I dragged my feet across the flat, making my way to the sitting room, as my knees seem to have grown weak from the events today. I took off my coat and shoes and left them on the floor. I have no energy to think, let alone pick them up. I crashed with a loud thud on my sofa. I sat there, quietly, unable to sort my emotions, staring blankly at the wall.
I am certain I would have stayed in that position for the next days if Toby had not placed himself on my lap. I looked at him, brushed my still cold fingers against his warm fur.
I lifted him up so that we were eye-to-eye. "Thanks for keeping me company." He just meowed in return. I stood up and went to get food for him. I put him down as soon as I placed the food on his dish. He ate it all quickly. He must be really hungry. I can't help but smile at the sight.
I have been at St. Barts since this morning. This morning. My smile disappeared as soon as I recalled what happened.
Sherlock died today. It was fake though and he asked for my help to do it.
My mind went black as soon as he told me he was going to die. I was scared but I mustered up the strength and asked him what he needed. He needed me. I stayed all night with him, planning his death.
He gave me instructions on what to do and I followed every word he said whole-heartedly. I am fully aware that I might get sacked if this ever comes out but I don't care. This is Sherlock Holmes we are talking about. My first love. If the situation permits, I would die for him. It hurts me to see him in this position. All I can do is just be with him 'til the end.
After his supposed death, I have faked his post mortem report and I also brought him the disguise he asked for. He made it clear that I shall not speak of this to John, or anyone at all. Though it breaks my heart to lie to John, I just nodded in agreement to him. We walked out of St. Barts quietly, it's late so there are few people on the streets. He told me bits of his plan while we were walking.
"I'm leaving the country." he pointed out as-a-matter-of-factly. A part of my soul died.
"Ah, yes. I believe it will be beneficial to your situation." I said in a supporting tone.
"But how?" I asked, confused. "My brother is the government." He pointed out.
Just then, every bit of my soul just died. I was hoping he would stay. At the thought of this, my eyes started welling up with tears again. I stood up and made my way to my bedroom, I didn't bother to turn the light on. I landed face down on my bed. I clutched the covers and wrapped myself in it. Face still down on the pillow, I started to cry, louder than I have ever cried before.
SM..
Five days have passed since Sherlock's death. I have not missed a day at work just as Sherlock told me to. A lot of people will be inquiring about the recent events knowing that I was the one who did his post mortem examination and I don't want any speculations rise if I stopped showing up after the incident. So I went on with my day at work, slicing dead people up as I have done hundreds of times before. He did point out that I should act a bit of lonely too since he's a friend of mine.
It was not much of a problem since I am really sad. I couldn't even look at John without wanting to run and cry.
Yesterday, he came by to pick up all the things Sherlock had on during his death. I handed him the bag with Sherlock's clothes and phone. I looked at John, one does not need deducing skills to point out that he hasn't been sleeping and eating.
The tired look on his face and his sudden weight loss said it all.
"John.." I started, not knowing what to say."He would have wanted you to take care of yourself." I continued.
I could clearly see tears forming in his eyes. "You are his only friend." At that, John looked down and I could very well observe that he's trying to hide his tears. I walked over to him and hugged him. He gave in to my actions and started to cry openly. "He cares for you, you know. So please be strong for him." I said comfortingly. "I'm sorry Molly... I know this is difficult for you too. I mean, you do love him a lot." John said between sobs. Tears filled my eyes. Tears from the pain seeing John suffering and tears from the pain of not being able to tell John the truth that Sherlock is not dead.
But I should be strong for Sherlock.
John and I stayed like that for a few moments, then he slowly pulled away from my embrace and wiped his tears away.
"Thanks Molly." He said with a smile. I smiled back. "Now go home and fix yourself something to eat, okay? Take a rest too."
His smile said gratitude. I watched him walk out of the room with the hope that he will take into consideration what I said.
I must say, this week has been a tad less emotional than I expect it to be. I seem to be coping well with him leaving.
I really miss him.
SM..
One month since Sherlock left. I appear to have been mistaken as I miss him more than ever. I am worried about him.
Where is he right now? Has he eaten yet? Has he slept yet? He must be focused on tracking down Moriarty's group that he doesn't sleep enough. These thoughts have been hunting me for days. What if he gets killed?
I feel a pain in my chest as I thought of this.
