Trigger warning: mentions of death

Ok well, some of you may know that tomorrow marks the five year anniversary of my dad's death. I was 19 when he died, he was 53. He was in many ways my best friend. We liked the same things, had the same sense of humor, all the same quirks. When he died, I refused to really accept it. I pushed it to the back of my mind, refused even to grieve really.

Recently, my best friend lost both her mother and father-in-law to cancer. She lives far away from me, and so I was unable to physically comfort her, give her a hug, let her cry on my shoulder. So we talked about it. A lot. And talking to her about what she was feeling made me think about what I felt. What I refused to feel.

Lisa made a request a few days ago. She asked me to write about our losses. For a long time I just stared at my computer screen because nothing came to mind. I'd spent so much time blocking out my pain that I didn't know what to say. Finally, I decided to use my fanfics, something I was comfortable with, to confront the thing I wasn't comfortable with.

So here it is. This is what I feel, and what Lisa feels and what I think a lot of people who have lost a close loved one feel. I hope that it might help someone else who hasn't properly grieved over their loss. And as always, there is a ray of sunshine at the end.

"Hey dad, it's me. Sorry it's been so long, it's been crazy at work."

Molly dropped her heavy canvas bag unceremoniously to the ground and spread the blanket across the grass next to the base of the tree. She sat heavily and leaned her back against the trunk, reclining as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

"So, where to begin? What had happened already last time we spoke?" She mused for a moment.

Some people found it odd that she held such firm belief in something after death. After having seen so many people come through her morgue, Molly needed to believe that it didn't really end there. So many lives cut short needlessly, so many mourners left behind. It would have beaten her down eventually, even with her cheery demeanor. So she held fast to the hope that one day she'd see both of her beloved parents again.

"Oh! I watched Firefly. Why didn't you tell me about it?! I'll never forgive the Americans for cancelling it." She grinned. "We could've watched it together like we did Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Oh, did I tell you that they came out with a new Indiana Jones a few years back? It was awful." She scrunched her nose in disgust. "Not like the ones we watched."

Molly tucked her arms behind her head as she rested against the tree trunk. It was always so peaceful here. While Molly was already one of few people who didn't mind the company of the dead, she had to admit that the cemetery was much more peaceful than her morgue. For one, there were far fewer consulting detectives about. Not that Molly minded Sherlock being around exactly, but sometimes his filter didn't work and he said things that were hurtful without even realizing it.

Granted, he'd gotten a lot better about it since his return from the dead, and then even better after his five minute exile. He'd taken to bringing Molly coffee instead of placing his order with her, and had even shown up with Thai one day, complete with all her favorite dishes, when she'd had a rough day and needed to stay late. Funny, that day he didn't even ask for any body parts to experiment on.

"So everything is pretty much the same. Toby had a nasty stomach virus and threw up all over the apartment while I was at work last week. The security guy called and told me about it but they had it cleaned up by the time I got home. Oh yeah," Molly paused, thinking over the events of the past few weeks.

Moriarty's return had taken a toll on everyone, tensions were high, especially where Sherlock was concerned. Molly had tried to argue that she was in no danger but found herself saddled with a security team that followed her day and night, and watched her home and work.

"One of my exes is back in the picture," she chuckled ruefully. "Not like that, dad. It's Jim, you remember him? Yeah, the psycho one. He's apparently not dead and is back to try to prove that he's better than Sherlock again."

Molly sighed. It seemed like conversation always came back around to the consulting detective, no matter how hard she tried for it not to. He was a huge part of her life, though not in the way she'd always wished. She shook her head and changed the subject.

"Oh, I got my promotion! You are looking at the youngest head of pathology in the history of Bart's! I'm so proud, you know how hard I worked to get there." She stopped and sniffed. "Maybe too hard."

She thought back on the day of her hiring interview with Bart's, the day that her father had collapsed in the hospital and finally lost his fight with the lung cancer that had been eating away at him for months. She hadn't been able to check her phone until she left the interview, and her happiness had promptly disappeared when she listened to the voicemail left by the cancer specialist, urging her to drop everything and get to the hospital as fast as she could. She'd gotten the message an hour after he left it and by the time she made it, he was unconscious. Not long after, he'd peacefully passed, leaving Molly to sit alone in the room with only her thoughts to keep her company.

