A/N: Happy Sherlolly Week! Today I'm back with another fic, this one has three separate chapters (for your reading pleasure). I chose the "first kiss" theme for today. This fic is heavily influenced and inspired by the South Korean drama "Goblin: The Lonely and Great God" (or "Guardian: The Lonely and Great God", or "Dokkaebi"; the drama goes by several names. You really should watch it, if you haven't ). Maybe you've noticed that the first 2 fics have titles that are songs from the Goblin soundtrack. You even could say this ficlet a Goblin AU. The title is from the song "I will go to you like the first snow" by Ailee. If you enjoyed this fic, please leave kudos or comment! I'll see you guys tomorrow with "Double Trouble Couple"!

Chapter One: Goodbye

She had loved him. Oh, how she had loved him. Her love for him had been a rollercoaster, from the beginning to the end, dazzling in the middle. With the saddest ending possible. He'd said his goodbyes hours before he jumped off that roof.

"Molly," he'd whispered, when he saw her for the last time, "I have to go."

"Don't say that, Sherlock."

He'd ruffled his hair, and chuckled. "It's Moriarty, my dearest. "

She'd seen he'd accepted his fate, but it didn't mean she was ready to. She'd thrown herself into his arms and cried. Cried for ages. He had simply held her, pressed a kiss on her hair every now and then, and let her cry. He'd given her a ring, silver with a small blue stone.

"Remember me. I will go to you like the first snow. Remember me when you see rain when you see snow. Just spare me a thought every now and then," he whispered in her ear before he kissed her softly.

"I am going to call Mycroft. He can't sacrifice you for the greater good," Molly told him after they broke their kiss. Their first kiss. And he chose to make it their last at the same time.

"He isn't sacrificing me for the greater good. I am. I cannot live in a world where they think I'm a fraud. If I have defeated Moriarty, at least I know I didn't die for nothing."

She actually got her phone out to call Mycroft. Sherlock grabbed her hand. "Very romantic, Molly Hooper. I have accepted my fate. Don't try to change it." He looked at her once more. "I am going now. You, Mycroft and John, the ones left behind, you should live even more, since I cannot. You might cry from time to time but you should smile a lot and cheer up. You should find someone to love, who can give you as much love as you have offered me. You are obligated to do that."*

Those were the last words he said to her. He'd left immediately after he'd said those words, only to jump off the roof three hours later. She'd seen his corpse. Mycroft had asked her to take care of it. His corpse was so pale, so incredibly pale. His neck was broken. But in death, he still looked beautiful. She'd refused to perform an autopsy on him, to protect her own memories. His cause of death was clear enough. There hadn't been a funeral. Only a grave with a headstone was what was left of the great detective that went by the name of Sherlock Holmes.

That was three years ago. And every time Molly thought of Sherlock, it still felt like he died yesterday.

She sat crossed legged in front of his grave, on the blanket she'd taken.

"Hi Sherlock," she said to the black headstone, "I hope you have been well, wherever you are. I miss you. I got a new case yesterday. Murder victim. He was stabbed to death twenty-three times. I am sure you would have enjoyed the case."

She chuckled, looking at the white flowers on his grave. "Have Mary and John visited you lately? It was a shame you weren't at his wedding, Mary's pregnant now, and they have asked me if I would consider the possibility of being the baby's godmother. I said yes, of course. You know how badly I wanted a child of my own. You would have liked Mary. She's smart and funny. I think she's the perfect fit for John."

Molly sighed and stopped talking. She was crying silently for the man in the coffin six feet down. If she'd only seen the dark figure watching her.

She wore earphones when she was walking home since she needed the music as a distraction. She crossed the street without looking. She had stopped caring about her life, one way or another. After Sherlock died, things just became dull and gray. She didn't hear the car approaching her. She only felt the car hitting her body. That's when everything went black.

She woke up, lying on the street. It was a head-on hit.

A man stood next to her. "Molly Hooper? Age 35? Born in Southend-on-sea?" He read off a card.

Molly was disorientated. "Yes, that's me."

"Please come with me," the man offered her a hand.

She took it gratefully but startled when she looked at the man's face. "Sherlock!"

He smiled softly. "Yes, it's me. Please come."

She let Sherlock take her. "But how? You died three years ago!"

