I was certain Thomas still had a couple more months before he died. Well, I thought I was certain at least. Honest to God, I thought he had more time. But it seems I was wrong. Again.

Clarkson frowned in thought, pulling off the sheet hiding Thomas' body. What was done, was done, and there was no use dwelling on the circumstances of his death any longer. It was time to finally lay him to rest. It was going to be a sad event he knew, but he was able to take some relief, and almost bitter happiness, that he was finally out of his misery. The poor boy had suffered enough; through the course of the five months he had grown an unusual liking to him, a sympathetic understanding almost, even though he was still very much a mystery. Clarkson's emotions contradicted themselves viciously, much like Thomas' had at times, and he didn't know whether to celebrate the end of the dark path of illness, or mourn the creation of the new path of death.

#

As the Downton staff gathered in the graveyard, Clarkson saw the young footman approach towards the church, a sombre expression plastered across his face. He wrapped his fingers around the chain in his pocket, taking it out along side a small raggedy note. The nurse had given it to him yesterday, apparently Mr Barrow had entrusted it to her safe keeping on his last visit with the instructions to give it to himself, and then to Jimmy upon his death. He couldn't think for the life of him way he'd want to young blond to have his pocket watch, but who was he to question Barrow's actions? He treaded up to the footman wearily, who looked up at him exhaustedly with red-rimmed eyes.

"Mr Barrow wanted me to give this to you" he said, placing it gingerly in the boy's shaky hands and watching as his fingers weakly closed around it. With a subtle shake of his head, one so small you wouldn't even notice if you weren't looking carefully, Jimmy drew his eyes away to look at the object in his hands, as Clarkson walked away and into the distance.

Jimmy ran his fingers over the delicate engravings, feeling the rise and fall of the metal with the pad of his thumb, observing it with his hands, as if he were blind. He certainly felt blind now that Thomas was gone and he was at his funeral.

Unfolding the note, Jimmy read its contents. The writing was a horrific mess as if it were written on an unstable surface, the paper merely a section of a torn up page.

'Although my time has run out, you still have plenty left to live your life'

He stuffed the note back inside his pocket, but continued to hold the watch, stumbling across the ground inelegantly, over to join the others by the whole in the ground which Thomas' coffin lay inside. He felt so lost, and hollow inside, as if he were dead himself. Maybe he was, for nothing felt real; he observed his surroundings, yet at the same time it felt like he wasn't actually seeing them himself-more like watching from afar- seeing the events take place, but powerless to make an impact on them. It was like he was disconnected and distant from the rest of the world, no longer apart of it, but not yet a part of another one. Between to worlds perhaps? Although, maybe he really wasn't part of the world any longer, for surely a world is nothing but an empty void without love, and he no longer had love-not in the flesh, something he could touch and hold-he had it only in theory.

He sounded like some kind of silly school girl. He was never the type to be so emotional, but he just couldn't help himself.

He had expected to cry and make a huge scene, but he didn't even feel like he had the energy, he felt drained and devoid. Lifeless, like he was slipping away almost.

The world was there, but it wasn't really there. And he was there, but he wasn't really there. It was like his mind had wandered off for a pint down the village, and his body was left fixated and rooted to its spot.

He didn't feel like himself. Although he certainly didn't feel like someone else. Himself, but not himself.

It was a strange concept, and an even stranger feeling.

He heard the vicar speak the routine lines he gave for everyone, whether it was true or not, but his voice sounded like it was far away, or perhaps it was him who felt like he was far away from the voice. It was hard to tell.

"We are gathered here today for the funeral of our dear friend, Mr Barrow, who left this world to enter a new one on 23rd of April, 1921."

Thomas didn't have friends, only me. I was all he had.

"He will be dearly missed by all of us."

No one really cares that he died. Hell, I don't even think they'd care if I died, and if they can't miss a charming young man, then what hope does he have.

"We will always remember him for his long and loyal service to Downton Abbey, and the help he gave during the war, working as a medic at the village hospital, as well as his commitment to the running of the Abbey's convalescent home."

They all thought he was a coward. I can't bear their lies!

"Little is known of Thomas' personal life, people say he liked to stay hidden, so may we pray now that through death he comes out into the open, and lets Christ find him and welcome him into heaven with open arms"

Jimmy heard a snort of laughter come from behind him, and pulled him self out of his dream-like state to turn around and scowl at whoever made the offensive noise.

It was Thomas.

He watched as the wraith of his dead lover laughed to himself, shaking his head amusedly.

"They knew so little about me. Oh well, at least they tried to make my sinful life sound positive" Thomas said lightly, his voice echoing through the air towards Jimmy. He watched with apprehension and confusion as the former under-butler turned to walk away, floating out of the church yard and into the village.

Jimmy ran after him as fast as he could as watched Thomas backtrack away from the funeral and disperse into the distance. He could faintly hear the sounds of voices calling after him, but as he continued to sprint away they receded into silence.