Had this idea in my head for awhile but finally sat down and wrote it today. Didn't intend to post it, but decided I had to since it's Halloween and all ;)

G – Grave

Molly stood at the grave of Sherlock Holmes, a sheet of paper clutched tightly in her hand. It had arrived in her post earlier that afternoon. It wasn't written by hand, but typed, thus making it impossible for anyone but her to know who had sent it.

A cold rush of wind blew across the graveyard, sending fallen leaves flying wildly about her. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, still holding firmly onto the sheet of paper. She sniffled, scrunching her nose up slightly. Then at last she looked down at the paper in her hand. It was time for her to read it.

With a shaky sigh she began, softly, slowly to speak the words out loud:

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

By the time she came to the end her tears were flowing freely. She wiped them away hurriedly, stuffing the paper into her coat pocket. With a final glance at his grave, she spun about and began to walk off. Suddenly a dark figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She turned her head to look fully, hoping that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. She looked at him, he looked at her. The wind picked up again, sending leaves swirling around them both. They shared a nod, before she turned away from him and continued out of the graveyard and back towards her flat. By the time she arrived home he was there, sat on her sofa.

"Very subtle, this." She pulled out the paper from her pocket and held it up.

He gave her a shrug. "You know my methods."

She quickly took off her coat and scarf, hanging it up beside his before turning back around to face him. He was still sat on her sofa.

"How long?" she asked him.

"Only tonight. Mycroft needed me in London, surprisingly reckless for him," Sherlock replied.

Molly moved closer and he watched her. Before another word could be spoken by either she was curled up against him, his arms around her. He didn't inquire how hard it had been, knowing all too well that he had asked too much of her. Like always. Instead they stayed like this, quietly in each other's arms; seeking the comfort that neither knew when they would find the chance to have again.

After a time she shifted so that she could bring her mouth up to his. Their kiss was hungry, desperate. She clung to him as if he was her life source. They usually made it to the bed, but not this time.

Their movements were fumbled, awkward. They didn't want their lips to part, but they must in order to breathe and remove the barriers of clothing. When they were both at last entirely naked he eased her down onto her back. Her hands moved over him, taking note of the new scars and bruises that he had acquired. She didn't ask questions.

They both cried out when their bodies became joined. It had been nearly a year for the pair of them. He kissed her deeply, holding her as close to him as possible as he thrust into her, again and again; filing away the sensation of her warmth, her tightness, how wet she was for him. He'll need these memories, not knowing how long it will be again before he can experience them for real.

She kissed him, moaning into his mouth as she rolled her hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. He panted her name into her skin, as she did with his. She wrapped her legs around his hips, allowing him to enter her more deeply. Their moans grow in volume as he thrust into her harder. She became undone around him, her entire body shaking. He was not far behind.

They held tightly onto each other, both of them breathing heavily. Her gaze was strong, direct. She too was filing away memories. They kissed again, and again. His hands started to wander, brushing against her breasts, across her abdomen, over the curve of her arse. His mouth soon started to follow. She lay back against the cushions, as he bit her, suckled her, before ringing from her cries of pleasure.

Just as the sun was setting they made love again, but this time she was on top. His hands were holding onto her arse, his fingertips digging into her skin, as his eyes were mesmerized by the movements of her breasts as she rode him. He brushed his thumb across her swollen nub and she cried out, with a final buck of his hips he emptied himself inside of her.

They curled around each other, both entirely too tired to bother moving to the bed, even though it would be more comfortable. Sleep was forcing its way upon her, but she tried her hardest to fight it. She knew that when she woke, he would be gone.

He was kissing her face, murmuring softly to her, words that she couldn't quite make out. Her eyes had grown too heavy; she could no longer keep it at bay. Placing one final kiss upon her forehead he moved his lips downwards to hover over hers. He whispered softly to her, before giving her a gentle kiss, "Remember Molly, I did not die."

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The poem is one of my favourites and is by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Please leave a review, I love them :)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!