Ok so this is the final chapter! Hope you like it! This fanfic has kind of taken over my life so I don't know what to do now. Again a massive thank you to Corianna15 for all your lovely reviews and comments! Yes Lozza...I know you wanted me to do some sort of supernatural thing where John comes alive but unfortunately I didn't do that...it didn't really fit. Well, enough if me boring you. Hope you like it!

John Hamish Watson died at 5:17pm on the 8th January 2015.

This was also the day that William Sherlock Scott Holmes died. Not physically. He didn't stop breathing and turn blue but his heart broke.

When John Watson died, so did Sherlock Holmes.

His funeral was nothing fancy or special. Just a regular service and burial. There was a wake afterwards but Sherlock didn't go. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't go into that restaurant and pretend to be ok and mingle with people he hardly even knew. He just went home.

The flat felt empty. He couldn't look at anything and he ran into his bedroom as fast as he could. It felt cold. He felt cold. Everything felt cold and numb.

The funeral was painful. Sherlock had had silent tears running down his face all through the service but when they arrived at the cemetery he completely broke. He didn't care if people saw anymore. John could always see that he wasn't a sociopath so what's the point in hiding it any longer? As he watched the coffin, with John inside, Sherlock felt his legs begin to buckle. The thought of John so far beneath the earth. In the cold hard ground. Slowly deteriorating. He felt his legs completely give up on holding him up and he fell to the ground beside John's grave and cried, he remembered crying enough to fill a river. Mrs Hudson's hand was suddenly on his shoulder and she felt warm and comforting. However she wasn't John.

Back at the flat Sherlock curled up into his bed, not even bothering to to change clothes, and thought of John.

John laughing.

John crying.

John running with him on the cases.

John telling him to eat and sleep.

John.

His associate.

His blogger.

His friend.

His best friend.

Later that night he heard Mrs Hudson coming up the stairs, he must have been crying loudly again then, he thought.

"Sherlock?" She peaked her head round the door and saw Sherlock's tear stained face, ruffled hair and clothes as he lifted his head from under the pillow. "Oh Sherlock." She approached him with a box of tissues and started to wipe his face. Sherlock didn't complain. He was too tired to and he also knew that Mrs Hudson was obviously grieving. She had thought of John as one of 'her boys' (as well as Sherlock) and he knew she would feel the need to care for him more now that John was...well...gone.

"Sherlock. Come here" Mrs Hudson pulled him into a hug and cradled him against her. Sherlock relaxed into the hug and started sobbing again.

"I know darling." She had started crying now and was rubbing his back. "We will all miss him so so it. Let it all out."

They sat like that, huddled on the bed crying, for nearly an hour.

"Let's go into the room and I will make us both a nice cup of tea. Yeah?"

Sherlock nodded slightly.

Sitting down together on Mrs Hudson's sofa they drank hot cups of teas and mainly did nothing but cry. Mrs Hudson would frequently ask Sherlock questions about John but the young man would never say anything apart from "he was my best friend". Mrs Hudson would share stories about shopping trips with John and how kind he was but Sherlock wasn't really listening. All he could think was that he had failed John. He should have saved him.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock was staring blankly at the wall. "I...I...I should have saved him. It's my fault" he muttered.

Mrs Hudson gently held his hand, "Sherlock, listen to me. It wasn't your fault, ok? It wasn't your fault."

"But...I should have been quicker. I should have seen it coming. The moment I saw his killer in the park I should have brought him home. Kept him safe. It's all my fault."

Mrs Hudson thought that maybe Sherlock was opening up and she would be able to talk to him properly. "It wasn't your fault. John wouldn't want you to blame yourself would he?"

At this Sherlock looked up at Mrs Hudson however he didn't react as Mrs Hudson had expected. He suddenly shouted ad stood up. "He was my best friend and now he is dead because if me!" After this he ran out and upstairs to his own flat. He locked himself in and didn't emerge for 4 days.

After John's death Sherlock was never the same. Lestrade would come round with new cases for him but Sherlock was never interested. Molly would come round with body parts and chemicals for him but he would say that he was tired and would go away into his bedroom every time she came around. Mrs Hudson would come upstairs with food and cups of tea that Sherlock never ate or drank. She would try to talk to him but he would shut her out. Mycroft came round sometimes but non if the old rivalry occurred between the brothers any more. Mrs Hudson would sometimes walk in the room to find both brothers hugging.

The only time Sherlock ever showed any signs of his old self was when he played his violin. The music, however, was never cheerful or fast like it used to be. Instead it was slow and mournful. His emotions played through in the music and when he played he always had silent tears running down his face.

The flat didn't change. Sherlock didn't want anything to be moved and over time things became dusty. He would only allow things that were his to be cleaned. Nothing of John's was to be touched.

2 years past and eventually everyone apart from Mycroft began to fade away from him. They didn't go to see him as much. Even Mrs Hudson stopped going upstairs to clean. Only Mycroft stuck with him and Sherlock was actually thankful for it. He knew it was his fault that everyone had gone away but at least now they could get on with their lives without him in their way. He knew though that he could always trust in Mycroft to be there for him. The memories of his childhood came back to him as he thought of the days when he and Mycroft would play together and Mycroft would stand up for him when he got into trouble. That all disappeared when Mycroft went away to university. But Mycroft had always been there.

Clinging to Mycroft he buried his face into his chest and cried for John again. When would this mourning end?

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think!