He shook his head. "I will explain later." They walked for a while before they arrived at a white house. Sherlock opened the door. "Please, come in."

The room looked so old. The floor was marble, and candles were lit. The only furniture in the room was a simple wooden table with two chairs.

"Please, sit down," Sherlock asked her. She obeyed while he made tea. He put the tea in front of her.

"Why am I here?" She asked.

"You died in the car crash," Sherlock explained.

"This is heaven, right? You've become an angel?" She smiled, "I hoped so."

"You are dead, Molly."

"I died the day you went away, Sherlock," she said seriously, "My death isn't significant."

"To answer your question, I am no angel. I am a grim reaper," he looked at the tea in front of her, "Humans have four lives: a life of planting seeds, a life of watering the seeds, a life of harvesting and a life of cherishing the harvests.** Your life is over now, my dearest. You did well."

"I didn't even get even past stage two," Molly answered, "How is that good?"

"You can choose. You can drink this tea, forget all about this life and move on to heaven, or choose to remember and stay on earth as a ghost," he smiled, "I don't recommend the latter."

She looked at the tea. "Does that mean I'll forget you too?"

He nodded.

She stood up, walked around the table. "I don't want to forget you."

Sherlock stood up. "It's the best for you, Molly."

She pressed her lips to his, for the last time. Then she drank the tea.

"Goodbye, my dearest," Sherlock said.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." Molly walked out the door, to the afterlife.

Molly didn't expect afterlife to be a corporate office with a man in a black suit sitting behind a desk.

"Miss Hooper, welcome," He pointed at a chair, "Sit."

"Who are you?"

"You have been selected, miss Hooper," the man said. Molly felt she didn't really have another choice than sitting down.

"For what?"

"You are going to be a grim reaper," The man snapped his fingers, and a leather folder and black fedora appeared, "This Is your folder. New assignments will appear in it. You need to fill out a registration form for every soul you reap. Wear the hat. Humans can't see you when you wear the hat."

"I want to go to Heaven," Molly said.

"That is not up to you. My superior has decided to give you your memories of your past life back, and to make you a grim reaper."

"That's it? No explanation, only a hat and a folder?"

"Since all our classes are full, you get a personal teacher. He will be there every step of your training. He's waiting outside for you. Go now."

She took the fedora and the folder and went outside. So she wasn't allowed to go to Heaven; she was sentenced to living an immortal life. Only to harvest souls for all eternity. To become a being that was eternally stuck between life and death. It seemed misery was still following her, even after death.

Her new trainer was casually leaning against the wall. "Hello," Molly greeted him politely.

"I'm your new trainer – wait, you are my new trainee?" Sherlock said surprised. Molly could see the hurt in his eyes. "I asked them to get your name off the list," He sighed, "They never listen to me."

"If you still ask people things the same way you did when you were alive, it's no surprise to me," Molly mumbled.

"Well then. You are going to live with me. Do you have any clothes we can get from your apartment?"

"I died today."

"Yes, and now we are going to get your clothes. I live still at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson is a goblin, and she agreed on letting me stay there."

"She's a what?"

"Goblin. Sort of guardian, she helps people. She's also immortal."

"Oh." Molly felt incredibly stupid. Her lips set in a grim line. She'd died this morning, had tea with Sherlock during the early afternoon and was told she was going to be a grim reaper before dinner. No one should blame her for feeling overwhelmed. They went to her house, to get all the stuff she thought she'd need or wanted to keep. "I won't take everything. It would only look suspicious if I did. But who will come here? It's not like I have any relatives to clean my apartment out," Molly told Sherlock. He kept silent. Maybe he didn't know what to say, Molly thought to herself. He carried her stuff back to the cab.

He had changed in the past three years. He hadn't aged a day, but Molly could see this work, this 'being a grim reaper' thing had taken its toll on Sherlock.

221b looked actually clean, for once. There were no papers attached to the wall with a knife, cigarette butts or dust everywhere. Sherlock pointed at the ceiling. "You will sleep upstairs."

He gave her a credit card. "Buy everything you want or need – the supervisors really don't care about money."

