The Return

The return 5

Molly sighed and pulled her long hair out, making her way into the kitchen. The dress was not what she liked at all, knee length and black with a v neck and no sleeves. But, she supposed it would suffice for a funeral. 
When she walked into the kitchen, Sherlock was sat there there on her laptop, his iced eyes focussed on the screen in front of him. He didn't look up. 
His long dark curls fell over his eyes slightly and Molly had the insane idea to push them back with her fingertips. But that was exactly what she was, insane. 
Pushing her luck, she reached out a shaky hand and gently pushed them from his eyes. The touch was careful, almost tender. He caught her hand almost instantly. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, holding her hand above his head. 

"Erm... Your hair, I mean... it was in your e - eyes and I - I -" She stuttered, her cheeks a crimson colour. 

"I was well aware." He interrupted her. 

But was he aware that he still held her hand above his head?

"I should get going." She whispered. 

Then he dropped her hand, almost coldly and looked back at the laptop, "Fine."

"Bye then."

No reply. 
Molly sighed as she pushed open the front door and remembered to lock it after her. Three times she's forgotten to lock the door and three times he'd been spotted wondering. 'The ghost of Sherlock Holmes!"
She felt a pattern beginning.
The air was cold and bitter so Molly was thankful when she flagged down a taxi straight away. The journey to the church only took fifteen minutes and when the taxi pulled up, John and Mrs Hudson were waiting outside.
Panicking slightly, Molly went through all the little stories she'd come up with in her head. She just hoped the romance between her and Sherlock was believable. 

"Molly," John greeted her, his voice sad. 

"John, Mrs Hudson." Molly nodded, her face sad at their expressions. 

"We should go inside," John sighed, "They're waiting for us."

Molly couldn't help but feel something break inside her when she saw John. His face was almost always solemn and his tone of voice was that of a man who'd lost someone very close to him. She wished she could tell him that Sherlock was alive but she knew she couldn't. This was John's safety at stake. 
So she followed him inside and they found seats at the front of the church, right where the coffin was. Molly glanced around and was more then surprised about the amount of people there. There were the people she'd expected, for example, Lestrade and Mycroft. However Anderson was there too and she found that extremely odd, especially since he was the one who didn't believe Sherlock in the first place. 
But other people were there, some she recognised, some she didn't. With a shock, Molly realised that the people were all people Sherlock had helped in various cases. They'd come to pay their respects. 
She'd have tell him about that later. 

The Ceremony passed painfully slowly and Molly just wanted to get out there, to run home and wrap her arms around Sherlock (oblivious to his protests) just to make sure he was real. She wouldn't care what he thought about her, she just needed to feel that he was real. 
He didn't seem real at all.
Not when she was here, at his funeral, about to do a speech. 
Sherlock had said a speech would be best, that'd it'd make it more believable and Molly had reluctantly agreed. 
So with painfully dry eyes and hardly any self confidence at all, Molly pulled herself up from the Church bench and stood before all the waiting people. Sherlock had written her a few notes to get her going and Molly held tightly onto them. 
She took a deep, shaky breath and began. 

"Hi... Everyone." She began awkwardly. "When I think of Sherlock, I think of ... Sherlock. Because who else could be Sherlock, right?"

A few coughs sounded from the people watching but that was about as much response she received. 
Fine. Damn Sherlock and his stupid notes. She'd do it her way. Crumpling the piece of paper in her hand, she threw it on the floor behind her and took another deep breath. 

"When I see Sherlock, I see an arrogant, manipulating sod who decided to occasionally pop up in my morgue when I least expected him to." She said, rather shakily. A few people nodded in agreement and she heard a chuckle from John, "He ... Always gave me the fright of my life, stalking in with his long coat and blue scarf. He always asked, no - demanded, to see whatever body was in the morgue. Without permission, may I add."

The people who were nodding before now had smiled on their faces and Mrs Hudson had joined in with John and his chuckling. 
Molly took another deep breath. 

"Most people believed him to be hurtful, cruel and, on some accounts heartless. He could be hurtful and cruel but he was never ever heartless... Ever. And I - I ... I ... Truly believe he wasn't a fake. He wasn't. He just wasn't." She sniffed upwards and her eyes flashed to Anderson who quickly looked down, "He was just... Brilliant and you should be ashamed of yourselves If you honestly believed he was a liar. 
You led him to his death."

Molly nodded once and sat back down, tears threatening to flood her eyes. John took her hand and squeezed gently. 

"You okay?" He whispered, his own voice shaky. 

"I - I'm fine." Molly stuttered before taking his hand and squeezing it in encouragement, "Your turn."

