Jeez louise tragedy!

Anyway, dunno if your reading this the 'improbableone' but if you dont like my stories leave 'em be and take your opinion elsewhere.

And on that happy note on with the story.

DISCLAIMER: I will never own sherlock, it belongs to steven moffat and mark gatiss

Enjoy!

I have a case.

Finally!

People have presumed I'm too weak to do them since the whole Moriaty affair, but they underestimate things.

I'm sat in the back of a taxi, John by my side.

"So then the machine st-"

To be honest at the moment I don't care about his incident in the supermarket.

As soon as the taxi draws to a stop I throw the far at the driver and giddily shoot out of the taxi.

"Who do we have Lestrade?" I ask him.

I don't expect him to have a grave face.

"What?" I ask.

I examine him for any clue of what's wrong.

Body language, slumped he's holding something from me, judging by his dialogue its someone we both know.

"Bodies?" I ask getting concerned at Lestrade's reluctance.

"One." He replies grimly.

I still can't determine who but I trudge inside the house.

I'm immediately hit by the over powering smell of lavender.

"It's a woman then." I reply to Lestrade's statement.

I walk straight into the main room and examine the pictures on the wall.

Straight away the girl in the middle of the mantelpiece catches my eye.

"Lestrade. Why is Molly Hooper in this picture?" I ask looking at the other pictures on the wall.

"It was her house." He replies.

I realise.

"Was?"

Without a second thought I run upstairs ignoring the stains of blood on the wall.

I open the bedroom door and see the corpse.

Molly Hooper is laid on the bed like a broken doll.

Her head is hung loosely over the end and her arms are spread out equally.

"No." I say.

"Sherlock... she's-"John looks at me like I'm an infant.

"I said no."

All the feelings of happiness are replaced by disbelief.

"Who John. Who."

He turns to me anxiously.

I stalk past him to the corpse of Molly Hooper and brush back the brown hair from her face.

The sight of her face, her eyes staring at me blankly make me retreat.

On her back the words I've burnt one heart are carved into it.

"He... is going to die. He is going to hell." I say and take one last look at the broken Molly Hooper before leaving the building.

I don't turn back.

I hear the increased pace behind me and immediately know its John.

"Sherl-"

"I'm going to find him. When I do, I will kill him." I say through my gritted teeth.

Before he can input I increase my pace and go round the corner.

I don't reflect on things nor do I feel.

Yet I'm sat around a corner thinking about Molly Hooper and feeling... angry.

I don't know what to do.

I realise a new feeling and recognise it as that of guilt.

I'd always thought Molly Hooper of that as an acquaintance, but I understand that she was a friend.

When I really need some time alone John runs up to me.

"It's for you."

I look down at the note in his hand and take it before he backs off.

I open it up and am disappointed in myself when I realise I'm shaking.

I smooth it out and sit down on the bench next to me.

Dear Sherlock.

This is like, a death note. Moriarty let me write it, well his accomplice anyway. I know I'm going to die now, since I have a baseball bat about to be brought down on my head. But, I just want to say, obviously I'm dead, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this anyway, don't feel guilty and everything yeah? I know what you can be like. So I guess this is just a quick note to say that you've been a good friend to me and as cheesy as this sounds thank you. You did everything you could.

Love Molly x

I re-read it once again.

The adrenaline in my veins gives me one thing to say.

Kill Moriarty.

My first go at tragedy? what do you think? Review please :)