Love You to Death~a Johnlock fanfic

Ending two part two

Saturday rolled around faster than I anticipated, but I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to see his coffin, his picture up next to it and all the bouquets of flowers around it, I wasn't ready to see his name on a tombstone. I just wasn't ready. But I had to. He was my husband and he would want me to be at his funeral, even if I killed him. It was closed casket, thank god, but it still hurts. Too bad. Too horrible and too gut wrenching for me to handle.

"Sherlock, you have to get up. We leave in an hour." Mycroft said, leaning over the couch and placing his hand on the back.
"I can't." I said, closing my eyes and trying to imagine John was still here.
"Sherlock, you have to. He would want you to." He said and sighed, directing his vision to the window.
"Not if you knew what I know." I muttered, pulling myself up and trying my best to hide the blood stain on the couch.
"What do I even wear?" I asked, turning back and trying to gain my balance. I hadn't stood up in two days.
"Something black." He said, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

I walked over to the bedroom. It was the first time I saw it since John died. I saw him everywhere. So many flashbacks rushed through my head. Nights of emotions and love and passion and fear and worry and sorrow. But I didn't matter what we felt because we had each other, and that's what was important. I snapped back into reality to look in the closet. His smell floated through the air. I felt tears try to push through my eyes but I just felt like I couldn't cry this time. So I blinked really hard to push back my tears. I saw my black suit on the right side of the closet so I quickly grabbed it and shut the door. I got undressed and threw on the uncomfortable suit, wiggling around to try to make it feel comfortable. Of course, the scars on my stomach and arms were making it one-hundred times more uncomfortable but I think I could last a few hours in it. I slowly walked over to the door and out into the sitting room.
"Alright, come on, everyone's waiting outside." Mycroft said, and led me out of the door.
"Oh yeah, and just a word of advice, little brother," he said,
"Don't hurt yourself. It's not worth it." He whispered and opened the door and stepped in front of it to let me out.

I just stared out the window for the entire car ride, trying to think of anything else except John, but it was hopeless.

We arrived 20 minutes later. I shakily got out of the car and into the church. I tried to just keep my attention on the stain glass window, studying the pattern and trying to decipher the message. Apparently it worked because the next thing I know I was being asked to say a word. I always hated that at funerals. Saying a word. Why should you force a grieving friend or relative to talk about the person that died? I mean I know it isn't technically forcing but nobody ever says no because it looks neglectful of the person's life, their legacy, their personality, just every aspect of them as a human being. So, I stepped up where I think you're supposed to stand and started to talk. But how could I sum up us? Sum up his life? He saved so many lives, did so many things, were loved by so many people. John Holmes was not just a person. He was my person. I can't just say a word about him.

"John Holmes was the love of my life," I started, trying not to cry as I looked at the casket.
"And... I don't even know how to explain him. He was such a b-beautiful, wonderful, terrific man. He was the most h-human, human being that I've ever had the good fortune to know and love."
"A-And..." I tried to say, tears clouding my eyes.
"He...I-I can't-" I mumbled and brushed out the door. I didn't know where to go. I just ran around the corner and fell to the ground and sobbed. I felt a hand on my shoulder but I didn't bother to look up.

After a few hours, the sun was setting and my tears were drying, so I wandered to the grave, stumbling aimlessly until I finally found the headstone that had:
"John Holmes
May 6th, 1981-July 24th, 2022
Beloved brother, husband, father."
I knelt down on the moist dirt.

"Hey, uh, sorry I missed the burial." I said in a loud whisper.

I thought I heard a ghostly whisper say,
"That's okay. I understand."