"I can't believe she's gone", he says in a completely monotonous voice, staring into space the way he does when he's visibly upset, but doesn't believe himself to be, visibly.

John steadies his shaky voice with his hundredth deep sigh of the day, nodding to his friend's words. "I know...I still can't either. It's not going to be the same 'round here. It never will be."

Sherlock stays completely silent, sitting as still as a statue in his leather chair, dressed completely debonair in his best suit. He swallows the lump in his throat, but it doesn't seem to budge.

"Look I know...I know this is difficult, especially for you; I know she's been a friend of your mum's for years and you've known her a lot longer than any of us. I know it felt like she was invincible, that she'd always just be there. I believed it myself. She was so spritely and lively and...y'know, caring. She loved you, Sherlock, just like a son. Both of us, maybe. And Molly and Mary were like her daughters. I can imagine Mary giving her hell for this, for leaving us unattended", he says, forcing out a small chuckle.

Sherlock turns away from John, pretending to be suddenly enthralled in his emails, but he still notices the stray tear making its way down his sharp cheekbone.

Taking another shaky sigh he adjusts his cufflinks and straightens his tie, turning away to give Sherlock a moment to himself. Even though they may both be so accustomed, so acclimated, so /used to/ death, especially in their line of work, when it's someone they love, someone they're close to, the grief still comes. You can only pretend to be numb for so long until it makes it way out of you, brewing then raging like a storm within your chest.

Mary was different. Her death was life-altering for him because she was so young, and she was a new mother, a new wife. But mostly because being a young mother and wife, she was /ripped/ from them unexpectedly. That was a different kind of grief.

But Mrs. Hudson? John doesn't think he had ever seen her been sick in all the years he had known her. Not once. Aside from the "herbal soothers" she used for her hip on occasion, he had never seen her in need of anything else. Just like he had said to Sherlock moments ago, Mrs. H had seemed so invincible. They never imagined the day she wouldn't be here to fix them nibbles, or put Sherlock in his place, or speak her mind when things needed to be said. In fact, he had begun to look forward to her little interruptions. Her little "hoo-hoo" knocks on the open door of 221B during stressful cases.

And now...now he doesn't know just what will happen. But he knows she would want them to keep going and keep doing good for London.

Turning back towards his friend, he clears his throat. "We best be going, Sherlock..."

Sherlock nods, having been completely silent for the last two days as preparations were made by John, Molly, and Mrs. H's sister whom they had immediately contacted.

Sherlock gets up and wipes his face, a look of complete exhaustion on his face. John would know that look anywhere. You focus all your energy on keeping the grief in, on not cracking or breaking down, that it drains you. That, plus, Sherlock doesn't sleep too well to begin with, so he looks like a near corpse himself right now.

"Y'know, Sherlock...it's okay to cry sometimes. A good man told me once that maybe we're all just human...and to that, I say, even you."

Sherlock tightens his jaw, and John can see it coming. The wall is being pummeled down in front of his eyes. He knows the wreckage that the agony of grief can do to one's devices. Not three seconds later does he see the tears begin to flow down Sherlock's face, and the sharp intakes of breath. John swallows thickly as his own sadness threatens to spill over but he keeps it together the way Sherlock had for him years ago.

Slowly walking over, John draws him into a hug, and Sherlock sobs quietly into his friend's shoulder. "I know it's not fair, and it's not something we could have ever known. But she would want us to go on, you know she would. She was like that. She was always like that, worrying about us. Right?"

Sherlock nods and sniffles, taking a deep breath and straightening up again. "I'm sorry."

"As I said, we're all just human. It is what it is, eh?"

He nods and sighs heavily, adjusting his suit coat. "Right then..."

"Molly has Rosie, she'll be meeting us at the church with Dottie Sissons, Mrs. H's sister. Lestrade will be there too... I'm sure she will pack the church, huh? There wasn't much to not like about her, and at the very least, people will come because they knew of her scones."

Sherlock lets out a soft, deep chuckle and John smirks a bit. "But in all seriousness, everyone loved her, and the church will be filled with people who loved her, and that's what she deserved. It will be a beautiful funeral, I promise."

