CHAPTER 2. ALMOST

Molly always thought of herself as a practical kind of woman, after all she was a pathologist. Alright, sure she had been accused of being whimsical at times and a little naïve, but she still had a good head on her shoulders. She certainly wasnt mad, or was she?

Today she almost called out a dead man's name. She almost said it, the words were there on the tip of her tongue and she'd nearly yelled it out. It couldn't have been Doctor Watson, he was dead. She knew this, she also knew the process of death, the finality of it all. When she read the report two months ago, and the cause of death was Drowning. She didn't see what everyone else did, she could see the course playing out, the shutting down of organs in order of negligible to essential.

Perhaps thats what Sherlock saw too, when he thought of John, but it would be more detailed. How morbid of them but it couldnt be helped. She knew with certainty how the end would have come to her friend.

The way the shock of freezing water would have slowed the extremities, it would be quick but that brought her no comfort. John would have struggled against the numbing of his limbs, eventually losing the battle; water would then pull him down. His eyes would be open, and there would be a bit more of a resistance, but what was a few kicks and already numb arms against the icy waves. His lungs would fill with water, his brain would shut down due to lack of oxygen, and his heart would cease to beat. She knew it would be over in a matter of minutes, but again this brought her no comfort.

John with his great big heart, his understanding smile and kind eyes, lost by way of drowning. Did he feel pain? What were the last thoughts in his head, if any? Mostly, she wished to know if he had been afraid. Molly sank down onto a bus stop bench, clutching her messenger bag.

The slight pathologist tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, and the tears blurring her vision.

It had looked so much like him, if only she had been paying closer attention, if she would have taken a second to look up. "Silly Molly." She whispered to herself.

The petite pathologist tried to replay the moments once more in her head, promising herself she would do this then forget it completely.

Someone had shoved into her on the street in a hurry to get to where they were going, just her luck she dropped her bag and nearly fell over. Really people could be so rude!

"Here, you go. You alright Miss?" a voice asked handing her a couple of the papers that nearly were trampled by unobservant feet.

"Yes. Thank you." She huffed taking the papers from his hands, warm hands, and scared knuckles. He obviously had seen some brawls in his time. She thought absentmindedly, still not looking up.

"No problem. I'm always happy to help a damsel in distress." She couldn't help but laugh and lose her earlier frustration. "Well if you're alright-I'm off." Molly had been to busy stuffing things into her messenger bag to look up. She smiled brightly to at least thank him properly, but he was already walking away.

Then it happened, the stranger turned back for one moment before he was completely enveloped into the crowd, one moment and her day was lost. The memory of a smile and a wave, a warm familiar smile and a short half wave, etched into her memory.

"Wait!" she'd run forward, those eyes were his, the same and his hair. "Wait!" she pushed through the heavy crowd, his black jacket further and further away, until she almost yelled his name. Almost.

"Goodbye." Molly whispered to no one but herself, and maybe the ghost of an old friend.

~0~

Jeremy felt a familiarity to London, but of course he would, after all wasn't he originally from London. He took in a breath of the cool spring air, people rushing about moving like traffic on the sidewalks. Everyone had somewhere to go, and the idea was comforting. Though he could never say exactly why.

He found himself wondering around, allowing his feet to take him wherever, in hopes that his memory would return. Sometimes he searched the tops of buildings, just to compare to the one in his nightmares. Was that why he left London? Did he lose someone close? The idea of him running away from anything sat like a stone in his stomach. He hoped the real Jeremy Underhill was no coward, because this Jeremy Underhill sure as hell wasn't going to be.

Another heavy sigh, he would passed the young woman without further notice, but some idiot pushed past her nearly knocking her off her feet. She looked completely lost for a moment, and he thought she looked familiar. Jeremy collected the few slips of papers that seemed to be getting away from the woman with the side braid.

He wanted the opportunity to speak to her, maybe she knew him, or maybe he was just grasping at straws. To his disappointment she hardly paid him any attention, to flustered maybe. If she knew him then she would have said so, right? Best not harass the young lady she too had somewhere to be, just like everyone else.

Still he couldn't help but chance a look back at her, she rewarded the Doctor with a bright smile, before he continued on. Her face would follow him for a few more blocks, he felt strongly that he knew her. Or perhaps someone who looked like her, he wondered what her name could be, and what type of work she did. Perhaps a Doctor? No. She didn't seem the type, well at least not a GP.

Again, Doctor Underhill racked his brain, it was on the tips of his memory just out of reach, as if lingering close at the edge of his foggy memory. He almost turned back to find out, almost.