2
The girl sat in her flat with her feet on the well-used coffee table and a cup of coffee clasped in her hands. She sat drinking the coffee in the quietness of the still room, thinking about nothing except the heat emanating from the chipped mug. When she had finished, she placed it next to the sink along with the other stained mugs that had built up over the past few days, and got into the shower, which was much-needed after the long day at work. As the boiling water ran over her tired body, she lathered herself in soap, washing the smell of death away. After years of working at a morgue, you got used to the smell, but she was well aware that other people definitely weren't used to it. She thought about what day it was.
Today marked the anniversary of the supposed death of a certain Mr Holmes. She had been infatuated with him and still was, although over the past year she had learned to surpress her feelings when asked on dates with other men, because in the past year she had not seen the man once. She had helped him to fake his own death and he showed no gratitude - he hadn't even thanked her yet!
It had taken a few weeks for the news to sink in that she wouldn't be able to see him again but during the last few months she had grown accustomed to not seeing the tall figure of him around her workplace, asking her for coffee or help. She knew she would probably never see him again, and had finally come to terms with that. Her life was okay now. Not as good as she thought it could have been with him by her side, but okay all the same.
She finished her shower and made some more coffee, sitting in the same place as before. Molly picked up the TV remote and began flicking through the channels, not finding anything that interested her until she came to a news story.
"Sherlock Holmes memorial dinner interrupted by prankster," read the headline across the bottom of the screen.. Her eyes were glued to the story.
"I'm here at St Bartholomew's Hospital where a dinner was being held tonight to mark the one-year anniversary of the death of detective Sherlock Holmes. During speeches given by Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, the room received texts saying 'Wrong' - not unsimilar to the incident with the texts at the press conference for the supposed serial suicides last year, sent by Mr Holmes himself. Who could this prankster be? Three times, the room received the same text, and on the third time during John Watson's speech, he excused himself. As of yet, he has not returned and the room are congregating themselves. There is absolutely no order here! This is Kitty Riley for News at Nine, reporting from St Bartholomew's Hospital."
She sat in shock, her coffee steadily dripping over her lap. It... it couldn't be him, could it? It had been a year, surely he wouldn't publicly announce that his death was a fake now, after all this time? It was ridiculous! She shook her head bringing her back to reality, and straightened her coffee mug - not that it had made any difference because it had all drained out. Sighing, she took off her clothes again and had another shower, washing the liquid from her legs slowly. It had been a long day. As the coffee ran down the plughole, so did any hopes of peace. Somewhere in her heart, she knew it must have been him, and as much as she wanted to see him again, he definitely had a lot of explaining to do.
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