"I don't know if I can go up there and speak about her...I...I was terrible to her."

"No, you weren't. You were like...an adolescent son whom she had to whip into shape sometimes. But Sherlock, she had tough skin, I don't think you could've really offended her if you tried. Remember the damn boot?"

Sherlock snorts and nods. "Yeah...she paid me back for that one."

"Yes, she did. She was strong and took no shit. You can do it, for her. She knew you were always uncomfortable with speeches. It doesn't have to be long, just meaningful. Molly hates public speaking too, and she's going to be talking as well. It will be fine."

"Alright...alright. For her."

.

.

Molly, Sherlock, John, Rosie, and Lestrade all meet with Sherlock's parents and Mrs. Hudson's sister, Dottie in the back of the church. She's a sweet elderly woman, who shares many of the same traits as her beloved sister.

Dottie turns to them, her eyes puffy from crying and she looks at them all fondly. "I may be her sister, but all of you were also family to her. She loved and adored you all more than you could ever know. John, Sherlock, you were like the sons she once lost. Molly, you were the daughter she never had. Rosie made her the grandmother she never would have had the chance to be. And Greg, you were like a baby brother who helped keep her sons in line. And you missy, were her very best and closest friend. Your husband too", she says as she addresses Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Each and every one of you were adored by her and made her life worth living. She'd never stop talking about you all. You were her pride and joys. Her crazy, makeshift family."

Molly begins to sob and Sherlock tears up, pulling her close to his side gently. John picks up six-year-old Rosie as she cuddles into his shoulder and begins to cry because everyone else is. Greg sniffs and wipes his nose on his handkerchief, patting John's back, and stroking Rosie's hair.

Soon the funeral begins, and Molly takes Rosie's hand, leading her and Dottie to their seats up front. The boys hang back and wait for the pall. John, Sherlock, Greg, and three of the men from Speedy's had volunteered to be the pallbearers, carrying the coffin down the aisle to the front of the church as the beautiful melodies play from the organ above.

Sherlock carries it with them and sees Mycroft sitting in the back of the church, which for some reason makes him internally angry, as he always saw her as a bother, but he ignored him and enters into his mind the whole way down the aisle to calm himself. He has never been a religious man, but he wants to believe with everything inside him, especially now, that there is a place where the sweetest of souls go for eternal peace.

Once seated, he zones out for most of the readings and only begins to listen when Molly stands up shakily next to him with her notecards in her hands and walks up to the podium to speak. He internally panics, knowing he is next but watches and listens so that she knows she's not alone and doesn't have to be worried, the way he knows she will do for him. Sherlock looks over his shoulder at his parents. His mum gives him a saddened, sympathetic smile and squeezes his shoulder lovingly.

Molly stands up and places her notes on the podium in front of her. She sniffles and smiles sadly. "I promised Martha I would keep it together, and I will, and we have lots of speakers because lots of people love her, so I will make it short and sweet...", she trails off to steady her voice. "Martha was the brightest shining light in all of our lives. She was a motherly figure to everyone she met. She cared down to her soul about every single person. I first met her when I was a new pathologist at Bart's. I used to stop by Speedy's for breakfast and coffee every day and she always had the biggest smile on her face while serving customers. She'd greet you and ask what was going on in your life, and it was always a comfort to know that even if you had nobody, you had Mrs. Hudson", she says as tears well up. She takes another breath. "Little did I know back then how she would connect all these amazing people to me and make them one crazy, somewhat dysfunctional family, that she created with love for each of us. She gave me a family when I needed one the most. She was a mother to me and to all of us, and for that I will always, always be grateful. I never would have been a part of this incredible makeshift family if it weren't for her. She was the first one to invite me to her home on the holidays when before I didn't have anyone, and it became a lovely tradition that all of us would gather at Baker Street on the holidays. She was always up for drinkies!", she giggles through a sob. "Martha brought me into this close-knit group of people and told me I belonged, even when I thought I didn't. She saw a light in me, a light in all of us, and she fostered that light so that we could shine even the smallest bit as bright as she did", she chokes up. "And watching her with our goddaughter, Rosie, her built in granddaughter some would say, always melted my heart because she loved that little girl, blood didn't matter to her. Because as she would say, "Blood doesn't make a family. Love does." Tears begin to fall down her face. "She gave me love back into my life in the form of a mother, in the form of friends, and in the form of family. And I can't tell you how much I owe her for that. She was that type of woman. Fly high our sassy angel..."

