Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!

Epilogue

A Funeral for a Genius...

One week. Seven days. one-hundred sixty-eight hours. No matter how far Molly stretched out the numbers, it never seemed very substantial. To the world, Sherlock had been dead one week. To her, he had left her bed less than three days ago. He was still alive, his heart still beat, and he irrevocably had her heart with him, just as she knew he had left his with her.

It was because of this that Molly dressed in all black, from the hair-tie holding her hair up to her small ballet flats on her feet. She was dressed for a funeral. His funeral. As she looked at herself in the mirror, She felt like perhaps she was the one that belonged in the coffin. Anyone who looked at her would think that it was due to the fact that she lost a friend, and her infatuation for several years, and she was inclined to allow such beliefs to continue. After all, she couldn't very well tell anyone what had happened. Not about going with Sherlock after helping to kill him, or of her kidnapping or what Moriarty did to her, or Sherlock's confessions to her. . . everything had to be bottled up inside.

Her one saving grace, through it all, was the impossibility of her somehow winding up pregnant from the ordeal. She was no fool. Despite the fact that on neither occasions had they used a rubber, she knew, beyond a doubt, she couldn't be pregnant. She had chosen, two years prior, to have a birth control insert put in, since she could never keep up with pills with her hectic life style, and she didn't like the unfamiliarity of rubbers. It was a small blessing, but one she'd accept none-the-less.

Molly was shaken from her thoughts by the knock at her door. She started slightly at the noise, but willed her nerves away. Certain things still set her off - loud banging, or shouting, and any sort of confining pressure on her wrists, but she was trying hard to work through it.

She took on last long, slow breath before going to the door, and opening it to John. He had been a big help, and she liked to think she had helped him too. He looked just as worn down as her, but then, they were going to a funeral. Another phone call yesterday had left them both in tears, sobbing to each other before they had agreed to arrive at the funeral together.

John, for all he was worth, tried to give her a smile, but it faded quickly, having no real strength behind it. Ever the gentleman, he offered her his arm to escort her to the waiting car. That was Mycroft's doing, she was sure, because it certainly wasn't a taxi. A tall man was holding the door for them, adding to the air of posh aristocracy that was definitely the elder Holmes.

She slid across the seat, and John slid in after her, before the man shut the door, and moved into the driver's seat to take them to the funeral. The funeral itself was being held on the Holmes estate for several reasons. Mostly though, it was to ensure that only people who actually cared about Sherlock would be in attendance, and to keep all the horrible vultures that were the media and reporters away.

It disgusted Molly, how much the media had eaten up the story of Sherlock's supposed falsehood as a genius, especially the horrible starting article by Kitty Riley. She wanted to rip that horrible woman's hair out by it's roots. Already, her own answering machine had two messages left by the woman, asking for an interview with 'The Consulting Detective's Favorite Pathologist.' it was simply dreadful. She couldn't possibly imagine what John must be going through with that woman.

At the thought, Molly glanced over at her silent companion. He was looking away from her, out the window, obviously lost in his own thoughts. Again, she couldn't even begin to try to understand where his mind wondered.

Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of what was obviously some sort of family cemetery plot. There were only about thirty tombstones in all, spread out with plenty of room between each. Even without reading them, she knew that each stone held the name of one of Sherlock's ancestors. Gathered in the far corner of the area was a small gathering of people, clearly there for the same reason they were. In all, there was Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, A woman with long, black hair who could only be Mrs. Holmes, and a few others she couldn't begin to name. It really was a small gathering. It saddened her, how few people seemed to actually care about Sherlock.

Molly sighed softly, and waited patiently as the driver got out to open the door for them once more. She exited after John, and they joined the others in silence, though both seemed to be leaning on the other for support.

The funeral itself was subdued, and not just because of the small gathering. Everyone seemed to feel the gloom, even the preacher, who had apparently been sworn to silence about the proceedings. He spoke in a monotone, until the final prayer was said, and one by one, they each placed a single white rose on the closed casket, so cliche, but Sherlock wasn't here to argue against it.