It hit her hard, especially since he went the same way her mother had. Not lung cancer in her case, it was bone marrow, but the same evil took her away from them little more than a year before her father succumbed. She visited his grave as often as she could since her mother had been buried in her hometown more than an hour outside of the city. Molly wiped a tear away and smiled brilliantly.

"I miss you, you know. I miss you lots. I miss you so much it hurts some days. I still pick up my phone to call you when I have good news to share. But then I remember you're gone and there's no one to share it with. You're gone, mum's gone. I'm all alone sometimes." Molly sniffed and wiped at her nose. "I mean, I've got friends, some friends. But no one cares about me like you did. I miss being your little girl. I never felt as safe as I did when we were curled up on the sofa watching James Bond movies. Oh daddy, why did you leave me?"

She sobbed once, brokenly, and desperately wiped at her eyes. The stress of the last days was getting to her, making her more openly emotional than she normally was. Most times she visited, she laughed and chattered. Rarely did she cry anymore.

"But I know you're proud of me."

She changed the subject again and went on for a while, telling him all about her new duties, and her plans to find a flat in a better part of town, perhaps closer to work. It was getting chilly when she stood, and collected her bag, wrapping her coat around her. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the top of his gravestone, smiling crookedly.

"Love you dad. See you soon."

She turned, shouldering the bag and walked away, smiling at her silent protector who'd been watching from a respectful distance.

Ten minutes later, another figure stood in front of the same grave.

"Umm, hello."

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, glaring at the ground in exasperation. He didn't know exactly what he was doing there. Well, he did. He'd been following Molly nearly everywhere, keeping out of her sight, but not entirely trusting the security to keep her safe from a determined Moriarty. He'd been about to follow her away from the cemetery when he'd stopped.

"Introductions, introductions. I'm Sherlock. The consulting detective Molly talks about all the time though you probably figured that out already. Umm," he shifted, distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, I wanted to show you this."

Sherlock stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box and popped it open, thrusting it forward slightly.

"I got this, for Molly. I've been carrying it around for months, ever since I first found out that her engagement to meat dagger was over. Did she tell you about him? He was… amusing. Stupid, far below Molly, but amusing."

Sherlock paused and squared his shoulders, as if he was about to do something unpleasant.

"Listen, I don't make a habit of talking to graves but I thought she'd like it if I informed you of my intentions. I heard what she said to you. I heard her say that there was no one who cared about her good news. I heard her say that you made her feel safe. I want to be the one she feels safe with now, the one she shares her good news with."

His voice dropped to a whisper, as if he was afraid to admit it.

"Even though I'll be able to deduce her news before she tells me, I'll let her think it's a surprise. Promise."

He stopped again, thinking over his next words carefully.

"Mr. Hooper, your daughter is far too good for me. No one could ever deserve her. I will probably forget her birthday at least once. I might not remember our anniversary either. She'll most likely have to berate me on a daily basis for being insensitive and rude. I can promise you," he stuttered to a halt, an exasperated expression on his face, before looking around quickly, making sure that no one was nearby.

"You've got to understand, I always thought that sentiment was a weakness. A defect. Then Molly showed me how much strength can come from loving someone. Your daughter is the strongest person I know and she's held me up many times when I was sure I would fall. Quite literally, actually. I'm fairly certain that if she were to ever leave me, I would be dead or worse within days. She keeps me right."

He stopped, realizing that he was rambling, and put the ring back in his pocket.

"So that's it. I thought that you might like to know that I intend to marry your daughter. As soon as possible. Though," he ran a hand through his curls again. "I haven't asked her on a date yet."

The detective nodded curtly to the ground and turned on his heel, walking mechanically, his mind working over the strong feeling that a certain pathologist incited within him and the best way to surprise the same woman with a proposal.