Molly finishes and sniffles, wiping her face as she takes her seat again next to Sherlock. He hugs her gently before she sits then tries to swallow the lump in his throat again, moving up to the podium, shockingly note-less.

"As I have said before, most of you know me and you know how rude, condescending, arrogant, and downright ignorant I can be. Some may even say heartless. Unfortunately, that's not quite true...Martha Hudson has been a close and very dear friend of my mother's for a very long time. I was in my twenties when they met and quickly became tea-mates. I believe the same way Molly met her. My mother was visiting me in the outskirts of London, at my tragically, disgustingly tiny flat at the time, and she stopped by Speedy's on her way there for a bite. The rest was history as those two could never really shut up in each other's presence, I wouldn't be shocked if they held up the line for an hour." People chuckle and smile fondly, especially his mother, but she has the sad look in her eye still.

"The point I'm trying to make is that despite her connection to my mother, she never had any expectations for me to be anything other than myself. Most people know me from the news, or from personal cases I've taken or just from word on the street. But Mrs. Hudson didn't just see the mean, gritty, working side of me. Of course that's the side she happened to see first and luckily gave me a chance after her case was successfully solved, but I digress. She was one of the very very very few people that I trusted with my heart… Yes, seeing as I am helplessly human still, though some may not agree, I do happen to have one of those and I never enjoy admitting that, but I trusted her with it.

No matter what I was feeling at the time, no matter how hard I hid from myself, somehow, she always knew. Always. She was the one person who could give my power of deduction right back to me to make me see just how irritating it can be when used against you. Through all the ups and downs, and the crazy schemes after an argument, on both of our ends, mind you, she was a crazy woman at times, and I say that with the utmost of fondness, there was always the mutual respect. I always had her back, and through the thickest of the thick and the thinnest of the thin, she always had mine. Didn't matter what it was, even if I was up against international criminals. If I needed a favor of her, she would willingly put herself on the line to do it, knowing I'd always be there to make sure she never got hurt. Mrs. H was the strongest, wisest, sweetest, most intuitive woman I have ever met in my lifetime, and I will never meet another woman like her. She was absolutely a second mother to me, and I could tease her, but Lord help you if you did, I'd defend her with all my wits, which isn't always pretty. But to be fair, neither were hers", he winks. John and Molly laugh, remembering the boot. "She could give it as much as she could take it, that incredible woman. Up to the day she died...and she gave me some wise advice over the years that I had been too foolish not to take. But it was okay as long as I had her around. Well, luckily, I have a good memory, I may to take some of her advice after all some time. Baker Street won't be the same without her, neither will Speedy's, and neither will my life. To me, she was as invincible as I am, so I've come to find out that we're not. Life is shorter than think, and time is taken for granted. We really were all her family. I think I speak for John as well as myself when I say that for the rest of my days, her memory will live on in me and I will always try to make her proud. Rest in peace, Hudders. You'll be severely missed."

He walks back to his seat stone-faced and sits. Her sister is helped to the podium by Greg, and she speaks about Martha when they were young. Sherlock half listens as the hurt inside of him pools in his gut and takes stabs at his heart. Molly looks over and gently places a hand over his, squeezing it empathetically. Sherlock looks over at her and lets his guard down for a split second, giving her a peek at his vulnerability, but not wanting to break down again, especially in front of everyone. She nods understandingly and lies her head on his shoulder. He sighs and lets her, squeezing her hand in return as they listen to gloriously sweet and funny stories of Mrs. Hudson's childhood and adolescence.