Molly finally began to cry, as she released the flower, and watched it settle with the others. She knew it was a fake funeral, but just the thought. . . one day, this might be real. It might happen before Sherlock came back. . . She shook her head softly, as she moved back to John's side, and buried her head on his shoulder for the comfort of a friend. He gave it to her, his own tears silently falling in a stark contrast to her sobbing.

When all was said and done, everyone seemed to be at least somewhat teary eyed, even Mycroft, though she was sure that was all a show. They had exchanged a small knowing glance, before she was swept into another embrace, this time by Mrs. Holmes herself. It became clear though, that this one was for much more than just comfort, when the older woman began muttering in her ear.

"My sons. . . yes, I know," she began, as Molly gave her a shocked look, "They've told me what you've done for my family. Thank you. You're always welcome here, if you need anything. . . I was told about your. . . incarceration. If you need anything for that, please let Mycroft know. He'll provide a subtle ear." With that, Mrs. Holmes pulled away, once more acting the grieving mother, and Molly's heart did a painful squeeze.

"Thank you." She whispered as Mrs. Holmes muffled false sobs into a handkerchief, and moved to Mycroft's side. The elder Holmes wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving comfort to anyone who didn't know the truth.

Soon after, people slowly began to leave, first the preacher, then Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Molly cast a glance at John, just as he looked over at her. He was frowning slightly, but he sighed, and gave his head a small tilt towards their waiting car, before going back to it. She watched as he got inside, and after a moment of hesitation, she followed him.

Again, the driver held the door open for her, and shut it behind her. He seemed to salute Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes before getting into the driver's seat once more, and they took off.

Once more, Molly and John each got lost in their own little worlds. Both were thinking about Sherlock, in their own distinct ways. John was mourning. Molly was wishing she could know how he was, if he was taking care of himself. Even if it had been only a few days, she wanted to know.

The car stopped first in front of Baker's street, where John was still living, and he briefly looked over at Molly, still trying to be the brave soldier. "I'll see you around. . . right?" He asked hesitantly. He obviously didn't want to lose another friend.

Molly nodded. "Of course John." she did her best to smile, though it came out as more of a grimace.

He got out then, and she watched him enter the flat as the driver took off again, heading for her flat this time.

As he stopped, he got out, and continued his manners by getting the door for her, and offering his hand to help her out of the vehicle.

She took it gratefully, looking up as she stood to catch her first glimpse of the man's face before he pulled her flush against him into a tight embrace.

"Don't say my name." he muttered into her ear, speaking softly. Molly was too stunned to speak even if she wanted to. "I'm sorry. It's unsafe for me to stay. I had to leave you, and I'm going to do so again, but I had to say goodbye properly."

He allowed her to lean away slightly, so she could meet his forever-changing blue eyes, and she nodded. "I love you. Come home, when you can." She muttered, doing her best not to cry again.

He nodded. "I will. Keep it safe for me, until I get back."

"Wha. . ." She didn't have a chance to ask what she was meant to keep safe, before he was pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. It ended quickly, and Sherlock was back in the car, tipping his valet cap to her before driving off.

She stood there, watching the car get smaller, a dazed look on her face. Shaking her head, she went up to her flat with plans to get a cup of red wine, and lay down with a good book. There, taped to her door, a small note.

She took it down, and went into the safety of her flat before reading the familiar scrawl.

My heart. Keep it safe. - SH

"That infuriating man. . ." she muttered, a small smile on her lips. "I can do that, if you keep mine safe as well."

Okay, I know I promised another chapter, but this is the end for this installment of the. . . Okay, I haven't got a witty name for the series yet XD Still, you have at least. . . 2 one-shots and 1 full sequel to this story coming up, so this is far from the end! I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've loved writing it.

Trivia: The full Title of this Chapter is A Funeral For a Genius, and One last Goodbye. I decided to leave the second part off to make it a surprise.

Thank you to. . . well, everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and even gave this story a passing glance! You've all made the hair pulling, screen screaming, draft revising times worth it.

Until another story, everyone!