Now You See Me
Chapter 1
The crisp air whipped her face with its cold tendrils, sending a slight shiver down her rigid body. She wrapped her small coat around her petite form, using her arms to stimulate some heat into her freezing body. She stared straight ahead, her vision never leaving the object in front of her. She leaned forward slightly, her hand coming to rest on the slick marble stone that marked the burial spot of the smartest man she ever knew. She allowed her finger to trace the large S that began the name, and lingered on the small S that ended it. Sherlock Holmes, the man of many trades, and holder of Molly Hooper's heart.
She didn't completely understand why she was here. She knew, actually knew, rather than theorized, that Sherlock was indeed, perfectly alive and well. She stopped her train of thought, she couldn't actually say he was well. She hadn't seen him for almost two years. She helped him fake his death, helped him get ready, as he stayed at her flat for the better part of two days, before he set out on a quest to dismantle Moriarty's network without so much as a goodbye.
The constant hole within her heart from his absence seemed to bother her everyday, and she unconsciously rubbed the middle of her abdomen, hoping to relieve some of the pain. But relief was futile, the ache continued, pestering her in the middle of the night with worry and dread as a sudden vision of Sherlock in peril had descended into her dreams, erupting into a madness of scrambled sheets and sweaty hands before she flung herself up, her heart pounding and aching, all the same. It was a vicious cycle, one she repeated more often than was healthy, her mind wondering if she was bordering on obsessive on her need to be close to Sherlock.
She changed out the flowers that adorned the grave, tossing the dying sunflowers into the wind. She brought a different type of flower every time she had visited. She did not know Sherlock's favorite flower-maybe he didn't even have one-and her need to impress Sherlock made her question her decision every time she walked into the florist (so much, they knew her by name), so her only way to compensate was to just go with a different flower each and every time.
"Sherlock," Molly began, taking a deep breath in as if she getting ready to address the nation. "I wonder where you are, what you're doing? I hope you're eating properly and taking care of yourself. Everyone here misses you, especially John. He's beside himself with grief, and your death has taken it's toll on him." Molly paused for a second as she gathered her thoughts.
"You should see him. He's grown a mustache, it's quite disturbing." Molly fell into a fit of giggles as she pictured John and his new-found love of facial hair. "I wonder if Mary hates it too," Molly said aloud, and her face suddenly became very serious. "Oh, that's right, you haven't met Mary. You need to come back, Sherlock. You're missing so much...so much important stuff. John needs you, Greg needs you, Mrs. Hudson needs you, London needs you...," Molly paused for a moment, wiping a lone tear from her cheek, "I need you." Molly gave a soft nod, before turning on her heels and making her way back to her car, completely oblivious to the watchful eye of said consulting detective and his sad smile as he watched her leave.