A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion. Please read, enjoy and review...
The Final Solution
The next few days fell into a strange sort of pattern for Sherlock and Molly. After the argument on the first morning neither spoke much, they lived in an uncomfortable silence. Molly had returned to work, grateful for the opportunity to leave her flat. She didn't know what Sherlock did while she was out, and often found herself wondering what he had found to occupy him.
Currently Sherlock was sitting near the entrance to St Bart's waiting for Molly's shift to finish. Ever since Molly had bought him the second hand clothes he had been following her to work. Sherlock had disguised himself as one of the huge network of homeless people found in the city. He had long since known that hiding in plain sight was the best option. Most people refused to even acknowledge the homeless, let alone look at him long enough to realise who he really was.
Sherlock was unsure why he felt compelled to protect Molly, he had noticed it when she had first left the flat. He had suddenly begun imagining hundreds of possible scenarios where she got hurt, at that point he knew he would never allow it.
Sherlock saw Molly's hooded form leave the building, she was securely wrapped up against the wind. Sherlock trailed her, about one hundred metres behind, as she walked slowly towards her home he kept his eyes peeled for any sort of danger, no matter how small. When she was a minute from her flat he ducked down a side alley, ensuring he would beat her back.
As Molly entered the warmth of her flat she noticed Sherlock hunched over the breakfast bar.
Sherlock turned towards her. "Why do you read this drivel?" He asked, gesturing to the book he had just been reading.
Molly walked over to him and picked up the paperback. "Sherlock this is Pride and Prejudice. It's a classic." He just shrugged at her. "How can you dismiss it like that, it's an epic love story. It's the love story."
"Why should I care about Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy?" He countered. "I don't know them, they're of no importance to me."
"This is pointless." Molly sighed, there was no point arguing with him. "I have to go and change, it starts at two."
"Molly don't go." His voice was determined.
"I have to Sherlock, it's your funeral." She looked towards him, he didn't meet her gaze. "I can't just not be there."
"But I'm not dead, you know that so why do you need to go?" Sherlock didn't want her to leave again, she had only just got back from work.
"I told John I'd go, so I'm going." Molly was annoyed, it was her decision, not Sherlock's. "That's final." She quickly exited to he bedroom and started to change. Sherlock had a point, was it appropriate for her to go when she knew the truth. Sod it, she thought, she had to go to support John. Secretly she was also worried that not many people would turn up, Sherlock didn't do friends.
As Molly approached the cemetery she pulled her coat tight around her, the weather was worsening, threatening dark clouds communing overhead. The body in Sherlock's place had already been cremated, today the ashes were being spread and a headstone placed. Sherlock really had thought of everything, with no body buried, no-one could dig it up and show it wasn't him. The morbidity of the whole situation sent a shiver down her spine.
The funeral was a solemn affair, there were only a few people there. John and his sister, Harriet Molly thought, John's eyes were red and tears were silently streaming from them. Mrs Hudson stood near them, sobbing quietly into a handkerchief.
Molly stood with Greg, who was barely holding back the tears. The only other person in attendance, bar the reverend, was a tall, dark haired woman. Molly asked Lestrade who it was.
"Anthea." He replied. "She's Mycroft's assistant, Mycroft's Sherlock's brother."
"Sherlock had a brother?" Molly asked, ensuring she spoke in the past tense.
Lestrade nodded. "His only family. Mycroft works for the government, pretty high up, or so I'm told."
Molly turned and walked towards John, ready to offer him her condolences. As she went she pondered the bond between the brothers. How little must Mycroft care if he only sent a representative to a funeral for his own brother.
Sherlock watched, from the sidelines of the graveyard, as the small group left the chapel to proceed to the headstone. He was not surprised by his brother's absence, Mycroft rarely did things for himself.
After a short time all of them, but John, left the headstone. Sherlock flitted nearer, he wanted to hear what John was saying. It was meant for him, even if John thought he was talking only to a headstone.
Hidden behind a tree, Sherlock could just make out what John was saying. "Please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me." John's speech was slow, punctuated by sobs and sniffs. "Don't be dead. Would you do that, just for me, just stop it, stop this." Sherlock wished he could leave his hiding place and greet his friend, he hated that he was making John feel this way. Molly was right, he had broken his best friend.
Suddenly approaching footsteps broke the silence, Sherlock turned abruptly, pulling his hat down to cover his face.
"Sherlock, it's me." Molly spoke quietly, emerging from the shadows. "I can't believe you risked coming here, what if you'd been seen?"
Still shocked by John's admission, Sherlock struggled to find the words. "I had to..." he managed before Molly cut across him.
"Had to make sure John was alright, I know." Molly finished for him. Sherlock wanted to correct her, that wasn't the only reason. He had also come to make sure she was safe, protected. "You're not that subtle you know, I spotted you easily, you need to be more careful."
They both turned and looked towards the headstone that John had just left. It was surreal, Sherlock thought, to look at a sign indicating your death, while still being very much alive.
As they stood there in silence Sherlock gently reached towards Molly's hand, carefully he interlocked their fingers. He needed to know that she was there with him, for once in his life he didn't want to be alone.
Together they waited until it was safe for them to leave. Together, a united front.