John squeezed her hand back and let go of it, taking his place at the front and clearing his throat. 

"I don't really know how to top that speech," John began with a sigh, "But there are a few words I'd like to say..."

John took a deep breath and continued, his eyes dancing over the people who has gathered, "As many of you know, I was sharing a flat with Sherlock before he... Well... 
 I'd like to agree with Molly that he wasn't heartless. An arrogant, ignorant moron sometimes but he was never heartless....
He told me once that he didn't have friends and I honestly believed him. He told me that he just had one friend and stalked me round a cemetery just to prove it." John paused to laugh and Molly felt her heart tighten. "So maybe he didn't have friends... But he had people who cared about him and people who he cared about. Mrs Hudson, myself, Lestade. Even... Mycroft...
But there's one person who I didn't name. One person who didn't even cross my mind. Molly Hooper." He paused to smile at her while Mrs Hudson reached out and took her hand, "She's a prime example of how much Sherlock cared. Many people, including me believed him to be a stranger when it came to sentiment. But that's not true and as much as you may not believe it... Sherlock could love. And Sherlock loved Molly."

Molly just wanted the ground to open and swallow her up as John wrapped up his speech. She felt guilty, she felt sick, and all she wanted was to go home and cuddle up with Toby. She didn't want to be there and she didn't want to do this. It was all so unfair, seeing them all so unhappy. It caused her throat to tighten and her heart to clench. She hated it. 

About half an hour later, Mrs Hudson, John Watson and Molly Hooper were all gathered around Sherlock's grave, waiting for everyone to pass by. They planned to pay their respects privately and morn their loss of a friend without  everyone else watching. It was Mrs Hudson who spoke first. 

"Why did he do it?" She whispered, clutching tightly onto Molly's hand. 

"Do what?" Molly whispered back, feeling one of John's hands clamp tightly over the both of theirs. 

"Leave us like this." 

John sighed, "I don't know."

Molly felt like she needed to ease their pain. She needed to give them clues to Sherlock's survival. She couldn't tell them outright but maybe she could give them a push in the right direction. 

"He must've had a reason." Molly said softly, starting intently at the black marble surface, "He loved himself too much to commit suicide."

John and Mrs Hudson both chuckled softly. 

"Of course he did," Mrs Hudson said, "We just need to find out what."

A moment of silence passed between the trio. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was more like an opportunity to remember a few things about the man who has changed each of their lives forever. 

"What was he like?" John said, his voice suddenly urgent. 

"I'm sorry - What?" Molly asked, her eyes widening. 

"What was he like towards you? I can't imagine him being in a relationship and think we should all remember the good times, starting with you Molly."

The pair fell silent as Molly thought, trying to remain calm. She had to come up with something good and something quick. Her heart thudded in her chest and she was sure they could hear it. 
After what seemed like hours, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, deciding to tell them what she wished was true. 

"He was... I don't know." She began, working her way up it, "One minute he was demanding and ... and the next he was gentle and kind."

John shook his head, chuckling. "Gentle and kind? Sherlock? I can't imagine it."

Molly leaned her head on John's shoulder and gripped Mrs Hudson's hand more tightly, "It all seemed so strange and it took me a while to get used to it at first. Maybe not so gentle and kind but it was the little things, you know. Like when he'd take my hand or just... Hold me in ..." Molly had to stop because sobs enveloped her. 

"It's okay, dear," Mrs Hudson said, pulling her in for a hug, "It's too soon."

Molly didn't know why she was crying but she did know that once she started she couldn't stop. 
Straightening up, she swallowed and spoke, "Do you mind if I have some ... Time alone with him, please." She asked softly. 

The two of them nodded understandingly and left her too it, Mrs Hudson with a careful hug and John with a gentle squeeze of her hand. 
When they were out of sight, Molly knelt down on the grass and began to cry again. 

"I hate this." She muttered, feeling stupid for talking to a piece of rock stuck in the ground. But she needed to get it out there, "Seeing them like this - John, Mrs Hudson... I - it's awful. Having to lie to them. Lie about... Us. I have to make up stories about us having never known what it's like. Oh and how I'd kill for it! T - to know, just once. T - To know what it's like to be held by you, the feel of your arms around me. I - I ... " Molly sobbed again, "I've tried to get over it, I've tried to move on. But I... I... Love you, Sherlock. I love you."

Molly broke down in front of the empty grave, morning the loss of Sherlock, morning John's and Mrs Hudson's loss and morning what it would be like to be loved by him. 

Through all this she was completely unaware that someone was watching her the whole time, debating whether to show himself.