The Fall Of Sherlock

Don't you feel guilty, Graham?

Greg wasn't sure it would be right to go to Sherlock's funeral. He'd arrested him. He'd actually been part of that. Part of him had dared to doubt the detective, and now look at what was happening. They were burying him.
But who wouldn't doubt the genius? He was extraordinary for a reason. He remembered everything. Near enough. Greg's name wasn't strictly relevant. And now he saw why.

Why should the detective have bothered to remember his name when he doubted him, his close friend? When he had assisted the force on so many cases, invited him into his home come Christmastime, bore the difficulty of quitting smoking alongside him, and still be considered to be lying about everything that made him him?
Greg had removed the nicotine patches from his arm for this very reason - that he couldn't look at them without being reminded of the friend they were having to bury. And now that he didn't have the assistance of the patches, he had slipped back into smoking. Not as much as he had in the past, but still too many considering his progress.
When he had heard the news buzzing around the office of the infamous sociopath's suicide, it had been a sobering experience. He tried to make sure his division would take on the investigation, wanting to make things right and deliver justice where he could, but due to his close interest in the case it wasn't allowed. Dimmock was given the case instead, which had caused Greg's blood to boil. But he had to put those feelings aside, at least for the time being, as he tied a black tie around his neck and shrugged on a black jacket.

"Hi, mate, I don't... I'm so sorry." He said, holding John's shoulder as they entered the church.
"I just had no idea he was struggling like this, I mean- I know we knew about the drugs, but-"
"I don't blame you for this, Greg."
The inspector paused, swallowing his words. Even if John didn't blame him for this, he blamed himself. But perhaps he did need to hear that someone else thought this wasn't his fault, because the guilt had been eating away at him for weeks. He was shocked there was anything of him left to have the capacity to regret.
"Where... where are we sitting?"
"The front. I don't think many other people are coming, so... the front."
"Is that... not reserved for his family?"
"I'm not sure any are coming."
"Mycroft?"
John shook his head. Greg was about to ask why, but cast a quick look behind him and saw Molly Hooper entering the building, wearing a simple black dress and no makeup on her face, wrapping herself up in her cardigan as she said a few words to Mrs Hudson.
"Poor girl," he muttered under his breath, "she'll be heartbroken."

The ceremony commenced soon enough, with John right in his assumption that there would be virtually no crowd. The door slipped open quietly just before John approached the lectern to make his speech, however, and a guilt-ridden Sergeant Anderson slipped in with a small gust of wind, and sat in the very back pews alone.
"Thank you- er, thank... you for coming, er... those of you who are here for... being here. Um. He... he would have... really appreciated it, I think..." John started, fidgeting, and finally looked up into the near-empty church, clocking Anderson's presence. "I think."
"Sherlock was... well, he... he wasn't to everyone's tastes, I think that's... safe to say, er... but that was always him, and... and that was okay. Er." He exhaled slowly, his chin in his chest, feeling his eyes begin to prickle.
"He was... er, the... well, he was my best friend, first off, erm... oh god, sorry... this... this is harder than I thought it'd be, I'm sorry..."
Casting a sidelong glance at the coffin, John swore under his breath, which the microphone picked up, and got flustered. "I didn't- sorry, no-"
John shook his head, yielding. He felt hopeless. He shrunk away from the lectern, shaking as he joined the pew once more. Greg nodded in understanding, moving up to the lectern himself before he realised what he was doing as Mrs Hudson consoled John. He cleared his throat and resumed what John had tried yet could not finish.
"I... think it goes without saying that Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man. He saved my neck a few times, I can tell you that for nothing. John was right in saying that... that he wasn't for everyone, but that didn't matter to him, he just... got on with things. But we all cared about him. And we're giving him a proper send off, something which... he certainly deserves, despite the circumstances. No matter what the world is saying, we know in our hearts what is true about Sherlock Holmes. And I'm sure he's looking down on us now - probably not listening very closely, mind, but he'll be watching - and he can rest easy knowing that the people who will miss him most will be helping one another cope, and keep his memory alive. And... I think all we can say to him is... is thank you. Thank you, Sherlock. From all of us. And rest easy, mate."