Author's notes: Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/332456 around February, decided to finally post here. Enjoy!

"Sherlock Holmes Anonymous", someone joked once. John reasoned that they have to be an actual regular group if they're going to adopt that name, and Greg stated that he did not want everyone to think that he was addicted to Sherlock Holmes.

It became a support group (well, partnership really) of sorts, with John and Greg meeting once a week in the pub nearest Scotland Yard. Molly had been there twice, Mrs. Hudson once when they tried to do it at Speedy's (they had to leave earlier than they wanted to because John had drank enough to make him pass out and warrant a trip to the hospital).Even Anderson and Sally had dropped by. Mycroft didn't join them, but there was a day when the pub owner told them that they could get anything for it had been paid in advance. Mostly it was just the two of them, drinking to that insufferable, annoying, brilliant, dead detective that they used to tolerate and tried to live and work with.

It started a week after Sherlock died. Greg had called John to check up on him, something that he did frequently after Sherlock had been pronounced dead, and John had mentioned that he needed to get drunk really, really badly. Greg had agreed.

The first night was spent in silence, staring at the dart board and drinking amounts of beer until they almost passed out.

The second night, Greg had grunted, and John nodded in approval. More beer.

It was the third night that got interesting. Greg was pissed off. There was another one of those that he had dubbed 'Cases for Sherlock', but the detective was nowhere to be found. He ranted to John, screaming about how Sherlock wasn't around when he was needed. John sighed heavily, and murmured that he missed the late detective too.

The real talking started the fourth night. Greg guessed that someone just needed to break the ice, and he just did that last week. John ranted about the head in the fridge and the eyeballs in the microwave, and even told Greg about that body he once found in the bathtub. Greg offered to take the head out of the fridge, and the two men laughed. John admitted that he was missing the late detective. He didn't even let Mrs. Hudson touch any of the man's things. Sentiment, he explained, and then frowned. John knew Greg understood, but mentioned the 'human' reason out of habit anyway. Greg tapped him comfortingly on the shoulder, and John wiped his eyes. Greg understood. He mourned too. They all did, in their own way.

They mourned him every week until they stopped talking about Sherlock all together. It wasn't because they forgot all about him. It wasn't because they wanted to.

They just started to move on. Slowly, but they moved on.