Before I knew it, the accursed time was upon us. The days had seemed to blend together before the day of the funeral. The day had arrived so quickly it made me wonder where the time had gone. I remembered going out to find a black dress, as I didn't think to pack one. If I had known I was going to attend a funeral in London, I would have.

The funeral was a rather poor turnout. Not even his parents showed, which really broke my already-fractured heart. Nothing about my most recent stay in London was happy. Even the possible silver linings didn't seem very promising.

London was a very dreary place, and the people closest to me—as close as they could be to me at the moment—were going through one of the roughest times in their lives.

A day or two before the funeral, John had made it very clear that after everything was said and done, he wouldn't be returning to 221B. I understood, as I wasn't sure I would want to stay there either. As much as I loved Mrs. Hudson, I wouldn't be able to handle staying in an apartment that belonged to a dead man, not for much longer. It was luck that John and I survived the days following The Fall in that place.

I had this sinking feeling that this was the calm before the storm. Though John didn't know it yet, I had other plans. I'd follow him to wherever he was going to be next, just for a little while. For some reason, I couldn't trust him by himself. I also factored in that I wanted to confront him about what his theory was. I had to do it before I left for America, because for all I knew, I would never get the chance once I left.

It was hard to tell if John was suspicious of my motives for staying with him in the temporary place. He seemed okay with it and told me I could stay until I had to leave for America. I had a feeling at some point he would kick me out, even though he'd probably hate to do it.

It'd been a day or two following the funeral, and following John and I leaving Baker Street for a new place. Mrs. Hudson had called—through me—and asked if we'd wanted to head to the cemetery today. I'd almost didn't say anything to the poor thing, as the request stunned me. But it shouldn't have, considering I wanted to go.

I'd gotten John to tag along. I was sure he wanted to even though he didn't. It was like how I felt about going: I wanted to, but at the same time I didn't.

Just before I showered, I'd looked in the bathroom mirror. I scowled at the purple bruise on my forehead. It was another painful reminder of The Fall. Though it would disappear in time, I knew it would be there a while.

I'd made sure to dress warmly before heading out. John and I caught the taxi and headed to Baker Street. When we'd gotten there, I was the one who had to fetch Mrs. Hudson from her place. I made sure to get in and out as quickly as possible. I didn't want to so much as glance at the stairwell that led up to the place John and I once called home.

It was a very silent, sullen ride to the cemetery. Mrs. Hudson was sandwiched between John and me, a bouquet of flowers in her lap. I smiled solemnly at the beautiful pedals. I wanted to try and start conversation, but it was hard to figure out what to say that wouldn't involve someone getting upset. In the end, I resorted to looking out the taxi window.

I felt like I'd lived in London for years, with how unsurprising the scenery was to me now. A few months were really more than enough time to get used to a view.

Before long, our personal procession ended when the taxi pulled up to the cemetery. I looked out at all the various headstones, then up at the sky. I let out a pent-up breath. My heart was beating against my ribs.

One part of the hard journey was over, another was about to begin.

I stepped out first, helping Mrs. Hudson's tiny frame out. We both waited for John to come around from the other side of the taxi before we started heading over to the headstone. Each step felt like half of one as we walked side by side. I felt Mrs. Hudson slip her arm through mine. I didn't pull away.

The breath was almost knocked out of me as I took in the headstone and the name that was carved into it. Its black coloring looked polished, giving us our reflections. We stopped, standing there for a good minute in silence. Mrs. Hudson briefly broke away to place the flowers at the base of the headstone. She then rejoined John and me, putting her arm back through mine again.

"There's all the stuff, all the science equipment," Mrs. Hudson sniffled. "I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school." I couldn't take my eyes off the black headstone. "Would you...?"

"I can't go back to the flat again," John whispered. "Not at the moment." My throat tightened at hearing the finality in his voice. It made me think he wasn't going to return ever again. "I'm angry."

