[Well, for instance, if you're in the middle of a contract, you can quit, that's not a thing anymore. One of our friends has automated all the judges out of a job. People who died only comparatively recently will get chances to go home. Nonconsensual violence is no longer a thing.]
A half hour elapses. Golden sends someone called Sasha to wait in Milliways and then moves on, leaving Juliet in Sasha's emptied and very lovely apartment. [Hi?] Juliet tries.
"We're just combing the afterlife for alts of people we know. And ourselves, we found one of those too in the catacombs. If you just want to stay here," Juliet shrugs, "then that's fine, we're not going to stop you. If you want to leave, that can also be arranged. You're a friend of the template. And all of this is eminently compatible with tea."
"Depends on how long ago you died - in time as it's counted in your home world, not here, they differ sharply in some cases. If it's been a really long time it doesn't make sense to send you home per se. But there's a bunch of us who'd be happy to take you in just because you were kind to Shell Bell, and a bunch of other worlds beyond that; no real shortage of choices. If there's anybody you miss particularly we can jump them out of the queue, too."
Anybody else? Nope, the place is cleared of everyone they were looking for. All right. Time to go home to her own Sherlock.