One week had turned into two, then three, then a month, then three months. Three months had passed since his best friend had left the world. Three bloody months. John hadn't been able to return to Baker Street until now. He'd moved into a new flat, kindly provided by one Mycroft Holmes. It was roomier than his original flat but it felt..empty. Then again, so did he. Except today he was here to pack things away. Mrs Hudson wasn't accepting any new lodgers in 221b right now. Maybe never again. It wouldn't seem right.

But here he was, in front of 221b with a load of cardboard boxes. Mrs Hudson was out, just as well, he'd probably get emotional anyway. No one needed to see that. He opened the door and headed inside. Nothing had changed. Nothing it all. He wished it had. It had all started here really. He still remembered running into this little entryway, panting, laughing. Full of adrenaline. It had been the start of something that had changed his entire life. How to you back from that? How do you go back to an ordinary life after one full of adventure?

"And you invaded Afghanistan"

Laughter.

No. God this was going to be hard wasn't it? He climbed the seventeen steps and opened the door to their..his flat. It was exactly as he'd left it. As if someone was still living here. John placed the boxes on the floor and ran his fingers through his short hair. Where to begin? How do you pack away your friends life? He put away the papers first. They were everywhere, littering the floor, the desk, shelves, the mantlepiece. Some were even under the skull. That damn skull. Staring at him, mocking him.

Mrs Hudson took my skull.

So I'm basically filling in for your skull.

Relax you're doing fine.

No, no, get out of my head. Just get out. He delicately picked up the skull, a half empty box of cigarettes still beneath it. He placed it on top of the papers, a morbid paperweight. Next came the books, most of those could be thrown away he supposed. Except this one.. The London A To Z guidebook. This he'd keep. He decided to make three piles. Keep, throw away and give away. This book was definitely a keeper.

A book that everyone would own

Shit. His eyes had fallen on the now dusty violin. His fingers itched to touch those strings but he would never be able to bring those chords alive like Sherlock could. Still. He picked it up, brushing away the dust.

Dust is eloquent.

He nearly dropped it. Damn it Sherlock. He raised his fingers and then pulled them away. No, this instrument will never play music again. Never again will it come to life, playing christmas songs or happy tunes or maudlin chords. It would be forever silent. Perhaps that was for the best, it wouldn't be right for anyone else to play. It would be wrong. John put it in the Keep pile. Next came the cluedo board. This he could throw away. It only ever got played with once anyway.

It's this or Cluedo.

Noo, we are never playing that again.

Yep, definitely in the throw away pile. And that bloody harpoon, that could go too.

Well that was tedious.

You went on the Tube like that?

None of the cabs would take me.

John had the sudden urge to throw the harpoon into the wall.

He wandered into the silent kitchen, glaring at the leftover beakers and vials on the table. Everything reminded him of Sherlock. A red dressing gown over his chair, the smell of chemicals and cigarettes, his laptop. There was even still a nose, floating in who knows what, in the fridge. John bowed his head and pulled a box over to start cleaning up the kitchen. Mrs Hudson had already packed most of the science equipment, neither knew what to do with it. Giving it away to a school seemed the right idea.

John held one of the beakers in his hand, his hand began to shake, a sudden bout of rage took over and he hurled the beaker at the wall watching it shatter into hundreds of pieces and fall like glittering snowflakes. "You bastard! You complete and utter bastard! I hate you!... I hate you.." The rest of the job was done in silence, with Sherlock making himself known every so often. John wished he would mind his own business and stay out of his head.

It had seemed only right that after packing away his life, that John should go and visit the man. As he trudged through the cemetery gates he was stopped by the caretaker. "Popular man your friend?" John gave him a quizzical look. "What?" The caretaker walked with him, pointing in the direction of Sherlock's grave. "Your friend. Most popular man in the cemetery right now. New visitor every day. John couldn't help but smile. They won't forget you Sherlock. They still believe.

"Don't know why I'm here to be honest. But, I figure I owe you. God help me I really do. Weird cases keep piling up without you. Thats one of the things that have proven your innocence. Course I should never have doubted it. God, what were you thinking? Did you think no one would care? That no one would notice you were gone? Bloody hell mate, I thought you were supposed to be smart." Lestrade reached over to touch the gravestone affectionatly before stepping back, spotting the two new shadows behind him. "Gotta go mate...thanks for everything"

"Sir"

"What are you two doing here?"

"We got tired of waiting in the car.."

"Well why you're here why don't you bloody apologise, I'll wait for you" And with that he left. "What apologise to a gravestone? I'm not apologising to a sodding gravestone" Sally elbowed him in the side. "All the evidence so far is pointing us in the opposite direction ok? ...He was probably innocent." She felt so much guilt and regret for doubting him. For starting this whole thing. If by any chance he had been innocent, she had played a hand in driving him to his death. Something she never thought possible of the man. And yet here they were in front of his grave.

"For what it's worth...I'm sorry. I'm sorry..Sherlock" We were never friends but..I'd like to think we weren't enemies. "I'll miss our insulting games... you weren't a freak. I never should have called you that. I just.. I hated you. You were so smart and arrogant and cold. But the more I saw you with John, the more you seemed to thaw."...Please forgive me.

"Look, you were a bastard and an arrogant prick. But you were our bastard. And now we have all these unsolvable cases. It's your fault isn't ? You're pushing them all our way and laughing at us. ..Bloody idiot" Sally allowed herself one tear for the fallen detective and the two walked out arm in arm.