Truthfully, I hadn't realized John was so...upset in that way. All I'd seen of him was the moping around, like me. I didn't see anger anywhere in his body language or his face the times that I watched him to make sure he wasn't cracking. Hell, I hadn't even felt a sliver of anger since The Fall happened.

People dealt with tragedy in their own ways.

"It's okay, John. There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel." Mrs. Hudson could not have been more right about that. "All the marks on my table, and the noise—firing guns at half past one in the morning!"

A trace of a crooked grin came across my face. That sounded like him. I was glad he hadn't done that when I'd been around.

"Yeah," John agreed.

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine—keeping bodies where there's food!"

I swallowed the bile, hoping to not vomit near his grave. That would certainly disrespect him and earn me an eternal haunting.

"And the fighting!" Mrs. Hudson continued. I could hear her voice cracking. "Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!"

"Yeah, listen...I-I'm not actually that angry, okay?"

I felt Mrs. Hudson's arm disappear out from under mine. I watched her wearily.

"I'll leave you alone to..." Hearing her voice break nearly made me burst into tears. "...you know."

I hugged myself as Mrs. Hudson hobbled away from the grave, crying along the way.

"You better make sure she gets to the cab alright," John murmured.

"She wouldn't get far if she lost it, John," I tried to joke.

"Rachel. Please."

Silently nodding once, I turned on my heel, turning my back on the headstone. I hesitated, breathing shakily. With strength, I moved away from the headstone and headed towards Mrs. Hudson, who was currently blowing her nose with a tissue.

I knew Mrs. Hudson was more than capable of bringing herself back to the taxi, but John needed his time to properly, privately say his goodbye. I kept Mrs. Hudson close to me as I led her back to the taxi. Tears threatened to leak, but I blinked them back. I wasn't feeling anything right now, so how could I have the urge to cry?

"You aren't staying behind?" Mrs. Hudson broke the silence.

I smiled sullenly. "I didn't know him well. Besides, what could I possibly have to say to him?"

"You were around him long enough to remember him in some way, dear."

"I know." I kept an arm looped over her shoulders. A voice in the back of my head told me I should turn back and say my goodbye. I stopped, Mrs. Hudson followed me. "You know...maybe I should say something."

The little old lady looked up at me, still teary-eyed. "It would do you some good."

"You're sure you can make it in one piece?"

"Don't underestimate me." She smiled sadly.

Before departing, I pulled Mrs. Hudson in for a tight, but not crushing, hug. I felt her tiny figure quiver in my embrace. I couldn't imagine how hurt she was over losing him. She had probably known him the longest out of her, me, and John.

Once she was under control, Mrs. Hudson slipped away from me, heading towards the taxi. Even as I started back for the grave, I could hear her quiet sniffles, and on occasion, a loud blow of the nose.

Each step that I took to Sherlock's grave, the faster my heart raced. I was stunned at how painless it was to think of his name.

It felt like step after step took forever, that no matter how many I took, I wasn't getting anywhere. I could still see the event replay before me. As my body went into autopilot, my mind drifted back to that moment that forever changed my life.

I stopped about halfway towards the grave, already debating whether or not I should go through with it. This could help. So could leaving London as soon as a flight was available. But I'd already made a decision in that. I wasn't leaving London just yet. I'd go back to Maryland sometime, sure, just not right now.

John looked small when mourning. He made me want to hold him and never let him go. Even the strongest of men could break down.

I exhaled slowly. I have to do this.

Quietly, I took my spot beside John. I said nothing, only stared at the reflection in the marble headstone. The name carved into it was burning itself into my brain, a name that I would never want to forget but at the same time would want to forget.

Without even thinking, my fingers searched empty air until they found John's hand. This startled him a bit, I felt him flinch. Like Mrs. Hudson, he was trembling slightly. I said nothing; I just held his hand for support. I wonder if what Sherlock said was true...about John and me.

And there it was. I didn't know why I even dared to think about it. There was no way out of the billions of people in the world that John Watson was my father. It was a one in a billion shot. It was something he said to throw you off guard. There's no way that there is any truth to it.

