Chapter One
Sherlock's POV
'It has been four years since we lost Molly...Not a day goes past when I don't think of her. I think of how much she could have achieved. She was such a bright young woman, she wanted to be a pathologist, as majority of you know... She could have done that... But...Not anymore, and it's me to blame. Oh shut up I know it is, don't try to fool me. I've got past it now.. Eventually...All thanks to my great colleague; Dr John Watson. He's been my inspiration over the past four years, when everybody left me, he stayed. He's the reason I'm still here today. So thank you John.' A small rumble of applause shred through the hall and many people cheered as John Watson rose to his feet, offering a small smile and a wave before being seated again beside his fiancee Mary Morstan.
'You'll always be remembered Molly, I'll love you...forever. Happy Birthday.' I raised my glass with a small smile and slowly lower back down into my seat.
Once all the buzz had fallen, along with the volume, the night went along smoothly. Eventually each person who had been conversing with me had slowly left to dance with their partner, or family members, leaving me alone with just a bottle of champagne and my thoughts. I didn't mind that to be quite honest, I was used to being along, from when I was a child, all the way up to when I met John and Molly, I was alone. With Molly being dead, that left me with just John. He was good to me. He stayed with me even at my darkest times, when I had gone back to my old ways(but worse) of drugs and smoking, barely eating or sleeping. I spent a lot of time in my mind palace, trying to figure out codes, and possibilities of who killed Molly. But I never succeeded, every time I went into my mind I was flooded by an overwhelming amount of feelings; guilt, pain, grief and one I have never experienced in my life; love.
Why I never realized before, I don't know. There's a saying about that though isn't there?: You never know what you have until you lose it. Or something along them lines. Well it sounds quite tacky, until you realize that it's actually true. I never realized the sheer brilliance of Molly Hooper until it was too late, she could have gone so far, and been so much, she could have been happy. But instead, she can't. Her family left grieving, at the funeral I got screamed at by her mum, she said it was "All my fault" which was...completely true. If she hadn't of come with me that day, if she would of just stayed at the house like I told her to, she would still be here. I've been told not to dwell on the past, but it's quite, especially when my mind used to be in overdrive about everything now it struggles to deduce the most obvious things. My mind was falling apart,. At one point, about two months after Molly's death, my mind was so badly screwed from a mixture of grief, drug abuse and cigarettes, that I spend 20 hours a day staring at a wall, speaking in incoherent sentences.
Eventually I got over it, clearly. But I still have a lot of moments where I wish I could tell her about something that happened, or something that I wish I could tell her, because I think she'd be happy about it. But now it's too late. Just as all these thoughts were running through my head, the main doors to the room opened and there was a loud gasp from the crowd and everybody went silent. I stood up from my seat and saw a small, brown haired woman with a long red dress stood in the doorway.
'I'm not late, am I?'
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