Sherlock stood at the back of the church. His collar was up and he kept his head down. He could see the others though, John, Greg, Mrs Hudson. All the people he loved and cared for, minus one. There were people he didn't recognise however, a woman dressed in a purple skirt and blouse. Prim and proper but her demeanour was slipping as tears slipped past her eyelids. The mother. A man, his skin pale and tear stained, a black suit with just a splash of colour. The brother. Apart from the five of them there was also a number of others. Friends, family. People she had any affect on. And she had thought she didn't count. He swallowed past the lump in his throat at that thought. It wasn't as thought he didn't want to be there. He did but, but he wished he didn't have to be. He wished that the whole event wasn't happening. However he was expected to be there, of course he was and so he had came. To his relief no one had pressurised him to come closer or to say anything. He wasn't sure he could keep up the passive mask he wore for much longer of they had.
The sermon was cheerful, with an underlying feeling of loss and sadness which was quite understandable. He would make sure, as all the people in the church would, that she was remembered for the good things that she did. For how she had always been helpful and open for anyone. How she was strong in the face of pain and danger. But sometimes being strong couldn't stop it. Sherlock had never been one to make promises but for her he would. For her he would do anything. It was only too late he was realising this.
He hadn't wanted this. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, especially not her. He had thought that he had gotten everyone. But it seemed not, the threat was dealt with now but it was too late for him, in his own judgemental eyes he had failed. Sebastian Moran. The man who had went as an unseen member of Moriarity's men. Always there but it the background unknown until it was far too late. As Sherlock closed his eyes the memory came back.
After two years of being home they had been walking just out of town, just him and Her. John had been on a date and she needed someone for a companion on a case. She had seemed the right choice. How he wished he hadn't brought her with him now. Walking along the train track she had been laughing running ahead like a young girl as they talked. He had changed since The Fall, he was kinder, she was more confident and the two were friends. He had chuckled softly running after her as they ran amongst the golden barely and she smirked taking his hand.
It was then he saw her, properly saw her for all that she was worth, her beauty, her kindness and just, her. He stepped forward closing the space between them to capture her lips in a chaste kiss. She had blushed before grinning shyly and looking down.
It was then the gunshot rang out through the field and Sherlock saw her smile skip and skin pale. He shook his head looking down to her waist where a deep red stain was spreading through the yellow sundress she had been wearing. She swallowed thickly falling against him. He held her tighter and slowly lowered her down kissing her forehead as he tried to stop the bleeding but there was too much and she was struggling to breath. The bullet had caught her lung. Her hair fell out behind her and he brought her close kissing her gently as her chest rose but never fell. She was smiling faintly, ghostlike as he closed her eyes. Greg had found him there rocking her gently when it was about to get dark.
He opened his eyes and felt a tear track down his face as he looked up to the coffin lying in the middle if the church. Her picture lay upon it and she was looking at him. The same kind smile which once he had ignored but now haunted him.
The girl who counted. His pathologist. His Molly Hooper.