I didn't once look at John; the mere sight of him weeping would probably cause me to go into a fit. Instead, I looked at anything but him: the headstone, the grass, the other graves, the trees, the clouds, and a figure lingering in the distance—

Wait, hold on. What? My eyes latched onto the figure. I wished my eyes were sharper than they were so that I could make out the person's features. Thinking that the figure noticed me, I quickly turned my attention back to the grave. It's probably someone visiting someone they lost.

"Are you going to hang around a bit?" John broke the silence.

"I might, yeah," I said thickly, trying to keep myself from looking around the cemetery again. "We all need to say our private goodbyes, don't we?"

"Did Mrs. Hudson make it back okay?"

"I'm sure she did." My eyes fell to the ground. "I won't be long."

Though I didn't look out of the corner of my eye, I knew John had left me alone with the grave. I waited a long minute, thinking of something to say. Instead of saying a word, I dropped to my knees, feeling helpless, like I had on the top of St. Bart's.

"I can't understand it," I whispered to the headstone. "Why did this happen? If I had just gotten there sooner...if I had done more..." My hands were fists in my lap. "It probably wouldn't have made a damn difference if I had come sooner, you probably still would have done it. But I can't understand why. That's what everyone says, don't they, when someone they know commits suicide? They want to know why the person did it, only to never know the answer.

"I know you wouldn't ask it of me or anyone, but, I'll look after him." I stared at the name on the stone. "Just for a while, until I know he'll be fine." I snorted. "That'll be impossible, to ever know if he'll really be fine. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be fine. I don't even know why I bothered coming back to London when there could have been so many other ways to find out who my father is. I-I want to believe what you told me was true...but it sounds out there.

"I may never know if you were lying to me or not."

I didn't know how I held it all back: the frustration, the agony, the depression. Maybe it was because I let it all out on the day that it happened. Maybe it was because I was so numb that I couldn't feel anything right now.

Whatever the reason, I had yet to shed a tear sitting in front of Sherlock Holmes' grave.

"I don't know why I'm hoping this—probably because this feels like a horrible nightmare—but, please, let this be fake. Stop this, stop hurting people who care about you. You're doing more harm by not being here. Let this all be a dream." With shaking legs, I got to my feet.

With herculean effort, I turned my back to the grave. John was waiting from afar, watching. I wondered if he had known I had been watching him for a bit as he'd said his speech to the headstone.

With effort, I started heading for the taxi. My course was interrupted, something caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks, my head snapped towards a blur of black.

With curiosity getting the better of me, I trailed the black blur, which, now as I got closer, was the tail end of a trench coat. Instead of stopping, I kept going. This was unusual, to chase something in a cemetery. It reminded me of those scenes you found in action or horror movies.

The patch of black disappeared behind a tree after dodging headstones. I ended up finding the tree, no black trench coat. My brows came together. I panted lightly.

"Rachel?" John's voice traveled to me. "Where are you?"

I don't understand. I thought it was...

"Rachel!" John's voice got louder. He wasn't angry, but a little frightened. "Rachel!" Panicked footsteps behind me alerted me to his presence. "Oh, there you are." I whirled around to face him. "What were you doing? I saw you take off."

"I thought I saw...something," I said lamely.

John beckoned for me to join him. "Come on, let's go."

I started going for him but stopped halfway to look around. I must be seeing things. My mind has to be giving me false hope. For all I know, it was a grave robber.

A grave robber wearing a trench coat? Yeah, okay, because that sounded possible.

"You're coming, aren't you?" John looked to me wearily. He looked as exhausted as I felt.

"Yeah." I attempted a smile. "It was nothing; it's probably from lack of sleep, that's all."

John nodded as I joined his side. Together, we headed for the taxi. The entire walk back, even as we rode back to 221B to drop off Mrs. Hudson, I couldn't help but wonder: What had I really seen?

**Oh, Rach, we know what you saw.**