"How's he holding up?"

Greg Lestrade sat down next to Sherlock on the bench and the two watched the distant figure of John, who was stood over a grave and talking quietly. Greg was dressed in a black suit and tie, and he had been the only one who'd remained to wait for Sherlock and John when they got off their train.

The funeral had finished around twenty minutes ago, and not even Mycroft's fast car was able to get them to the cemetery in time. Instead, they'd been met by Greg, who'd clapped John on the back and spoken to him for a bit whilst Sherlock found somewhere to sit. John had been stood in front of Mary's and his daughter's grave for around two minutes and Greg had gone to take a phone call that had interrupted their conversation.

"Difficult to say." Sherlock replied and Greg nodded.

"I can imagine. He's always bottling things up and keeping quiet. What was he like in Cambridge?"

Sherlock considered for a moment. "Reserved." he decided upon. "He attempted to make out as if nothing was bothering him."

"I heard what happened." Greg said, looking across to Sherlock. "With Victor Trevor and all that. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock muttered, his eyes still on John.

"Well, what with Victor nearly shooting John, I would guess that that wasn't something you're best pleased about."

"You don't say." Sherlock commented dryly.

"I mean it must have been difficult seeing a past friend try to kill your current friend." Greg amended. "I just wanted to make sure you were handling it."

"Well you need not worry." Sherlock said. "I am handling it."

"As well as John is?"

"There's nothing to handle, anyway." he continued defiantly.

"Alright." Greg surrendered.

"I'm fine." Sherlock muttered.

"Sherlock, I said alright." the DI said, a small frown forming. "But you're not really persuading me when you repeat that."

Sherlock chose not to comment. He crossed his arms instead.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'm going." he said as he got to his feet. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

The detective ignored him.

"Yes, Lestrade, I've no doubt I will see you again. Thank you ever so much for checking on me and John. There's really nothing I can do to show how much I appreciate it. Farewell, good friend." Greg muttered to himself in a deep voice meant to imitate Sherlock as he walked off, hands stuffed in his pocket. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes.

He watched as John turned away from the grave and began to trek back to the bench Sherlock was perched on. When he got there he sat down with a sigh and the two remained silent for a few moments. Sherlock wondered what was going through John's head, and whether he was angry they'd missed the funeral. His shoulders were tense but that could be for any number of reasons, the main one obviously being that he'd just seen his wife and daughter's grave.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked quietly, and John huffed out a laugh and looked down at his lap.

"Stupid question?" the detective queried, knowing it was but not knowing what else to say.

"Kind of, yeah." John replied.


"Don't worry," John said with a small smile. "I get that this isn't really your area – it's not really anyone's, to be honest. Thanks for asking, though."

Sherlock nodded in response.

"Greg said the funeral was nice." the doctor continued. "Quiet."

"Are you angry we missed it?" Sherlock asked.

"Not angry." John replied, "Just a bit... disappointed, I guess, that I didn't see their send off, you know? But you know what they say; funerals are for the living and all that."

"Who says that?" Sherlock frowned.

John shrugged. "I dunno, people. Does it matter?"

"Seems a peculiar statement to make."

John laughed. "I'll find the source for you, if you're that interested."

"There is truth to it, though, I suppose."

John hummed in agreement and the two lapsed into silence again.

After a few minutes John looked across to Sherlock. "Are you alright?"

"Have you been speaking to Lestrade?" The detective asked, huffing petulantly.

John frowned. "Uh – briefly, earlier. Why?"

"He asked the same question." Sherlock said grumpily.

"Oh." John smiled. "Tired of hearing that?"

"Extremely." Sherlock replied with a sigh.

"Me too. Shall we flee the country to escape everyone?"

Sherlock sat up straighter. "Mycroft can get us tickets within the hour. Where do you want to go?"

John smiled and tilted his head. "Somewhere warm. Spain, maybe?"

"Listed 9th as the country with the highest crime rate, so I will not be bored there. Good choice, John, if we leave now we can be packed and at the airport within forty minutes–"

"I was joking, Sherlock." John chuckled.

Sherlock frowned and cleared his throat, looking away. "Yes, so was I." he said indifferently, which prompted another laugh from the doctor.

His laughter soon died down until he was just smiling. "Maybe one day, Sherlock." he said.

The detective still looked disappointed and he continued to look away. "The majority of Spain's population is over-friendly anyhow, so the crime rate would have increased even more because of me. It's for the best." he sniffed.

John chuckled again as he got to his feet. "You keep telling yourself that. C'mon, let's go get some..." he glanced down at his watch. "brunch. You look hungry."

"I'm not." Sherlock said, but he got to his feet anyway as John began to walk off towards the street.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. "John." he called and the doctor stopped and turned back to him.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Will you return to Baker Street?"

John became serious and he sighed heavily. "Sherlock..." He gestured helplessly about him in a what-do-you-want-me-to-say motion.

"I'm not sure you should be on your own." Sherlock blurted, and winced when John's face turned stony.

"Right." John muttered, clenching his fist.

"I was merely suggesting–"

"No, I–" The doctor coughed and shook his head slightly. "I'll think about it, alright? I'll think about it." he said again, more to himself.

"Alright." Sherlock said quietly.

John shifted, looking a little distressed. "I don't know – I mean, I don't know how to – what to do... at the minute. I can't–"

"Come back to Baker Street." Sherlock said firmly. "Just for tonight. We can work out what you want to do tomorrow. Right now, you are going to buy me brunch and then we'll visit Molly at the morgue because she's promised me a cadaver."

"Why am I buying brunch?" John asked, a slight smile forming.

"Because you're not taking me to Spain." Sherlock retorted.

"I thought you were taking me to Spain."

"It was your idea."

"You were the one moaning about people being concerned."

"So you should treat me to cheer me up. Isn't that what friends do?" he asked, eliciting a small chuckle from John. "And anyway, it was Mycroft who was going to buy the tickets."

"We'll have to send him flowers, as a thank you." John said seriously, fighting a smile.

Sherlock sighed. "As long as they're dead." he said, walking past John, who quickly caught up with him. The two reached the road and Sherlock hailed them a cab. John directed the cabbie to a café nearby whilst Sherlock texted Molly, telling her they'd be at Bart's in an hour.

During the journey, John looked across at Sherlock. "Are you alright, though? Honestly?

"There's nothing not to be alright about, John." Sherlock snapped. He sighed, regretting his harsh tone. John merely shrugged.

"Just checking. But you tell me if anything's getting at you, yeah?"

"Now you definitely owe me a trip to Spain." Sherlock grumbled.

"Fine." John smiled.

Sherlock glanced across to the doctor. "And the same goes for you, John." he said hesitantly. "If there is an issue you cannot deal with alone, you know I will–"

"I know." John interrupted him softly, saving him from getting sentimental. "Thank you."

"Likewise." Sherlock said shortly, awkwardly.

More silence dominated the cab until John smiled again. "Do you really want to go to Spain?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I've not had many cases abroad, so it would be interesting to note the differences to investigating here."

"I'll get Mycroft to contact the Spanish police, shall I? See if there's a murder they can't solve?"

"Would you?" the detective asked eagerly, still not realising that John was joking.

John looked at him, astonished, before he huffed a laugh and shook his head. "Sure. I'll do it tomorrow since I'm not doing anything, yeah?"

Sherlock bit his lip, containing his grin. "Yeah." he said.


A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has favourite/followed/reviewed, they've all made me very happy and I hope you've enjoyed this story x