This didn't really go where I was expecting it to go... Sorry for another sad one. Yet again, I do not own anything.

A THOUSAND YEARS BY CHRISTINE PERRI
I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more

Perhaps some deity had a vendetta against her. Perhaps in some past life she'd done something terrible. Or perhaps she was just really really really unlucky.

After years of loving Sherlock Holmes he had finally returned her feelings.

So of course he had to get into a car crash the very next day.

He'd knocked on the door of her flat late at night and insisted that he had something to tell her and it had to be right now. She'd still been rubbing sleep out of her eyes as he'd told her that despite him believing all his life that sentiment was a weakness he had fallen in love with her and was not strong enough to keep away. And she'd still been in her sheep pajamas when she kissed him for the very first time.

He'd slept over in her bed, but just cuddling mind. She had wanted to take things slow… ish.

And the next morning they'd kissed on her doorstep and he'd tasted of coffee and toast. He'd promised to take her on their first date that night when she'd finished work. She'd headed to the tube and to work and he to a cab and Baker Street.

A drunk driver had collided with his cab five minutes later.

And now she was here, stuck in a waiting room, not knowing whether he was alive or not.

John came crashing through the double doors.

"Molly!" He exclaimed when he saw her. "Any news? How is he?"

She just shook her head, tearfully.

John crumpled into the plastic seat next to hers.

"Christ." he whispered "Christ. I've already lost him once. I can't… He's my best friend."

Tears continued to streak down Molly's face. She'd been crying ever since she'd heard and she couldn't stop and God it scared her. But not as much as the thought of losing him.

"Did he…" John spoke again "Did he say what he was going to say?"

"Yes." Molly trembled "We were going out later. On an actual date." She shuddered as the sobs threatened to take her again.

John pulled her into a comforting bear hug.

"Molly, this is Sherlock Holmes. The amount of times he's lived against the odds… Do you really think he'd let a drunk driver get him?" She shook her head and he released her from the hug.

Just then a nurse entered the waiting room.

"Sherlock Holmes' family?" He asked softly. Molly and John got up and followed him to a small office. A comforting office, deskless but filled with leaflets about loss. Molly thought she was going to be sick.

"What's wrong? Is he ok?" She choked. John gripped her hand preparing themselves. The nurse looked down sorrowfully.

"I'm afraid it's bad news…" The nurse began.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes had died at 8.15am of his injuries somewhere between the ambulance and the hospital room. His last words are unknown but one onlooker claims to have heard the words 'Molly' slip from his lips before unconsciousness claimed him in the wreckage of the taxi. His funeral was 3 days later. And it was beautiful.

Molly Victoria Hooper died just under a year later in her home from exhaustion and malnourishment due to her lack of will to live and overworking. Or, as some put it, she died of a broken heart. Her exact last words are unknown but as she left work for the last time the cleaner heard her mutter words 'Oh Sherlock' over and over again. Due to legal reasons she was not allowed to be buried with Sherlock Holmes as she had wished. Instead she was buried with her father less than a mile away. And it was beautiful.