The service finished, people left their seats and piled out of the building. John stood by the door, seemingly shaking every single hand. He didn't pay attention to what they were saying however. It was all the same. Sorry for you loss, he was a great man, we'll miss him. Every word, every single sentence just slammed in that realisation. Sherlock was gone, he was never coming back. And John hated him because of it.

Outside, murmurs grew into loud voices. John and Mycroft looked at one another and rushed outside. There, emblazoned on the building opposite were the words:

I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES

In big, bright yellow letters. For the first time in a week, John let a proper, happy smile, pass his lips. He look over, spotting a familiar artist peeking out from the shadows. Thank you. Thank you.

The car ride to the cemetery felt like three years. And as he stood by the empty grave and watched the coffin slowly fall, it felt like a part of him was being buried along side his best friend. A part of his heart that would never truly heal. John stood by the, now filled in, grave, hands clasped in front of him, military straight. Everyone else seem to have left. John didn't care. He glared at the shiny, black gravestone. You bastard.

"John dear? I'm heading back now.. to prepare for the wake. Will you be ok to make your own way back?" He nodded. Dear old Mrs Hudson, England really would fa-...no don't use that word. Mycroft looked over from his position on the other side of the grave, not minding that more people had approached John about his brother than himself. John was the brother he could never be.

"I'll be off too"

"You coming to the wake?"

"Most likely, yes"

"Alright...see you soon then"

Mycroft's eyes seemed to give him a split second analysis before he nodded and left. John sighed and scuffed his feet against the dirt, before putting his hands in his pockets and walking out of the cemetery. Never looking back. Looking back made it too real because his shadow would be alone.

As Mycroft headed towards the gates he paused. There was Miss Hooper talking to a tall, thin man, in a skeleton marked hoodie and torn jeans. His mind told him to stop and observe, something was so familiar. The young man nodded and left Molly, who had finally seemed to notice she had an audience.

"New boyfriend?"

Molly looked flustered and tried to smile. "Not exactly... I mean..he's just a friend. Came to make sure I was ok..and everything." Mycroft gave her a dubious look. But was pleased she seemed to have moved on, relationship wise. "Good for you" He smiled slightly before leaving her alone in the cemetery.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see"

"Don't tell me you were at the funeral too! What if someone had seen you?"

"I was careful."

"You can't be here!"

"Obviously I can because I am here"

"Sherlock..."

...

"Don't look now but my brother is watching us"

"Do you think he knows?"

"No, but he will.. you head back to Baker Street, I need to take care of something"

"Stay out of trouble Sherlock"

"Don't I always?"

"That speech you gave, mate, ' was nice" A lilting, pleasing voice emmerged from the bushes. "I'm sorry do I know you?" The hoodied figure shook his head. "Nah mate, we've never met. But I think ya just saw me before, with Molly." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, watching the figure pull a cigarette lighter from his pocket and begin to flick it on and off. "Walk with me?" Curious, Mycroft complied. The two walked side by side, one with proper posture, regal in every sense of the word. The other hunched over, scuffing every second step, flicking the lighter as he walked. Disobedience and chaos personified.

"I suspect you know John..and Sherlock"

The man grinned. A tuft of red hair peeped out from beneath the hoodie. Though Mycroft had already made that deduction, the ginger stubble was more than obvious. "Yeah, on a case, few months back. The one about that horse, Silver Blaze, ya know, went missing just before the Melbourne Cup?" Mycroft nodded, he remembered the one. "Yeah, brilliant bloke that Sherlock and John was a real nice bastard. When I heard what had happened, had to come over and offer me respects"

Flick, flick, flick.

"Would you cease doing that please? It's annoying" Another wide grin, the young man slipped the lighter back in his pocket. "Makin' ya wanna smoke is it?" Mycroft stopped walking. "I don't smoke." 'Sure you do. Bit obvious. I could see the way ya were looking at it. Don't blame ya, stressful thing burying your only brother."

"Look is there a point to all this?"

"Steady on, steady on" The man had kept walking, leaving Mycroft behind. "Just wanted to tell ya something, thats all mate. Just one thing." Mycroft sighed, giving the man the benefit of the doubt. "And what, pray, is that?"

"That it's good to know that I can still fool you, Myc"