Oh, god. I have to... [John looks down at his clothes, then over at Sherlock. He settles on Lestrade, looking momentarily distraught.] Harry. Harry's funeral is today. [And he's a mess. He hasn't taken a proper shower in a few days, his clothes are new and nice, but they're not appropriate for a funeral. The thought of leaving Sherlock alone here again to be snapped up by the Alphabet Woman--Caroline--is anxiety-inducing, as well. He can't exactly haul the man to a funeral in his current condition, though.]
I can't go. [His hand goes up to his hair, running through it a few times.] I forgot. Fuck.
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I can't go. [His hand goes up to his hair, running through it a few times.] I forgot. Fuck.