It is my day off so I decided not to leave my bed yet. My thoughts went back to Sherlock. I looked back on what I did before. I am a bit confused about myself now. I know clearly that i have no chance with Sherlock, he is married to his work and yet I do everything I could for him, to please him, to make him love me, though I know it will never work. I've loved him for so long. He has made me feel ridiculous numerous times yet I still love him. I know that he showers me with compliments to get his way with me and yet I give in.
He doesn't seem much of an asexual person, really. Considering the attraction he obviously had with Ms. Adler.
The thought of Sherlock and Irene together triggered my tears but I continued with my trail of thoughts, trying to analyze my feelings for Sherlock.
So even if he really did have interest in women, Miss Adler would be the first in line. I doubt that I could even make it in the cut. I am nothing like Miss Adler or anything that he even likes. I am just a pathologist, with small lips and small breasts.
Why can't I stop loving him? At this, tears fell down my cheeks and there is a build up in my chest that resembles that of hurt and despair.
For once, I wish to be loved. I have waited all my life for that time when the person I love will love me back. With Sherlock, that is impossible, yet I still hope. Hoping that my love is enough to change his mind, or his heart.
All my life I was focused on my studies, trying to be the best in each class, choosing assignments over parties. I even restricted myself from falling in love. I did not have suitors back then as I almost never left the house.
To me, love is a special aspect of my life, so I saved myself for that one person I'll truly love. I want that person to be my first everything.
It was really difficult but I made it anyway, I am now the youngest and the only woman pathologist working at St. Barts.
Now I can say that I am ready for love. Then there he was, with his dark, gorgeous locks, beautiful eyes and the amazing intellect, I fell in love instantly. Although I never knew how it was to fall in love, I am certain that it's love that I felt with Sherlock. He may be not the friendliest person around but as time passed by, I have become much fond of him and started to accept every bit of him. The only reason I 'went out' with Jim is to make Sherlock jealous but it failed anyway so I ended it with Jim.
I never gave a part of me to Jim because all the time, it is Sherlock I am thinking of.
During the time of his 'death', I just want to take all of his burdens and sufferings. I hated to see him that way. I would sacrifice my life for him. He made me this way. He made me love him unconditionally.
Ah! silly me! saying all these nonsense about love. I know, somehow, that I'll end up broken hearted but my heart seems to have a mind on its own.
SM..
On my way to work, I thought I saw him at the corner of my eye. The long black coat and his slender frame. I looked around. I must be delusional. I shrugged the thought off and continued on my way to St. Barts. It has been a year and a half since his 'death'. I have focused myself on my work and I can say that I've been thinking less about him.
News about his death has stopped appearing on the frontpage which is a great help. Though at nights, I would often dream of him. But that's about it, I believe I have moved on.
As I entered the lab, there is a pile of paperwork on my desk and there are bodies on the operating table. I don't mind. So I put down my coat and bag, sat on my chair and started working on the paperwork. After an hour, I was finished, my back is a bit sore so I decided to stand up and stretch a bit. I walked around my lab. I went to the spot where Sherlock stays often before, I sat in the stool he used to occupy during one of his experiments. I looked at the microscope he used, tracing my fingers on the adjusting knobs he used to hold before. It felt as if I am connected to him once more.
I did not notice the tears fill my eyes. I quickly wiped them away as I realized they were streaming down my face. I stood up and headed for the large cabinets, hoping to find more paperwork. I opened a cabinet and there it was, hanging neatly at the side. His riding crop.
The riding crop he used to find out the bruises that appeared on the body. I remember that day really well, he used the riding crop, mercilessly whipping the body of my colleague that just died. I recalled Sherlock was having a bad day then.
I reached for the riding crop and took it for a closer look. I went over to one of the bodies on the table and started hitting it with the riding crop. I hit harder and harder each time, not minding the tears that have been falling continuously.
"Sherlock!" I shouted in despair in-between the hard beatings I was giving the dead body. "Why do you have to do this to me?" I continued.
"Why do you have this effect on me?" "I worry constantly about you!" "Why is it hard for me to stop loving you?" I shouted louder. All the shouting and beating drained my energy.
I slid down the floor, cradled my head in my hands "Why, Sherlock why?" I sobbed. "Why does it have to be this way?"
I sat on the floor and cried my heart out.
After that, I immediately went for my coat and things and fled off St. Barts, leaving unfinished work behind.
The next day, Dr. Stamford walked in to his office, a white envelope sitting neatly on his desk. He reached for it.
"Letter of Resignation"
A/N :
More interactions and characters in the next chapter!
Sherlock returns next chapter and the real party begins.
-RG