you that I know why it can be upsetting when nobody else understands. I've had decades and regenerations to help me understand. You've only had seven years."

Sherlock nodded, though he still looked upset.

River hesitated before saying, "Listen Sherlock, I just ranted about how I hate mushy stuff so I'm going to make this short and sweet: There is nothing wrong with you."

"Yes there is!" Sherlock argued, his eyes brimming with tears, "Look!"

"It's a dictionary," River wryly remarked before seeing that he wasn't smiling.

"Anderson called me one, once," Sherlock mumbled, wiping his eyes.

"A dictionary?"

"A sociopath!" Sherlock burst out, now on a desperate fight to wipe away his tears faster than they were falling.

"Oh," River said before asking, "Who's Anderson?"

"Boy at my school," Sherlock muttered, "He's in idiot."

"Clearly," River remarked, "If he's calling you a sociopath."

Sherlock closed his eyes and remembered, "Our professor's cat had died. Anderson and I bickered for a while before he smugly said, 'You're supposed to be brilliant and you don't even know what's wrong with you. You're a highly-functioning sociopath. Do your research!'"

"And you actually believed him?" River asked, shocked.

"No," Sherlock muttered, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Sherlock Holmes, look at me," River fiercely said. When he did, she furiously continued, "You are not a sociopath."

She was not angry at him but at this slimy boy who had enough nerve to upset Sherlock.

As if Sherlock didn't used to have to deal with…

"How do you know?" Sherlock murmured, hiding his face in his hands.

She leaned forward and softly whispered, "Sociopaths don't cry, Sherlock."

Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes sparkling at this new information. He seemed to silently turn River's words over in his head before suddenly smiling.

River returned the smile and put an arm around his shoulders.

"You're right," Sherlock whispered, "I'm not…I'm not a sociopath!"

"Well I am," River quietly remarked, "But I still fell in love with the Doctor."

Sherlock stared at her, in wonder, and she smiled before saying, "Alright, are you feeling better? Because I'm pretty sure that your brother is going to break down the door."

Mycroft had been wriggling the doorknob for the past ten minutes. Sherlock glanced up at River and nodded. River clicked her Sonic, allowing the door to open and Mycroft to fall in.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" Mycroft asked, as River gave him a hand. The Doctor poked his head in and repeated the question. Jack was more patient but his eyes still shone with worry.

Sherlock nodded.

"I'm so sorry," Mycroft sincerely said, "I shouldn't have said that back there."

"I know," Sherlock simply said before adding, "I forgive you."

Mycroft looked relieved and hugged Sherlock who uncomfortably squirmed before hugging back. The Doctor smiled and cheerfully said, "You know, why don't we go back and get some pies for dinner?"

"Do you really think that's appropriate?" Mycroft wearily asked.

"I think that it's a good idea," River spoke up.

"So do I," Sherlock declared.

"Yeah," Mycroft finally agreed, "I could go for another piece of that banana-caramel swirl."

"The apple one was the best," Sherlock said, now smiling, "What about you, Jack?"

Jack grinned, "Personally, I could go for the waitress who was serving us yesterday."

After a wonderful night of pies, which ended with the others having to drag Jack away from a group of giggling waiters and waitresses, the Doctor gently tucked Sherlock in and once again asked, "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Sherlock meekly said, "Thanks, Doctor."

The Doctor nodded and said goodnight to him and Mycroft. When he was gone, his brother anxiously said, "I'm really sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock accepted his apology once more but thoughtfully said, "Do you know what the best part about talking to River was?"

"What?"

"She talked to me like I was an adult," Sherlock mused.

Mycroft looked hurt and pointed out, "The Doctor and I don't talk to you like you're a child. Or at least, we try not to…"

"But he still tells you more than he tells me," Sherlock argued, "You get to read about all of his previous adventures. He'll answer all of your questions and you'll talk about his past companions and Daleks and Cybermen and Oods and dozens of other creatures! But whenever I try to find out more information, you both imply that I'm too young to understand."

"You're not seriously accusing the Doctor of favoritism?"

"No," Sherlock admitted with a sigh, "It's just…I may be seven, but I'm not naïve. You don't have to keep protecting me."

Mycroft frowned and remarked, "Sherlock Holmes, your age has nothing to do with me wanting to protect you. Guess what? When you're my age and I'm twenty-one, I'm still going to protect you. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Sherlock huffed.

"Because four years ago, I made a promise," Mycroft quietly said, "I made the promise that I was always going to protect you and I'm not about to break that promise."

Sherlock looked up at this and caught Mycroft's eye. Mycroft gave him a comforting smile and Sherlock slowly returned it.

Mycroft hesitated before crossing the room and sitting on the end of his brother's bed.

"Sherlock," he slowly said, "I'm going to tell you a story."

Sherlock immediately sat up, his eyes shining with enthusiasm as he cried, "Really?"

"Yes."

"What's it about?"

"It's about a remarkable woman," Mycroft admitted.

"Who is it?"

"Her name was Rose. Rose Tyler."

Author's Note: Yep, I need to talk about this one. I really wanted a River-Sherlock conversation because I think that the two would have a bit in common. I think that River would understand Sherlock and his way of expressing emotions and thinking. Mycroft would be the next in line followed by the Doctor and Jack. The last two might not completely understand why Sherlock is the way he is, but they still would want to give Sherlock a huge hug and assure him that everything is going to be alright. But I imagine that Sherlock and River would have a (albeit somewhat strange) connection. Because they have both been called sociopaths, even though they both have traits that say otherwise. (And I know that it is possible for a sociopath to cry but go with me on this one.) Let me put it simply: A sociopath wouldn't have taken the fall for his friend, landlady, and an Inspector of the New Scotland Yard. And River may show sociopathic tendencies at times, but she did fall in love with the Doctor. And so I wanted the two to have a conversation about it. I wanted River to tell Sherlock that there is nothing wrong with him and I wanted that message to stay with Sherlock for a while. Perhaps there would come a day when, I don't know Sherlock may see a giant-hound that doesn't exist, and he thinks back to what River said. There is nothing wrong with him. So what better way to explore the method of Sherlock's emotions/thoughts than with a funeral? I wanted Mycroft to be the one to finally snap something and immediately regret it. I can imagine a part during Mrs. Holmes' funeral where a three-year-old Sherlock doesn't understand and Mr. Holmes yells at him for it. So as soon as Mycroft ridicules his brother, he immediately regrets it. But Sherlock has already put up that wall. A wall that Mycroft can't break down; a wall that not even the Doctor can break down. So it's up to River, who understands how to break it.

As far as the highly-functioning sociopath line goes:

In my headcanon, Anderson cruelly says this to Sherlock. River then dismisses this idea and gets Sherlock to realize just how wrong it is. Jump forward about thirty years and I imagine that Sherlock says it to Anderson almost sardonically. Sort of like, "Hang on. I thought that I was a highly-functioning sociopath. Not a psychopath. Isn't that what you said, Anderson? I'm a highly-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

Long story short, I put a lot of thought into my chapters.