The very last chapter of this story! Wow I never thought I would write anything this long. Thank you all so very much for reading and especially reviewing!
I hope you like the way I ended, anyway, you probably (hopefully) want to start reading so I will let you go now.

Lots of lobe, BellaD

PS. This time the italics are Sherlock's thoughts.


Sherlock's P.O.V.

Big snowflakes meandered down from the grey sky. The whole world was covered in the fluffy white stuff, draining the world of all colour and sound. In the distance some children were laughing but the joy never reached us here, the snow muting out all happiness.

The priest's prayers droned monotonously over the dark hole. With a last amen he closed the bible. I picked up a handful of dirt, scattering it into the hole before letting my hand fall limply by my side. Flowers and dirt thumped down on the coffin as the mourners trickled away in a steady stream until I was left alone with my thoughts.

How could I have let this happen? It should be me in that box, not him. Snowflakes landed like slivers of death against my cheeks. Down the middle of each side of my face, fiery rivers of tears cut through the numbing cold. I never told him how much he meant to me, for so long he patched me up when I was hurt, always there for me, never asking for anything in return. I never did thank him for that, and now I never would. The crunching of footfalls on the frozen earth sounded behind me. How did people forget? Forget whom they love, whom they would miss when they were gone, who means the most to them. A gentle hand rested on my shoulder, trying to comfort me but not quite knowing how.
'He loved you, you know'
I sighed 'Yes, I know that'. The figure beside me nodded slowly, as if letting that sink in. After a few seconds he spoke again 'He knew you loved him too'.
I remained silent.
I had become so caught up in the atrocities in life, so embittered by man's cruelty, I lost my faith in heroes.

The hand on my shoulder slid down until I fell a warm, rough, palm in mine.

If only I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen a hero. Not in me but in the traces of my brother that lingered in my features. Now all I have left is that reflection.

I turned around to head home, squeezing the hand in mine gently for support.

A soft dusting of snow was starting to fall upon the black marble headstone, the snow stuck heavily on the stone, already partially obscuring the gold epitaph:
Here lies Mycroft Holmes.
Beloved brother and friend of Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.


Thank you so much to Prichan and Madameangel for reviewing and to everyone who has taken the time to read this and stick with it!
Hope to meet you all again soon,
Yours truly, BellaD