Alone On The Water

Chapter 12

His funeral is well attended. This does not surprise me. Many people admired Sherlock. Many more couldn't stand him. But nobody who ever came in contact with him ever forgot it, and it seems as if all of them are compelled to be here.

I am being treated as the grieving widower. Mourner in Chief. It really ought to be his mother, but everyone seems to think this arrangement entirely appropriate, including the woman herself.

Despite my fears, she doesn't blame me. Mycroft says that she hates goodbyes and wouldn't have known how to handle Sherlock's, so it's just as well. She seems to understand this. She hugs me and tells me she's so glad that he had me with him in his final hours.

I stand up to give his eulogy. I only do it because I can't imagine anyone else doing it. I talk about his brilliance, his dedication to his work. I talk about the people he helped and the criminals he brought to justice. I don't talk about how he made me feel alive, or the way his eyes glowed when the sunlight slid behind them from the side.

I tell the mourners that he was my friend, and I am honored to have known and worked with him. I don't tell them that I loved him, and that I love him still, and that if I had one wish in the world it would be that I could make it stop.