For the prompt from writing-prompt-s post….The song that was meant to be played at their wedding was now played at her funeral.

*I suppose I should apologize in advance. Hold out until the end though…I promise you won't regret it.*

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not her. Not him. Not them. They were going to be happy. He'd promised her and she'd promised him. Always was too much to hope for but the rest of their lives…that was the least they'd hoped for. Years, days, hours, minutes.

One more second. Just one. An instant. He'd burn the world down for just one more second if he could spend it with her.

"Are you ready?" John's hoarse voice quivered as he hovered in the door, his eyes fixed on the floor rather than on his friend.

"No but I suppose I'll have to be." He found his footing and buttoned his coat, smoothing down the slim tie that matched his aubergine shirt, her favorite. "Are they all in there?"

"Yeah." John stood aside and let him move past into the bright and airy room where the others waited. Mrs. Hudson was the first to see him, her face crumbling into wretched sobs as she took in his too pale face and the circles rimming his eyes. Lestrade seemed to be talking to himself as he white knuckled the pew before him. Had Sherlock bothered to look closely, it was all to easy to recognize the Lord's Prayer. Mike Stamford and a few others from Bart's cried openly; those that knew her best. Mycroft stood in the rear, stoic as ever if one didn't notice his hollow eyes and tightly clasped hands.

The officiant waited until they were seated before beginning an abbreviated eulogy, bullet points of her life and accomplishments interspersed with her favorite verses. He ended with the poem by WH Auden from that silly movie she always made him watch with her so that she could laugh at his expression. For the first time, he understood the meaning of the verses.

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

"If you would please keep your seats, Sherlock Holmes, Molly's fiance, will play for us a song that was very special to the two of them. Sherlock?" The old man's face was solemn as he called him forth, his feet moving by rote until Sherlock stood in a pool of sunlight clutching his violin as he looked into the faces of those who'd known and loved her as he did.

He made no speech, said nothing by way of explanation. Instead, he tucked his instrument under his chin, set his bow, and began to play. The first few notes faltered and flattened out until he clenched his jaw and forced his fingers into submission. Only Mycroft seemed to notice and amazingly, the glint of tears were readily visible as the song swelled to fill up the silence.

Sherlock closed his eyes, lost himself in memories of other times and other places. How she smiled and blushed prettily when he asked her to dance. How they'd kissed in the living room of his flat for the first time with the song playing in the background in accompaniment. What he wouldn't give to go back. The way her tears shone when he asked her to be his and offered her a ring along with his heart. The way she toyed with her ring, worn on a gold chain around her neck at the morgue, when she wrote up her reports. The yellow delphiniums that she loved and would have carried down the aisle which now graced a plinth holding her picture.

He played and he prayed as he'd seldom if ever done so in his life. Please oh please oh please. One more second. One more. God, please. Just one. Let me have this. I won't ask for anything else but please let me have this. Just one more.

He heard the notes keen and wail and dragged them reluctantly back even as he railed against the universe for where he found himself. This wasn't real, couldn't be real. No! Not like this; not her. Never her. The floodgates opened…and she was there. All around him. Every meeting. Every glance. Every word spoken. Every touch. He remembered everything. Felt himself slip sideways; the song wrung from his violin like a dirge pulling him along. Her smile. Her perfume. Her hideously perfect jumpers, the cloth smooth/rough under his hands as he pulled it from her.

He pushed impatiently through the morgue doors,waving aside the intern who tried to impede him. They would learn in due course that he had the run of the place so he made no effort to educate them. Why waste time on trivialities? The body had just arrived…the reason for him coming to Barts in the first place….and a slim brunette in a bulky lab coat was supervising the transfer from gurney to the autopsy table. Her lively gaze found him hovering nearby and she offered up a welcoming smile.

"Are you the one DI Lestrade called about? A consultant working with him on a case?" When Sherlock nodded, she gestured for him to come closer. "I've already made copies of the initial findings. We'll get you those in just a moment. Did you want to give it a once over before I begin?" Again he nodded and again she smiled. "Well, get on with it then. I'll hang back until you're through." Her smile broadened. "Never thought I'd get the chance to see the infamous Consulting Detective work."

Sherlock bit back a smirk at her badly concealed excitement. This one wasn't like all the others. Maybe he could work with her. "What's your name?" He asked as he unzipped the body bag and unveiled Mr. Chancellor to their avid gazes.

"Molly," she replied eagerly. "Molly Hooper."

"Well, Molly Hooper," he said smoothly as he sat to work. "Tell me what you know about solving crimes."