After leaving the crime scene that evening, Sherlock had to spend a great deal of time thinking about what 'nice' thing he could do for John when he returned home. Sherlock wasn't good at doing nice things for others because he didn't spend a lot of time thinking about others. He had spent most of his life on his own so he had learned to take care of himself and himself only. With John it was at least possible for him to think of something nice to do for him but it still wasn't easy. He kept of list of things he knew about John in his mind, things he liked, things he didn't like (a much longer list) but nothing seemed appropriate. Finally, after having had to think about it for much longer than he wanted to he finally settled on stopping at John's favorite restaurant and getting take away for him.

Sherlock did care about John but he was greatly dreading returning to the flat. He didn't know what to say or what to do for John. He'd never really dealt with such a situation and honestly wouldn't put up with it for anyone else but John. But why, he wondered, was John an exception?

When he walked into the flat it was quiet. He looked around the living room but did not find any evidence that John had been there since Sherlock had left earlier that day. Sherlock walked upstairs to John's bedroom but stopped suddenly as he approached it. The door was cracked and through it he could clearly hear the sound of crying. Panic gripped his heart and he was filled with that ever present feeling of awkwardness he always felt when it came to interactions with others. But there was something else there that he did not usually feel. Was it sadness? But why should he be sad? Was he sad just because John was sad? Interesting.

Sherlock felt like he was intruding. He should just leave and wait for John to seek him out and hopefully John wouldn't; Sherlock dreaded the idea of having to deal with this emotional outburst. In John's defense, it wasn't really an emotional outburst. He was crying but softly and not out of hand either. But to Sherlock any display of emotions felt like an outburst. He started to back away from the door and head downstairs when he stopped himself. No, he thought. He would not allow his emotions to control him. They were not in charge; he was and John needed him so that is where he would be.

He made a few loud footsteps to give John a warning that he was approaching before knocking on the door. "John, I brought some take away home if you want any."

Sherlock heard the crying stop and there was a pause before John answered. "I'm not really hungry."

Sherlock felt deflated. He figured that this had not been the right thing to do. He had thought about it for so long and had still gotten it wrong. He could never get these things right. He was just about to leave when he heard John speak again. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'll eat it later."

"You're welcome," he said even though he was unsure.

"You can come in. If you want."

The truth was Sherlock really didn't want to but he knew it was a request, not an invitation. John wanted Sherlock to come in. Sherlock had to stop himself from sighing out loud as he inwardly sighed very loudly. He pushed the door open and found John sitting on the bed with a photo album in his hand. Oh no, he thought, this is going to be terrible.

John smiled at him slightly but Sherlock hoped he didn't really think that he was fooling anyone. It was very obvious that he was upset and that he had been crying. Sherlock remembered Lestrade's advice and determined to sound pleasant instead of awkward like he felt. Sherlock walked over to the bed and sat beside John. "How was the case?" John asked, trying to sound normal.

"It was rather simplistic. Pretty obvious really."

John shook his head but didn't say anything.

"Do you…uh…want to talk about it?" Sherlock asked, after a few uncomfortable moments of silence. Try as hard as he could, the word 'talk' sounded like a curse word coming out of his mouth, his distain for it was so poorly hidden.

It did not escape John's attention and he actually smiled a little. "Do you want me talk about it?" he asked.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Do you really want me to answer that?' But he bit his tongue and instead said "I'm willing to listen if you want to talk about it." And after he said it he realized that he actually meant it. It surprised him that he sincerely felt that way but he did. He wouldn't feel this way for anyone else. He would leave anyone else to deal with their feelings and not think another second about it. But it was different with John. He felt himself actually sad about the fact that John was sad and he did want to do something that might make John feel better.

John hesitated at first. Maybe he didn't know where to start or maybe he was debating whether or not he really wanted to share it with Sherlock. But after a few moments John began to speak. "We use to be close. I don't really remember most of it but we did," he said staring down at some of the pictures. "She's older than me-was older than me," he amended with a pained expression. "By 8 years."

"It was a big age difference but that wasn't really the problem, at least at first. She used to take care of me a lot. I vaguely remember some of it. Her playing with me and taking me places but mostly I've just seen the pictures."

"So…what happened?"

"It was the alcohol. That was always the problem. When she was in high school she just got rebellious. She started going to crazy parties, stayed out all night, normal teenage stuff really. But then she started drinking, a lot, and it made everything else worse.

"My parents didn't really know what to do and they were always fighting with her. I was mad at her because she didn't spend any time with me anymore. My parents would ask me questions about her, like did I know where she was or what she was doing. I was angry that I was being put in the middle when she didn't even talk to me anymore. Then Harry would tell me to keep quiet and not tell them anything but I was so young I didn't even know what I was supposed to be hiding.

"But even that wasn't really the problem. I hated being stuck in the middle but it wasn't enough for me to write her off completely. Most people thought it was a phase and that she would grow out of it but she didn't. Her and my parents were in constant conflict with each other and her drinking was affecting everything. She didn't care about anything or anyone else when she was on it. She was never around. Even when she wasn't around she was ruining things. She missed my high school graduation and instead of the day being about me my parents just spent the whole day being mad at her and wondering where she was. She missed everything and didn't even care. She even missed our dad's funeral."

John turned and looked seriously at Sherlock. "Harry is like a different person when she is drinking. Sober Harry is nice, sober Harry is the one who use to take care of me and play with me when I was a kid, sober Harry is the one who calls me and still wants to look after me. But sober Harry isn't around very often and it isn't worth putting up with drunk Harry in order to get those few moments with sober Harry."

