Molly left St. Bart's after finishing the late afternoon shift and walked steady, without noticing that a furtive figure followed her silently, hidden in the shadows. It was dark and damp, but luckily it wasn't raining. She needed to see someone. Well, see was probably not the most correct definition, but there was some place she needed to go. She felt a twinge of guilt overwhelming her; she used to go there so often before. Now her visits were sporadic and the last one had been quite a few months ago. But today she needed it; she was aware the visit would not provide any answer, would not ease her mind completely, but speaking out loud to someone else besides her cat Tobias seemed like the right thing to do at the moment. Even if, just like it happened with Tobias, there was only silence after she had spilled her heart.
This day had not been a good day. Work went fine, the trip to work too. In fact, Sherlock continued to be Molly's only trouble and today he had been even more so. Molly was used to Sherlock's constant rudeness and as much as she tried to make herself deny him what he wanted, she didn't seem to find the guts to tell him no. She was aware he used her at his leisure and dumped her right after, when he had no need for her again. She was not naïve as to think that any approach coming from him was more than a professional need, because he wanted to achieve something and she was the way to do it. Still, it hurt.
Falling in love with him had been a mistake, but it was not like she could have avoided it. She didn't even know when it all had started; all she knew was that suddenly Sherlock's presence in the lab was not indifferent to her. She had tried to invite him out, but Sherlock never seemed to understand her intentions, or if he did he would dismiss it with an intriguing comment, refusing to answer her directly.
Molly reached the gate of the cemetery, still lost in thought, and she saw with disappointment that it was closed. Of course it was closed. Even cemeteries had closing hours and she was so absorbed in her own self-pity that she didn't even consider it. Still, she wanted to visit her father's grave, it was not just a whim, she needed it.
She looked up. The iron gates were too tall and the spikes at the top not inviting at all. She circled the wall of the cemetery, turning to her left and right at the back there was a spot that might be of use. The wall was not too tall and a few trees, combined with the darkness, would shield her from unwanted looks. She adjusted her purse across her chest and with a swift movement she climbed the wall. Then, without even gauging the height, she jumped down the wall and with a firm landing she was on the other side. She shook her head. She had no idea what had driven her to be so reckless but it had been a weird day after all and she was tired of following rules.
She walked calmly, making sure no one had seen her and that no one had watched her. It was the first time she went to the cemetery at night and she wondered how people could feel unsafe and scared in a place like this. No noise, no company, just her and her thoughts. It was perfect.
She found her father's grave easily. The flowers she had brought the last time were still there, withered and falling to pieces. The grave seemed abandoned and Molly felt guilty again.
"I'm sorry," her voice was just a whisper in the dark. "I wanted to come sooner, to visit, but work's been a bit hectic and I haven't felt like coming here on any of my days off. I just had a few things to do at home and a few friends to visit. I went to see Clara; she's expecting a baby. I still remember that summer we spent together. That's when she met Mark, god, it seems a whole lifetime ago! She told me that she misses you too. When we talk about you she always mentions that time you took us fishing and how you taught us to put the fish back into the water, even though I knew you brought fish home to eat whenever you went fishing alone."
Molly sat on the grass, removing some of the wild weed that had grown around the simple beige stone without paying much attention to what she was doing.
"It's weird how people go their own ways, isn't it? I mean, I am so happy for Clara, and every time I visit her it's like we've never been apart, but nothing is ever the same. And looking around me it's like everyone went on with their lives and I just stood here; same insecurities, same dreams. I am making them true, but still…" she changed the subject. "My boss congratulated me the other day, for my job at the hospital. For always being so available. I'm even getting a raise, go figure. Little does he know that, really, I don't have such a hectic social life at any rate, so I just focus on my work. And it's nice to see everyone so thankful when I offer to take their shift on Christmas, or when it's someone's birthday. It's nice to see people happy like that."
Molly stopped talking again. Why was it so difficult to speak about the matter that had made her want to come here in the first place? It's not like her father could actually hear her, anyway.
