ONE MORE CHAPTER. My wrist is killing me. I've been typing for about four to five hours straight and it's almost two in the morning. I will try to pit up the last chapter if I can...

Rescue IIIIIIIII

Watson stood at the podium. His eyes gazed around the crowd, miserable, damned and all dressed in nothing but the darkest of dark, pitch black. There was the whole of Scotland Yard both standing and sitting, all with grief struck features. He knew they were all close to Holmes in some way, even if it was so different to the others. His eyes scanned around and met Lestrade's whom had a rather upset look drawn on his face just as Clarky had. Even though no one had cared to admit it, they and Holmes were closer than any bothered to admit. Looking around again he saw the only so many people that his best friend had helped, whether it was through figuring out whom had abducted their children, or proving them innocent and saving them from a life time in jail, or even by just providing some simple yet extremely helpful words. The other's here, he noticed, were also nobles of high classes that he was sure Sherlock had helped in some way- most likely not even through cases. In the front row Mary sat tears very evident in her eyes. She was not too close to the detective, but due to strong contrary belief, they both knew that she had come to like him and care for him. Beside her to the right was Mrs. Hudson. Her grey hair making it easy to spot her through the fake rich white wigs of others. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief very often, as Watson was sure that the tears were refusing to stop spilling through her orbs just as they had Watson's when he witnessed the death. Continuing down the row there sat Mycroft. At a single glance, many would deem his the rich, noble and uncaring sibling who was simply forced to be here. But the doctor knew quite different.

He knew that Mycroft cared for his younger sibling possibly as much a Watson did. He also knew that he could not let it show, in any way. His mask was just as tightly and securely placed on as the younger Holme's brother had been when confronted with his emotions. It was obvious to John though that the older man was grieving inside. His heart was trembling lightly just as Watson's would whenever he thought of his bond brother's demise. He was grieving, just silently. And he preferred it that way. But one day, he would need someone. Someone to tell him that his younger brother was really gone, and that he was never coming back. His eyes narrowed when he saw some people he didn't even have a clue of, such as a strange old man in the third last row with a large beard and his hat drawn forth to hide his eyes... But he knew that they had probably cared for Holmes just as much as the rest. Beside the older Holmes sibling sat his servants, Stanley included. The old and aging man had a sad, grief stricken touch to his demeanour, though it was obviously to be expected.

There were so many faces. So many lives that Holmes had changed, so many lives that Holmes had saved. So many people that just expected him to walk through the ceremonial doors of his own funeral and laugh and joke about how and why they all looked exceedingly miserable. So many glances at the door that would be disappointed when the detective doesn't come striding in- in some sort of strange laughable manner. Though they hoped, and even though he knew it was hopeless, so did he.

There wasn't much chatter, just mainly silence. Everybody was here, and everybody was a lot. People had come up to do speeches, people who asked and people who were asked. There would only be a few until Lestrade's on behalf of Scotland Yard, Mrs. Hudson, though he knew she feared she would probably break down, then it would be a few small though deeply appreciated words from Mary, Stanley, whom surprisingly asked, Mycroft Holmes then finally, John Watson himself.

John brought his mind to the present. He was seated behind Mary since he figured that Mycroft deserved his seat since he was his brother and unlike Watson, would never get to visit him memory again, and if he did it would be rather rare.

A small boy whom had asked to give a speech was at his heels on the podium, speaking words so deep and true...

"Mr Holmes helped me and my family. I realise that I am no noble, nor are my siblings or mother, and we couldn't offer him anything much but he helped anyway. Mr. Holmes saved us, he gave us hope. He helped us put aside our past and bring forth our future. Mr. Holmes is, was and always will be the greatest and most kindest detective England has ever known..." there was a light applause, and before anyone knew it, Lestrade was up at the microphone, with Clarky by his side.

"Holmes, he'd always been a strange detective. His methods were odd, and they kept us puzzled and confused, yet if it weren't for that one very unusual man we'd probably be in war. We probably would have been in war ages ago. But it was thanks to this man, it was thanks to Sherlock Holmes that we are here all safe and sound today, and for that we thank you Holmes..." he turned towards the empty coffin and nodded along with Clarky as if he were there himself.

Mrs Hudson was on the podium next, and to much of all of our surprise, she didn't break down.

"Sherlock Holmes, though it's strange to admit it myself was always sort of like a... son to me" her eyes watered again, "yes he was strange, odd, unusual, but he was probably the most kind hearted and clever soul anyone will ever come across..." tears ran down her face as she took a seat beside Mary whom placed an arm around her for a moment, then stood up herself.

"Sherlock Holmes was a brave man. He fought with honour, dignity, and hope" she began. She had surprised me by her words greatly, "it's a tragic loss to this world that he has gone. He is someone I never truly understood and will become someone I'll never truly understand... but I know one thing, and that's he deserves so much more than he gets." She turned to the coffin and closed her eyes for a moment, "Thank you Sherlock"

Stanley had begun, his voice was strained and his eyes deep in thought.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I only have one thing to say this evening. Sherlock Holmes was a person with great honour that gave his life to save us. He will forever be that missing piece to fill that vacant hole in our hearts- even though none were very close to him. But he will live in within our heart none-the-less..."

I could feel my eyes tear up slightly but kept my composition. Mycroft had started his speech, and I wanted to hear with great passion what he had to say.

"Sherly" I smiled lightly at the name, "was never a man to back down. He was never one to give up or quite. He was strong, honest and kind. He never got enough credit, and when he did, he deserved so much more. I ask of you a moment of silence to remember this great man, a man of justice, care, and peace, a moment to remember my brother"

Everyone paused and closed their eyes for a minute or so, and by that time, Mycroft was of the stage and it was Watson's turn.

He stepped onto the podium and cleared his throat.

"When I first met Sherlock, I rendered him the strangest being in all eternity. I remember how he fired shots into the wall of our flat merrily because he was bored" he saw some faces smile, including Mrs. Hudson's and continued. "And sometimes, he would even wake us up at the dead of the night with his odd violin playing. I had grown frustrated with him time and time again, but all he would say would be either "Watson old boy I only suppose you've grown old" or when confronted about his strange behaviour and why he does it says "I don't choose how I behave, my behaviour chooses how I behave" which usually had me lost." A few light hearted chuckles rung out. "But no matter his demeanour or his behaviour, Sherlock Holmes was a fairness, righteousness and integrity. I only have one final single thing to say: Sherlock Holmes played the Game for the sake of playing the game. And a few short nights ago, England lost its most brilliant man, the world lost its most intriguing detective, I lost my best friend...

A few short nights ago, we all lost Sherlock Holmes"

He watched from the third seat to the back. His ace was filled with grey facial hair and a laughably long beard. He drew his hat further and grinned like the Cheshire cat.

They missed me...

Well I do suppose it's because I'm supposed to be dead...

Nevertheless, it's quite... touching...

He stood up and hurried out the door once the service was over, knowing very well he had caught the doctor's eye, but disappeared before he could speculate.

All in good time Watson old boy.

All in good time.

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R&R FOR A SEQUEL!