COD (Cause of Death): Unknown

Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews and all the feedback I recieved on the first chapter. It really lifted my spirits about this. One thing I saw a lot was the sadness that you all told me about Molly's death. Fear not my friends I do have something in store later that should lift your spirits and yes this is a Sherlolly fic! Enjoy. :)

T w o.

When someone dies they aren't exactly prepared for what would happen next. You don't have a lesson the afterlife or all the possibilities that could hapoen to you. At best most think they'll either land themselves in the fiery pits of hell or the happier place with angels in heaven. There were papers on the inbetween but no one really knew for sure. Least of all me.

I wasn't even sure what was going to happen to me, or my spirit/ghost as that's what I seemed to be now. I was more confused of what lay ahead once my body was discovered and could be moved from the hard and cold premise. But before I saw to that happened there was a pull that nearly threw me into the taxi car that Sherlock had already gotten into.

I took a moment to look at the two men who both liked different-in their appearance and in their current expression and decided I might as well try to sit in the moving car. The position I was in; currently cramped in a heap of limbs of the two passengers in the back seat wasn't exactly appealing. Though I could admire Sherlock's long legs without seeing. I had to admit that was a bit of a perk. But at the same time it was embarassing, I immediately got to my feet and plopped down next to the two men. I made sure to stay closer to John.

He seemed more inviting anyhow. The look of concentration on Sherlock's face made me still and shift to look at his best friend. He looked very troubled and sad. I wondered if he was still upset over my death. It was still rather fresh. I sighed, silently wishing I could at least let him know that I was fine.

I couldn't say I was in a better place considering I was still among them but I was looking forward to seeing for myself how my case unraveled and more importantly: why did I die? Did I really have to?

It was obvious that I'd much rather be still alive. There was no way I'd be able to do anything when I probably couldn't even touch anything.

Wait.

I wasn't sure of that yet.

I looked out the window to see where we were before trying to take hold of Sherlock's scarf. I figured it'd be much safer to touch this than his hand, given how he wasn't fond of others touching him in any way. The result of my trying though made me feel disappointment. My hand just slipped right on through.

I shut my eyes as I folded my hands in my lap and tried to figure out what I could do. I frowned as I opened my eyes only to almost have a panic attack when I saw that I was no longer in the taxi. I was in a quite familar setting however. 221B, Sherlock's flat.

I was standing right in the middle of it.

How did this work exactly? Am I purposely being pulled wherever he is or what?

I shook my head and took a seat in the first chair I saw only to have to throw myself on the floor as John almost sat on me. I blew my hair out of my face as I propped my arm up to hold my head up and glared at him. Thanks John.

I looked away from him as I realized just what I was wearing and moved into a sitting position. I was still in my clothes that I died in. It wasn't really what I would have dressed myself in if I knew I was knocking on Death's door. It looked like something I would wear to go out in. So was that it then? Had I been out with someone as Sherlock had deduced?

I pulled the black dress down a bit so I was covered despite the fact that I already knew I was the only one that could see me. It still didn't make me feel any better about it. I could have at least worn a sweater.

It was chilly in here.

Bad joke but I'm serious, this room felt like a freezer. I moved to the sofa instead of staying on the ground and sat down not really seeing the point of doing much else yet.

It was silent for a moment before I heard the sound of a violin come from another part of the flat. I raised my eyebrow as I began to follow the sound. I was pretty sure it was Sherlock but I had never heard him play before. This would be my chance then.

He was in an office and standing near a stand that held pages upon pages of music sheets. The song sounded very sad. I mean it felt as if someone was sawing at my heart as I listened to the hauntingly beautiful but sad piece. I stood there just in front of the doorway in a trance of sorts. It was so wonderful to watch. He looked almost at peace there as he played the instrument without any halt in his movements.

I suppose even a brillant man such as himself at something to keep him sane in a way. I hadn't realized it but for a brief moment he had stopped and opened his eyes as if he was distracted or had been interrupted. I was caught up in my sniffling.

The music had started up again and I was doing my best to keep quiet as I enjoyed the rest of the song. He continued to play another song but I felt as if I had heard enough for a moment and drifted back to the sofa and sat back down. John was talking now, to himself.

He was staring at a something on his phone as he spoke. "What did you see, Molly? That has to be it. That's the only reason I can think of that you'd be in this mess."

I gulped as I stared at the doctor sitting still in the chair. It was difficult to watch him like that. He looked torn. It was such an odd thing to see.

Doctor John Watson hadn't exactly known me. He had seen me quite a bit in the morgue when there with Sherlock but apart from that I couldn't say much of him either. I only knew the basics. I'd think he only knew the little that everyone did about me. But was it possible he knew more?

I didn't know. But just as when near my body I felt myself drawn to the fact that he could mourn for me.

I knew it shouldn't matter but I didn't have anyone else near left that could care about the dead pathologist. Why would they care? I was just a lonely lovestruck pathologist that lived for just the briefest recognition from the only consulting detective who had a cat to keep her company at home.

What was there left to figure out? Or what else to mourn over. I wasn't anyone extraordinary. I was no Sherlock Holmes.

I, Molly Hooper was a dead pathologist stuck here waiting to go somewhere beyond here.

Maybe it would be easier during the next day when no doubtly something had to happen. This was just day one, I told myself silently. There had to be something more to these unknown unfortunate events. There just had to be.

A/N: I'm not sure about this chapter. Maybe it's just me, I don't know. Please let me know what you thought even if it's bad. I really appreciate you readers out there. Until next time.