"Sherlock came by the lab today," she started, looking at the branches of the tree planted right behind her father's grave. "He needed to use the computer and then he asked - well, demanded would be a more appropriate word in this case – that I dispatched a corpse for him. I had to fake papers again. I swear one day I'll get into trouble for doing illegal stuff and the worst is that when I ask him why he needs those things he never answers. As soon as he has it his way he is out of the door. Most of the time he doesn't even thank me. I don't know why I am so attached to him; he is a moron, to be honest. But somehow I just can't help it. Every time I think I am over him, I am not, and here I go again, doing exactly what he asks of me. And surely, most of the days I go by well without thinking too much about him, but when I try to get into a new relationship I just keep imagining how it would be with Sherlock and it's just a waste of time, and unfair to the other person I am with. I wanted him to stop having this hold over me so much, and honestly I feel ridiculous for feeling this way, but I love him Dad. I just can't help it."
There was a rustling behind her and Molly got up, alarmed. She turned around and Sherlock Holmes was standing there, facing her. Molly's mouth hung open when she saw him and thinking about her speech to her father's grave, that Sherlock had obviously listened to, she blushed. Sherlock could not see it in the dark, but Molly still faced her feet, ashamed.
Sherlock approached her and stopped by her side, gazing at the grave.
"How old?" he asked.
Molly frowned and took a moment to respond.
"Fifty-two. Lung cancer."
Sherlock nodded.
"How long have you…?"
Molly held tight to the strap of her purse, still not looking at Sherlock.
"I don't know. I thought you had noticed."
"No," Sherlock shook his head and then turned to her. "I might have done something if I had known before," he said.
Molly scoffed.
"Like what?"
Sherlock raised a gloved hand and placed a finger under Molly's chin, making her face him. She turned around then, standing right in front of him. Sherlock approached his face to hers, so close she could feel his breath against her dry lips, which parted instinctively.
"Just what the hell are you two doing?"
Molly frowned and stared at her father's grave, as if that inquisitive shouting voice had been a sign from heaven, already willing to believe in ghosts. Sherlock looked around.
"I think we should leave."
Molly saw now what Sherlock had seen before her: a man – the cemetery's keeper – was heading in their direction, carrying a huge shovel in his hands and seemed ready to take on anyone who wished to go against him, anyone who had had the nerve to break into his cemetery after closing hours. She took Sherlock's extended hand in hers and Sherlock pulled her and they started to run.
Luckily the cemetery wasn't big and Sherlock had good sense of direction. The man was right at their heels – probably convinced they were a couple of teenagers who had gone there to make noise and break things – and only missed them by the skin of his teeth. Sherlock pushed Molly over the wall and then climbed first, catching Molly in her descent, holding her by the waist to help her steady herself, but he didn't stop. He continued to run across the busy streets, stopping only when they reached a deserted alley and he was sure they were not being followed anymore.
They started laughing. Leaning against the wall, still holding hands, they broke into a fit of laughter, sliding down the wall bit by bit until they were both sitting on the ground, holding their bellies, tears falling down their faces.
Molly was the first one to catch her breath and she spoke, still giggling.
"For a moment there I thought my father's ghost had come back to hunt us down."
Sherlock smiled and when Molly turned her face to eye him she caught him observing her.
"Well, it was a hunt nonetheless. Just by a less ethereal matter, I suppose."
He became quiet, scrutinising her features and then he removed the hair from her face.
"Do you think your father would be upset if I kissed you know?" he asked.
Molly sighed silently and then she grinned.
"I'm willing to take the risk."
Sherlock closed the distance between the two and they kissed. It was slow, loving and passionate. Just lips at first, but then Sherlock was holding her face with his hands and Molly was clutching at his clothes and none of them was paying attention to the world around them. When Sherlock bit Molly's lip she moaned softly and he stopped, breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Molly shook her head, dismissing it. She knew the apology was not for one situation alone, but for all the things he had done that had hurt her, and a promise to be more kind, to pay more attention.
It had started to drizzle and Sherlock finally took in the view of street they had chosen as their hiding place. He kissed Molly briefly once again and then got up, pulling her gently with him.
"Why did you follow me to the cemetery?" Molly asked.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.
"You seemed quite upset when you left St. Bart's and I was thinking about inviting you over for dinner, but then I just got curious."
He seemed embarrassed and Molly smiled.
"Invite me over for dinner?" she asked. "You can't cook."
Sherlock seemed offended at the words, not even a question but an affirmation.
"Of course I can cook!"
"Let's see it then," she teased.
Sherlock brought her close again and they started to pace side by side. He put his coat over her head to shelter her from the rain and Molly laughed, holding him shyly by the waist.
They skipped dinner, as one does.