EPILOGUE
AN ERASE OF IDENTITY

John had done his best to put Sherlock's death behind him. He had seen the reports of course. How the world thought he was a fraud. There were some who still believed in him. He'd seen the graffiti tags around London.

When he finally visited Sherlock's grave and he said goodbye to his friend, he thought he'd laid it all to rest. Sherlock was gone and he'd come to terms with it. Sherlock was not coming back.

He would not give into the grief. He had grieved for weeks. But now, he was ready to move on. To leave 221B.

He was surprised when he received the summons to come to Sherlock's will reading.

What was the most shocking was that Sherlock had any form of will. He didn't think the consulting detective had the forethought to do something like that or that his ego would let him believe that he even could die.

He thought of not attending, but Mrs Hudson had also received a summons. He accompanied the landlady to the executor's, the Holmes family solicitor.

Maybe it wasn't so surprising that Sherlock should have a will. Most likely, Mycroft had insisted upon it.

When John arrived at the solicitor's office, he wasn't surprised to see Mycroft there.

He was, however, surprised to see Molly Hooper.

He knew Sherlock and Molly had become closer in the past few months. But Sherlock updating his will to include his favourite pathologist?

He hadn't seen her since the funeral. She'd been- for lack of a better word- a ghost. She'd quit her job at Barts following Sherlock's fall. She most likely would have lost it anyway, given her interactions with him. Lestrade had been suspended and Molly's work with Sherlock had been even more questionable.

"How are you doing, Molly?" John asked.

Molly gave him a weak smile. "I really just want to get this over with."

The solicitor sorted through some papers. "Well, shall I then?"

Mycroft nodded. "Please. I would like to get this over with."

The solicitor nodded. "Mister Holmes had bequests for each of you." He looked down at the paper. "Except for you, Mister Holmes. Your brother requested your presence so he could specifically say he did not leave you anything."

Mycroft smiled, nodding. "Of course he did."

"To Missus Martha Hudson," the solicitor continued. "Mister Holmes left the sum total of five years rent for 221B Baker Street, on the condition she do not dispose of any of his belongings."

"Oh that boy," Mrs Hudson sighed. "Why would he want to do a silly thing like that?"

"Probably wants you to turn it into a museum or something," John joked half-heartedly.

"To Doctor John Watson- should he choose to no longer remain in Baker Street- Mister Holmes bequeaths the sum of ten thousand pounds and possession of his personal case files."

John smiled softly. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with all of Sherlock's case files, but he was touched none the less.

"As for the rest of Mister Holmes' estate," the solicitor flipped to the next page. "Aside from the bequests to Doctor Watson and Mrs Hudson, the estate is left in its entirety to Doctor Molly Hooper..."

John turned sharply to look at Molly, his jaw dropping. Molly didn't look at all shocked by the pronouncement.

"Holmes," the solicitor finished.

John blinked. "Wait. What was that? Repeat that last part."

"The estate is left in its entirety to Doctor Molly Hooper-Holmes," the solicitor repeated.

John again turned to look at Molly. She was refusing to meet his gaze. She got up from her seat. "Thank you," she whispered, rushing towards the door.

John left Mrs Hudson and Mycroft with the solicitor, running after the quickly retreating woman.

It was impossible.

But... Was it?

Something about it seemed to make sense.

Molly was striding ahead of him once they got outside. "How long?" he called after her.

Molly stopped at the street corner, keeping her back to him. "For as long as you've been around. Longer. Two and a half years."

"Two-" John shook his head. "That's not... You couldn't."

Molly turned slowly to him. "But it's true. He wanted to tell you, John. He was trying to figure out how."

"Why not when I moved in?" John demanded.

"No one knew," Molly explained. "If you go back in there, Mrs Hudson will be just as confused. Only Mycroft knew and he certainly doesn't like talking about it."

John felt a swell of anger at the deception. Sherlock had been married for as long as John had known him.

Yet he couldn't be surprised. If Sherlock were to be married, he would want to keep it a secret. Not out of shame, but out of intense privacy. He would have wanted to shield any emotional weakness from even his flatmate.

"I have to go," Molly said quietly. "There are things I have to do, John. Really important things. I'm sorry. You can't let anyone know. I'll be back."

Molly started to move across the street.

"How could I have missed it?" John asked.

Molly turned, smiling weakly. "It's like he says... There's always something you miss."

John felt like his breath was knocked out of his with the words. Not the saying. Of course he had heard Sherlock say it before.

"Says," John repeated. "You said he says."

The momentary distraction was enough. Molly was crossing the street. John tried to follow after her, but cars were already whizzing by, separating them. "Molly!" John called after her.

John stood on the street corner. There was a throng of people on the other side, but he was sure he saw Molly still.

He saw her stop briefly on the other side. His eyes widened when he realized she was meeting up with someone.

A tall, lean someone who was obscuring his face with his coat collar and hat.

"Molly!" John called after her. He wouldn't call out the other name. He couldn't bring himself to.

The man turned his head. He looked to John. John still couldn't get a clear look at his face, but he knew the man could see him. The man knew he could see him back. He lifted a hand to the brim of his hat, tugging it in a greeting.

It made sense now. What Molly had said. About what she needed to do. It wasn't her talking to him. She wasn't the one who was sorry.

John nodded. He turned to walk in the other direction.

Always something, indeed.