Sally watched him leave with an open mouth. "Sir?" Lestrade was sitting at his desk, nervous, pretending to read the files left for him the previous day. "What is it Sally?" She gaped at him, how could he so readily dismiss what had just happened. "...It's not true...I mean.. Sherlock was a fake...wasn't he?" Lestrade looked up, fixing her with a glare. "I don't know Sally, why don't the two of you, pop off and double check the fucking evidence!"

She jumped. She supposed she deserved his anger. Part of her believed Sherlock was a fake, a fraud but after meeting his brother, seeing her bosses reaction, a seed of doubt now spread across her mind. And Lestrade, he clearly already had doubts. "Now!" The two of them ran in the other direction, scurrying with their tails between their legs.

He wiped the rest of the sweat from his brow, discarding his now, wet shirt on the floor, just as the alarm clocked beeped loudly it's too cheerful fanfare. It had been almost a week. A week since his best friend, in the whole world, had killed himself. A week without laughter. A week without being woken up at three in the morning by maudlin violin tones. A week without the thrill of danger or adventure. A week without Sherlock Holmes.

And today they were burying him, his broken body. Today was his funeral, his fucking funeral. John sighed and looked up at the sleek, black suit resting on his chair, mocking him. He stood, took a deep breath and went to take a shower. This day was going to be tough.

When he came out, Mrs Hudson was waiting. She was in a nice black dress, with a black coat wrapped around her. "You look wonderful dear." She smiled at him sadly, doing up his tie for him and fixing up his hair. "Thanks. Um, so do you" She waved her hands and choked back a sob. John wrapped his arms around her shoulders and steered her out the door, rubbing circles in her back.

The funeral was packed. So many people still believed in Sherlock. Look mate, look how many hearts you've touched, how many lives you've changed. And no ones more than mine. It was elegant, well, when things are organised by Mycroft Holmes, they would be wouldn't they? John's heart skipped a beat as they walked down the aisle to their seats. There was the sleek, black coffin, containing the body of the greatest man he'd ever know.

"Look how many people have turned up. Do you think he would have hated all this fuss?" John gave her a shrug and a half smile. "Who knows what went on in that funny head of his." A loud sniffle emitting from his side caused John to turn around. "Molly!". She was dressed in dark red and black, a handkerchief to her nose. "Oh Molly.." John made his way past Mrs Hudson and wrapped his arm's around the crying girl.

"Im sorry...look at me I'm a mess."

"It's ok, it's ok. I think we all are. He would've have probably got a real kick out of it."

"Y-yeah"

Mrs Hudson took out her own handkerchief and wiped the streaming mascara from beneath Molly's eyes. "Thanks" She took her spot besides John. "Im sorry... I haven't even come to see you or anything... things have been busy and..and..I wanted to but.." John stopped her by placing his hand on her own. "Its alright. I understand, it must have been very hard for you..seeing his b-...body" John's voice still caught on those words. Body, dead, Sherlock. Those words didn't belong together. Her lips quivered, a tear slipped past and down her cheek. "Yeah. It was the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do, my colleagues were very nice about everything though, which was a big help." Mrs Hudson sniffed but smiled back at Molly. And then the service started...

So many people spoke. People John had never met, clients of his and Sherlock's, and then of course the obvious. Mycroft. Mrs Hudson refused to speak, so did Molly. Lestrade must have felt he needed to voice his thoughts though, needed to apologise. Even though Sherlock would never hear those words. I'm Sorry. John watched as Lestrade took the podium, nervously clearing his throat.

"Some of you are probably wondering why I'm up here. I mean, I doubted him... I even.. arrested him. But I wish more than anything I could take it all back. Theres no way he was a fake. No way in hell. I knew him, before a lot of you, I guess. Back almost six years ago now, blimey. He was just this down on his luck kid, who just appeared out of nowhere and blew us all away with this amazing ability to see the connections no one else could." Lestrade bit his lip, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

"I should have never have doubted him, not for one second. And yet I did and now, because of me, he's gone and nothing will ever...will ever bring him back. And Im sorry...Im so sorry, Sherlock.." Lestrade's voice cracked and he dragged himself away from the podium before he broke into tears. Mrs Hudson and Molly were still sobbing. John so far hadn't shed a tear, ever the loyal solider. And now it was his turn. But what did he say? People might talk...

People do little else

Dammit, Sherlock..get out of my god-damn memories. John stood and headed down the aisle to the empty podium. He stood in front of it, in front of the coffin, in front of a waiting, crying audience. He had to take several deep breaths before getting the courage to begin.

"Sher-..Sherlock Holmes was my best friend. He brought back the colour, in my life, that I had lost after coming home from war. He.. A lot of you really don't...didn't know him. I saw a side to him, that he never really showed to anyone else. His human side, his playful side. He had feelings, he really did. He had emotions. S-Sherlock was just a very private man, in a lot of ways." John chuckled sadly, he wasn't even able to properly say his name anymore.

"He could be quite childish when he wanted too. He was, the most un-ordinary person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. So, I address the rest of this, really badly written eulogy to you S-Sherlock. I will never believe that you told me a lie. Nope. You were not.. a fake, I knew you, I lived with you. I saw your good days, when you laughed, smiled, when you teased me, when your eyes lit up with every new case. I saw your bad days, your sad songs on that..bloody violin, when ever you just forgot to eat, when you would run off without telling me your plans, when you had your Danger Nights."

"But you were...amazing. Yeah, I know people will talk, but I don't care. You could do things that no one...other than your brother I guess, could ever hope to do. You were my best friend, you were, in a lot of ways, my brother. And I will never, ever forget you. Sher..Sherlock Holmes, thank you. For everything. Sher-" Mrs Hudson had hurried forward, trying helping the distraught doctor down the stairs and to his seat. John stopped her in the middle of the aisle and walked back towards the coffin. There was one last thing he owed Sherlock.

He stood at attention, lifted his hand and saluted.