The funeral of James Wilson was a sad affair, as most funerals are. An old photo of him pulling a stupidly cheesy grin rested on the coffin. His ex-colleagues filled the room. His mother was crying into a handkerchief that had been handed to her by the man next to her.

Said man was dressed in a garish orange jumpsuit that clashed with the tips of his growing-out beard, his hands cuffed behind his back, his head bowed.

Said man was extremely thankful he'd even been allowed to attend the funeral. He just wasn't happy with how many people were focused on him instead of the entire point for them being here. He wasn't going to make a scene. Did they really think he was going to attempt to run out, cuffed and guarded and as blatant as he looked?

Said man was grimacing at the ground, ignoring the look of what he supposed was sympathy from his former employees and the rest of… the rest of that lot he worked with.

It seemed that everyone Wilson had ever met was gathered to pay their respects. Patients he'd saved. Families of patients he hadn't saved, but had really desperately tried to, because that was the kind of guy ol' Jim was. Doctors he'd met at conferences. People he'd accidentally bumped into once on the street, probably.

Yes, Wilson was a wonderful man, and House made sure to let his corpse know as he shuffled forward to the coffin and whispered the House equivalent to sweet nothings.

"You bastard." He bowed his head and kissed the black painted wood of the coffin. "I'll see you soon."

Gregory House died that night.

Oh, I finished.

Sad/bad ending, I know, I'm sorry.

This is dedicated to the person who encouraged me to finish. You know who you are.

If anyone actually cares, I was moaning about failing my GCSEs on the first chapter, but I did not fail at all for anything.

This fic being physics revision paid off. I got a B!