Goodbye, Sherlock

Chapter 6

Goodbye, Sherlock.

Chapter 6.

Funeral.

Lestrade's POV.

That day I woke up early. The windows were closed and the lights were turned off, so I stayed there, in darkness, thinking.

Thinking about how John had lied to us. And all the things that didn't make sense in that story. Thinking about Sherlock, and where could he be. And Mycroft, and how much I missed him.

It had been a week since tha fall, and the case was closed. Suicide. There was nothing more to investigate.

When Molly's alarm started to rang, I stood up and got dressed. Putting that black suit was the hardest thing I have done in my entire life. When I went to the living room, Molly was already there having breakfast.

"Good morning, Greg." She said, but she wasn't as happy as ever. She was smiling but her eyes looked sad. I nodded and started to prepare some cereals for myself. She was looking at me, in silence. She usually talked. A lot. She talked about the day before, about what she was going to do that day, etc. But that day she was just sat on the table, looking at her coffee. Thinking. It was probably hard for her to talk like nothing happened today, but the silence was killing me.

"Well, it's not a good day, isn't it?"

Then she looked at me, sighed, and said:

"Greg, I think... I think you should talk to Mycroft..."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Greg, I have no problem with you staying here, you can sleep here as long as you want, but... you don't look like you. You look sad."

"Well, I'm sad."

Molly stood up and came closer to me. Then she put her hand in my arm, trying to make me feel better.

"You shouldn't. Life goes on. John'd want us to be happy."

"I'll move on when we find Sherlock."

"You will. He'll come today."

"I don't think so."

"Greg, John was his best friend. It's an important moment."

"Yeah, but, you know, it's Sherlock Holmes."

***

We had decided to do a little funeral. Some people from the news had asked to come, but I had said no. Maybe John was a liar, but we wanted people to remember the great man he had been. And we wanted to say goodbye. We needed to.

When we arrived, Mrs. Hudson was already there.

"Hello dear, how are you?"

"Erm... fine... What about you?"

"Oh, you know, the flat feels lonely without the boys."

"You could find another person to live there."

"Oh no, I don't want anyone else living there. It's just... I didn't remember how it feels. Living alone."

Poor woman. I knew something about her. I knew she lived in Florida, and that, when Sherlock was there, he had helped her ij something and she was incredibly grateful for that. I knew Sherlock loved her and she loved Sherlock. And John.

"I'll go to visit you, I promise." I said smiling.

But she didn't answer. At least, not how I expected. She looked behind me and mouthed: