This really is the end now, I promise.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story over the past few weeks; I can't express how grateful I am for your lovely feedback.

Thanks to the Scott&Bailey team, particularly Amelia Bullmore, because this story simply would not have happened without them.

And finally thanks to the Manic Street Preachers, whose song Australia provided – very oddly – quite a lot of inspiration.

They threw roses down on the coffin. Just the officers from Syndicate Nine – Julie had joined them now, quietly sniffing, her sharp eyes damp – and Sammy; everyone else had hastily retreated, understanding.

Rachel didn't understand why Gill wanted to be buried. She imagined her boss lying cold on a slab in the mortuary, her skin tinged with blue, maggots picking at her flesh. She gulped back nausea.

Kevin sidled up to her. He didn't talk, but his eyes were damp too. She reached down and intertwined her fingers with his. Someone had to carry out Gill's request after all, and look after him. He wasn't so bad, after all, DC Lumb. Gill had shown them all that, and given the rest of them a chance too, no matter their backgrounds or their flaws. They were here now because of her.

Andy dropped a photograph of them all at the Christmas party into the grave. Gill in the centre, slightly tipsy, waving a cocktail glass in the air, surrounded by her team. She'd had flaws too. It's worth fighting for something you love. It was worth fighting for someone too.

Their heads bowed, a goodbye.

"What do we do now?" Mitch broke the silence, "Boss?"

Julie shook her head. She wasn't worthy of that title quite yet. Maybe she never would be, or maybe she would, because everything moved on in the end, and the world wouldn't stop for the death of one person, no matter how they'd been adored, how much they'd be missed.

"I... I asked Ma'am that once," Rachel said, "What we should do."

Sammy clutched a single rose petal, "What did she say?"

"She said we could cry, vomit, resign, sulk,"she told them, with a cautious glance towards the vicar, "Get pissed, shag someone or watch telly."

Janet bit her lip. Held Sammy close.

"Well, then," Julie said softly, "Kevin. What do you think?"

His gaze darted to her, as though he was frightened she was going to breathe fire on him. Was holding hands with a girl in a graveyard a bad thing? Or holding hands with a boy, for that matter? Not that he was considering it.

"Everyone's cried enough," Janet said.

Andy shrugged, "My cat was sick this morning, if that counts."

"And you can't resign," Sammy pawed at the ground with his heel, "Because Mum would kill you."

"She did enough sulking when she was alive," Mitch smirked, "Like when we played Twister at the Christmas do, and her tights split."

Lee grinned, "Oh, I'd forgotten that."

"Well, you can't..." the vicar paused, his lips pursed, "you can't shag someone."

"No; Kevin's underage," Mitch winked, "Or perhaps he's just saving himself for that someone special. Like Rach."

"Cheeky bugger."

"And there's nothing on TV," Sammy shrugged, "There's never anything on TV any more. Just cop shows, and Mum always screamed at the screen then because they were doing their jobs wrong."

Kevin squeezed Rachel's hand, "She quite often screamed at us because we were doing our jobs wrong. Or at me, anyway."

"There's only one thing for it, then."

Everyone looked at Julie.

"Let's go to the pub."

Perhaps they were rather an odd procession. Kevin and Rachel leading the way, still holding hands, Rachel slightly unsteady due to a combination of ridiculously high heels and the emotional confusion that came with death.

Andy and Mitch and Lee slightly behind, chatting, reminiscing their favourite moments in the office with Gill.

"The time she fell into the box."

"And when she got out she had the roll of Sellotape stuck to her arse, and she couldn't work out whey we were all laughing at her."

Julie walked alone, slightly dazed, her arms wrapped around herself. Gill had never been one for displaying her affection, but she hadn't really needed to. Like Sammy had said, you knew.

Julie had been given the responsibility of looking after Syndicate Nine now, and the weight on her shoulders felt overwhelming, the combination of grief for her friend and colleague, and fear at moving on. Everyone was scared of new things; Gill had been. But she'd done it anyway, and so would Julie.

Sammy and Janet walked behind. Janet wore her coloured leather gloves, and she remembered that day in the cemetery after one of the cases when she'd told Rachel about everything Gill had gone through with Dave. A shag bandit. At it with all and sundry. Everyone knew except Gill. They'd all worn coloured leather gloves that day, standing in a line, the three of them.

There were some bad people in the world, people that Gill had dedicated her entire life to stopping. And then there were people like Dave, who weren't arsonists or murderers or rapists, but maybe they were just as bad.

It was in the Bible somewhere that thinking about murder was as bad as committing the offence. Police obviously didn't live their lives by this, or they'd have been hypocrites – I want to hurt that bastard, give him a taste of his own medicine, show him what it's like to suffer.

All the same, Dave had made Gill's life a misery. She'd loved him, and when it had come down to it he hadn't been there for her. If you love something enough, you'll fight for it.

Gill had taught Janet many things. She'd taught her how to be a good copper, how to be a good mother, how to be a good woman. How to be dignified when you wanted to scream, how to know when was the right time to just sit in the toilets and cry.

But overall, she'd taught her that nothing could be stronger than love. If you fought hard enough, the love would always overpower the hate whether you won the battle or not.

Janet remembered the final promise she'd made to Gill. That, as long as she lived, she would never tell anyone about that night in the garden for Gill's fortieth birthday. Too much alcohol, and not enough clothes. Running down the street in her bra, squealing. Oh, everyone lived for the memories in the end.

"You know what, Sammy?"

He leant closer to her, soaking up her warmth, "What?"

"Your mother was the greatest woman in the world. And you know what else? We'll make her proud; all of us. We'll carry on her work, even when it's hard. We'll teach Kevin how to send an email, and how to make a coffee too, perhaps. And one day, you'll be the greatest copper Manchester has even seen, and you'll have done it all because of your mum."

They all brushed off their feet as they entered the pub. When they'd settled down, Julie held up her wine, and a hush fell over them. "To a mother, and a friend, and a colleague. To... to DCI Murray."

Sammy smiled and dropped the final bedraggled rose petal to the floor. It fluttered away, out of the pub door into the breeze, past the traffic lights, past the church, up and up and away. Like his mum. I love you, Mummy.

The clinking of glasses filled the pub. "DCI Murray."

"The best boss in the world," Kevin added softly. Julie smiled.

Lee grinned and took a handful of nuts, "I'll drink to that."

XxXxX

Thanks again to everyone who has read DCI Murray – it's certainly been a rollercoaster, and I apologise to those people who kept telling me on Twitter I made them cry, especially DCIGillMurray and ohsotanyaax, who have been so sweet with their feedback throughout the story. Please review and tell me what you thought. And then perhaps go and read Mum ;') xxx