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“You know we’re supposed to be together. I knew it the first time I saw you, and you know it, too. I know you do.” She looked back at the hall where the party was finally wrapping up. It was so close, but it also seemed nine hundred miles away from the cemetery at the same time. It was good that it was that way, she thought. She’d felt so...uncomfortable there. It felt so wrong to be celebrating without Sherlock there. She understood that they couldn’t wait, that John and Mary didn’t know what she knew, that he was alive and well, or at least she thought he was, but still.
She wanted to say they should've waited.
She wanted to say that she should've waited, really.
Tom was a mistake, she knew that. A pale imitation of Sherlock, she could see it now. She was sure everyone else could as well, had seen it from day one, but had been too polite to say anything. But oh, it was clear as day now. And if they came looking for her, the wedding guest run off from the festivities, leaving her guest bewildered, they’d find her curled up by the grave of Sherlock Holmes, and that would be the final nail in the coffin to know where her heart lay. She was in love with Sherlock, and he was dead and gone. Poor pathetic Molly. Doomed to waste away without her heart’s love.
Only he wasn’t dead, was he? Just gone off to fight Moriarty’s web, and she’d been too much of a coward to tell him before he left.
But she supposed she could tell him now, or tell his grave at last, in the safety and solitude of the cool evening.
“You should be here, you know. Oh, it was a grand affair, but it would have been better with you. I’d have loved to have you here. Would have asked for a dance, you know. Sod my date. I don’t love him. I...I should end my engagement, I should. It’s not fair to him, and not fair to me when you’re the one I want. But enough about that. John looks so happy. He and Mary are well suited. You’d love her. She’d match you wit for wit. And she looked so radiant, so beautiful. Exactly as a glowing bride should be. I teared up during the vows. They wrote them themselves, you know. You’d have scoffed, called them sentimental fools, but it was sweet.”
“The toasts were alright, but they weren’t memorable. And John looked a bit sad when his best man got up and spoke, like he’d rather have had you. We all knew it, you know? That he wanted you. You were always his best mate, the man who pulled him from the depths. Oh, Sherlock. I wish I knew where you were. I wish I knew you were alright. I wish I knew…I just wish I knew so many things. I hate being kept in the dark like this. It hurts so very very much, it really does.”
She yawned, and pulled the bulky coat she’d filched on her way out tighter around her. She had no clue who it belonged to, and she knew it was wrong, but she didn’t want to go back. She wanted no reason to go back to the merriment. It felt so awkward to be there with Tom and the others and to be feeling joyful when there was an empty ache in her heart because he wasn’t there. Dear God, she hadn’t expected to miss Sherlock so damn much. They were ships in the night, weren’t they? Fated to always cross, never to stop at the same shore. And yet here she was, babbling to his grave like he could hear her when for all she knew he was half a world away.
“If you were here it would be better. It would all be better,” she said, her voice tinged with sleep as tears began to run down her face. “Damn it all to hell.” Bloody hell, she was crying. She hadn’t meant to cry. In the morning she’d be a right mess, and God forbid it was Tom or one of her friends who found her. There’d be some serious explaining to do. But she was so tired, so sad, and she wanted to stay here, stay as close as she could to the only thing she had of his, really. The only place she had to mourn what could have been.
After a time a figure moved from the shadows. He knew what a deep sleeper Molly Hooper was; you could have a vicious fight in the sitting room of her flat and she probably wouldn’t wake. He’d certainly had her telly up at full volume and she’d scarcely noticed. He carefully lifted her up, cradling her in his arms. It wasn’t safe for her to be here, despite what she thought. There were still too many enemies at play. But as he looked down at her, he saw her looking oddly at peace, as if her confession to his headstone had alleviated something in her, and he bent his head and pressed a kiss at her temple. “Soon, Molly,” he murmured. “Soon I’ll be able to return, and we’ll see if perhaps we can work on making things better.”