The Hearse.

Sherlock sat with his hands clasped in his lap, not really listening to the man speaking. He was lost in his own thoughts.
"You forgot to turn your collar up." John said.
"This is terribly boring, John. Why am I here?" He replied in a quiet, disregarding John's comment.
"Because everyone expects you to be here, you arse." Sherlock began a witty retort, but Mary's hand gripping his shushed him. She was crying. Why was she crying? Funerals. Sherlock thought them pointless. A waste of time, really. He couldn't remember who's body was even in the ground.
Someone called his name and he blinked.
"Get up, Sherlock." John again. Sherlock stood without thinking. The service was over, people were placing roses on the coffin. "Careful!" John chastised him. He looked down at the rose that his fingers were twined around. He'd pricked himself on a thorn. Mary tugged him along to stand beside the coffin with Harry.
Harry. John's sister. Her blonde curly hair was held back with a black headband and her heels were dangling from one hand, the other hand being used to dab at tears.
"John, why on Earth-?" Sherlock didn't finish his sentence. Mary and Harry were looking at him strangely. "What?" He said nonchalantly.
"You're speaking to John again, Sherlock." Mary whispered.
"Of course I'm speaking to John, he's right-" Sherlock reached out to grab John's jacket, but his hand only met air. Then it struck him again.
"Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?" Sherlock's breathing became uneven. His mind, usually swimming with thoughts, singled down to one thing.
The coffin had John's name on it.