Has anyone noticed anything strange about story traffic stats recently? Mine have been acting up weird lately, I don't know if it's something to do with the stats, or that people have just stopped reading my stories! Lol, bit awkward...

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The Grave

"John?"

That gentle, yet worried voice brought my out of my mysterious stupor. I was not quite awake, but not quite sleeping either, just...existing. For a moment I forget where I am, I am sitting on something hard and cold but leaning against some harder and colder. I feel the rough ground beneath me and remember that I am sitting on the grass, I feel the ache in my back and remember that I am leaning against a gravestone. Not just any gravestone, his.

I blink in the bright, cold sunlight to see Molly Hooper looking down at me, a concerned look on her face.

"Are you all right John?" She said.

"I'm fine," I croaked, my voice dry and my whole body aching as I try to sit up.

I had decided to visit Sherlock's grave again, I'm not sure what I planned to get out of it, but at least I had made the decision to do something. Despite throwing the drugs away, I have not got any better. I am just as miserable, listless and irritable as I was before, I am still not like who I once was, and this thought makes me angry. I think I set off to Sherlock's grave because I wanted to ask him why he had killed himself, why he had put me through all of this and why he wasn't there for me. Of course when I got to the grave I had no idea what I wanted to say, and felt like a fool talking to a pile of earth and asking obvious questions. The memories of when I had last been here, the faces of the mourning, haunt me a little, and I think I can see their faces out of the corner of my eye as I stood before the grave.

It wasn't long before my legs started getting tired, so I sat with my back to the grave, wondering how it was possible that this was as close as I would ever get to the consulting detective again. A few minutes later, or perhaps it was hours, Molly appeared, with obviously the same idea of paying a visit.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you..." Molly begin, twiddling with her hands and looking very unsure about what to say. At least some people don't change much. "How have you been doing since the..."

I shrugged, "I'm fine," I repeated.

"You don't look it," Molly muttered almost darkly, which wasn't like her. I looked up at her face and she appeared angry about something.

I have to admit it was nice seeing Molly again even though for the last few weeks I didn't really want to see anyone. But she was a friend of Sherlock's, she trusted Sherlock and didn't start to doubt him, because there was nothing to doubt...right?

"Do you still believe in him?" I suddenly found myself asking her.

Molly was slightly confused by the question, "believe in who?" she asked.

"Sherlock of course!" I tried not to snap at her, I had no need to be angry at Molly, what had Molly done? She had always been a nice person, a little awkward sometimes, a little shy perhaps, but nice.

"Oh right...yes I do still believe in him," Molly said hurriedly, she then started looking at me in a way I did not like, her head cocked slightly to one side. "You really don't look fine you know."

I simply shrugged again, not sure how to reply to this, though denial had been a good way of life for me recently. Molly continued to watch me carefully, like she was examining me.

"You look like my dad," she said suddenly.

"What?" I had no idea what she meant by this.

Molly immediately became shy and awkward again when she realise what a random statement she had just made, she began fiddling with her hands a little more. "No, no, I mean...my dad, he was dying and he knew he was dying. He kept on laughing and trying to joke about it, but when he thought no one was looking he looked so sad because he knew he was dying, and when the time was coming closer he started to get pale and thin. You...you look like pale and thin as well, and you look so sad. You look like you're dying. You look like Sherlock."

I felt like I had just been hit with a sledgehammer. "Sherlock?"

Molly looked like she wished she hadn't said anything, her eyes were full of regret and sadness as she nodded. "Sorry...I thought you knew, Sherlock said to me he thought he was going to die..."

I put my head in my hands and stared into the darkness cupped within them. Sherlock knew he was going to die, Sherlock had realised he was going to have to kill himself, but he said nothing to me. He didn't confide in a friend that his end was coming, he didn't ask for me help, he didn't warn me. He just let me watch...

And I was dying too?

There was a shuffling of feet beside me, and I knew that Molly was still standing there, probably looking and feeling more awkward than before.

"I wish I could..." Molly began suddenly, breaking the silence and making me look up. She looked deep into my eyes with some sort of desperation, as if she was hoping I might be able to read what she thought behind them. "I wish I could tell you everything, John. But I can't, because things will get better, with time, it wouldn't have happened otherwise...you just need to stay strong."

I never thought Molly to be one of these fate, everything must happen for a reason sort of person, but I nodded, and said nothing. I didn't understand what Molly was saying, because no good had come out of this event so far, and she didn't realise that I had lost all my strength a long time ago, and I was running out of ways of how I was going to live through this. About two months had passed since the event, and for the first time in ages I had a friend standing beside me. Surely things should start to get better by now?

But things had not got any better and that friend did not last, as after a long pause Molly broke the silence:

"I'm afraid I'll have to get back to St Bart's now John...promise me you'll take of yourself won't you?"

I nod, looking down at the ground while I listen to Molly's slowly retreating footsteps. There is nothing more to be said to her, I decided not to tell her promises were made to be broken, she was only trying to help, and I appreciate her for doing so. But I've lost all my strength and I am beyond the simple help of a friend.

I have gone so far into this darkness, I have become like Sherlock. I look like death.