This is where John stopped his story. Sherlock hadn't had to remind himself to be quiet and listen. John had never explained what had happened between him and his sister and it was good to know what had happened.

"John, I have a question," Sherlock wasn't sure if he should say it or not. It might not be good.

"Yeah?"

"Well…you didn't get along with you sister. I'm puzzled by the fact that you are so upset with her death. Why are you so upset?"

Sherlock was relived that he didn't seem to make John angry with his question. And John didn't act like Sherlock was stupid for asking. Everyone else acted like Sherlock was stupid for not knowing sometimes the most basic of human interactions. But John didn't act like he was stupid. "I may have not gotten along with Harry but she was still my sister. I still loved her. You know what I mean?"

It didn't make sense to Sherlock. He knew nearly nothing about love but he had assumed that two people must at least have a better relationship than John and Harry did for love to exist between them. This emotion of love was apparently much more complex than Sherlock had ever realized. "Not really."

"Well it's like, you and Mycroft don't really get along but you're still brothers so you would probably say you loved him."

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He'd not really thought about it before and it made him uncomfortable. If he was going to say that he loved anyone it wouldn't be Mycroft it would be… Oh, that was an interesting. Where had that thought come from?

Sherlock grimaced. "I wouldn't really say that."

"Well, I loved Harry. And…" John started but there was a catch in his voice and his eyes shown with unshed tears. "I never told her. I never told her I loved her. We never got to patch things up. I just wish I had told her."

Regret. That was something that Sherlock had not expected to be a cause for John's grief. It got him thinking. Sherlock hoped that the conversation had made John feel better because it had just left him feeling more confused than he was before it began. John had answered a lot of questions but he had given Sherlock many more to think about.

A few minuets later the two of them were still sitting in silence when John finally spoke. "I think I'm going to get some sleep," John said quietly.

Sherlock recognized this as a request to be alone and was glad to hear it. "Alright," he said heading for the door to leave John alone.

"Thanks Sherlock," John called after him.

"You're welcome John," Sherlock said. He was relived to hear that he had gotten something right.

Sherlock had no idea why he was here. He was at a funeral for someone he didn't know, had never even met. Sherlock didn't go to funerals, for anyone, not even people that he had known. So, why in the world was he here at Harry Watson's funeral? John hadn't even asked him to come. John had said nothing about the funeral and had been quite obviously surprised when Sherlock had said he was going to accompany John.

Sherlock had had thoughts and feelings nagging him ever since John had talked about his relationship with his sister. Strangely enough, it had made him think about his own relationship with John. Thinking about how John loved his sister even though he did not have a good relationship with her and thinking about how much he regretted not telling her how he felt made Sherlock think thoughts he had not really considered. He was also perplexed by the fact that he compelled to see John through this thing when he would have before.

It was as terrible as he had anticipated. A crowd of people surrounded the grave all clad in black. Nearly every person was crying, unashamedly displaying their emotions in public for everyone to see. It was disgusting. That's why Sherlock hated funerals. All it was was a group of people getting together and making each other even sadder than they already were. There was no point to it. How did it help people to mourn by getting in a group and crying?

But John wasn't like the others. Sherlock watched him out of the corner of his eye. John stood straight, his hands clasped in front of him in his true military posture the very one that had told Sherlock the first time that he had met John that he was ex-military. John wasn't crying but Sherlock could see that he was struggling not to. His resolve had been strong at the beginning but it had broken down more and more as the funeral had gone on. Now that they were lowering Harry's casket into the ground John couldn't keep all the tears in. A few rolled out and John brushed them away quickly. He knew how to keep his emotions under control unlike the rest of the people here.

Sherlock was alarmed to feel a tug on his own heart at the sight of John's tears. It was that terrible nagging feeling he had been feeling since this whole thing began. He was pretty sure he knew what the emotion was though he didn't really want to admit it. He had not known it existed between him and John but this strange situation had brought it to the front of his mind.

It had been so strange to see John mourning so much for a sister that he didn't even talk to. Even after he had explained it, Sherlock still didn't get it. He didn't know how a person could love someone that they didn't even talk to. Love must be an even more complicated thing that he had previously thought. And watching how much regret John had felt for not telling his sister how he felt about her had been strange to see.

Sherlock wanted to do something for John but he was at a loss to figure out what it should be. He guessed that was what had pushed him into attending this dreadful event. He wanted John to know that he was here for him. That sounded terribly sentimental but it was what it was. He didn't feel like his presence was doing any good at all and he tried to think of what he should do or say but the truth was that he just didn't know what to do in these situations. He thought about reaching out and putting a hand on John's shoulder but he knew that, while that would show John he was here for him, it would also accelerate the crying and he was pretty sure that John didn't want that to happen anymore than Sherlock did.

When the service ended Sherlock just hung back and let John take the lead. He didn't say anything and pretended not to notice John's show of grief but Sherlock knew that John knew he saw everything. They walked for a few feet before John said "Thank you."

"For what?" Sherlock asked confused.

"For coming here with me. I know you must hate all of this."

Sherlock could have said a lot of things but for John's sake he kept his mouth shut for once. It was indeed strange the things he was doing for John. "I haven't really done anything," he finally said.

"But you're here with me and I'm thankful."

Sherlock really didn't think it was all that much but it did seem to make John feel better so he figured it was worth putting up with for a little while longer.

I hope you're enjoying this story. Expect some comic relief in the next chapter :)