Molly shrugged. She was content with living a quiet life. She didn't need to spend all the money in the world in order to be happy. She'd learned that after her dad died. He had lived a quiet life but was the happiest man Molly knew. Helping people equated happiness for her. She wondered how Sherlock was dealing with his thoughts now since the thrill of the case was gone. Whether he was using drugs again to numb that pain. She was glad he was "dead" when Mycroft told them about Eurus. Molly wasn't sure how Sherlock would have coped with that revelation if he'd been alive. The man she'd seen today was still her Sherlock, but different. He was nicer, she realized. He hadn't said a single mean word to her today.

He had redecorated John's bedroom, or maybe Mrs. Hudson did. New red velvet curtains were put up and the king-size bed was something Molly really appreciated. The bedroom felt classy yet simple. She let herself fall on the bed. Today had been a tiring day.

Her new grim reaper's hat was sitting on the bedside table. Not that she remembered putting it there. A self-moving hat wasn't the strangest thing she'd seen today. She could live with a self-moving fedora. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the fedora actually move. She did not think the fear of being suffocated by the self-moving fedora that would appear in that case would be very beneficial for her quality of sleep.

How crazy could her life get as a grim reaper? Yesterday she was worrying about work, now she was worrying about a self-moving fedora.

She chuckled. She assumed she was immortal now, but did she still have to sleep and eat? Her stomach answered that question for her. No sleep for her, then. Dinner had more priority.

Molly sighed and zipped a bag open to find some clothes to change in. She got a pair of sneakers out. They were worn-out, but Molly loved them to pieces.

"You won't be able to wear those to work, you know."

Molly was startled. Sherlock was standing in the doorway.

"How did you do that?"

With the blink of an eye, Sherlock was standing next to her. "Perks of being a grim reaper."

Molly looked at the pair of Converse shoes in her hand. "Why can't I wear them?"

"You're a grim reaper. We have a dress code."

"You're kidding me."

"I'm not. Black clothing is mandatory, just like the fedora."

Molly chuckled. "How long have you known me, Sherlock? When have I ever worn something black?"

"In the time I was alive, about seven years. You've only worn black once in my presence, at a Christmas party," he answered automatically.

Molly looked at him. "You remember what I wore that night?"

He seemed surprised. "Yes, you looked beautiful."

Molly looked away and started gratuitously folding a t-shirt. She really did not know how to respond to that.

"Erm, thanks?" She mumbled, "Can we get some food? I'm starving."

Sherlock looked caught off guard. "You can get some take-out, there's a good Thai place a few blocks from here."

"Seriously? I can go and have dinner on my own?" was her response.

"I'm not hungry," he replied. That was the Sherlock Molly knew and loved.

In the end, Molly went alone, got lost and called Sherlock anyway. He appeared immediately to help her out. They had dinner together anyway.

No words were spoken while they were eating. Molly just watched Sherlock stabbing his food with a knife. She'd only asked him if he liked Thai food. He'd answered that it depended on his mood.

They walked back to the apartment; Sherlock told her about being a grim reaper. About the rough days. Sherlock said the reaping could almost be a cheerful affair. Some souls were so pure that meeting them was an honor. According to Sherlock, that was the best part of the job.

Molly wasn't sure what she wanted to believe. She wanted to go to Heaven, not to stick around here.

"What happened to my body?" She asked.

"It's gone. We took care of it."

"No one has seen me die? No one knows I died?" She asked surprised.

"No one. I was selected to be a grim reaper a couple of hours after you performed the autopsy on me."

"That's why your body was gone...," Molly stood still, "Wait, why didn't you come back? If I'd known you were sort-of alive I would have done better. John took a serious hit. We all did, mister. You could have come back," she crossed her arms, "Ridiculous."

"I couldn't."

"Rubbish," she made a hand gesture, "You even cleaned up Baker Street. Baker Street! And then you're here saying you can't tell your friends you're still alive."

She laughed ironically.

"This is the best for everyone," he answered.

"No. It isn't. You know why? People are hurting. People care more about you than you think."

She left him standing on the street. She teleported herself back to her rooms, somehow. Molly was infuriated with him. She would go back to being a pathologist first thing in the morning.

Maybe if she tried hard enough, she would wake up in her own flat tomorrow morning. She would still be alive, she would still have a future. That car accident had taken everything from her.

Yes, she had Sherlock back, yet it still felt like a part of his soul was missing. He was behaving strangely. Grim reapers. Closer to being vampires than humans, although still in need of food and sleep. It was definitely something. Molly hadn't made up her mind about being a grim reaper.