Chapter 1

Endings and Beginnings

1 November 2013

The celebrations continue. Masks and costumes have been neatly packed away, while children of all ages have consumed enough sweets to crash them into the wall of unprecedented sugar highs. Tokens of tricks can be seen to the observant and not-so-observant eye, so is it any wonder I think of you?

Today's tradition honors the Saints and our dearly departed with specter somberness, lest we forget those who have left an indelible mark upon our lives. The Feast of the Dead. Place-settings at tables stand as sentry with favorite foods in honor of guests who will never arrive. But, for you, flowers and candles are your feast. They litter the sidewalk where my memories remain a strong and persistent heartbeat, although bloodstains have washed away into nothingness. Echoes of you are everywhere and my own part in this ruse does nothing to bring comfort. You would more than likely find my sentiment uncomprehending, but given your sacrifice would you not suspend your judgment and indulge my grief?

I should be a conundrum to Tom, but I'm not. He's come to know me as funny and a good conversationalist. I have no memory of your laughter, but I want to believe you'd find his idea of me amusing. What wouldn't I do to have one more precious moment with you...to see the flash of life settle within your eyes.

I sense you're alive and feel you close, but there's nothing, only the rain and ghostly reminders. Oh, god, how I miss you.

2 November 2013

I remember being a little girl and playing on the merry-go-round with my school mates. Jeremy Pilkington, a boy two years older than me, spun us so fast and for so long I lost all sense of Me. I'm not sure where I went, but I could see my body on the wheel ride, eyes closed, queasy stomach and hanging on for dear life. It felt like it took forever to be able to walk again, with my teacher's soothing voice reminding me to set my eyes upon the horizon to get my bearings. All the while, my muscles refused to cooperate with my brain's commands and I felt myself crash against the cold earth, stars twinkling behind my eyes before drifting off into darkness.

That happened today. The merry-go-round is a fragile construct of the life I had built the past two years and you...why is it always YOU...the gravitational force that spins me out of control and pulls me into your orbit from which there is no inevitable release. I watched myself looking at you, wondering if you were real, my eyes open but shut tight, breath withheld, wanting to speak and finding no words. I feel like I've been hurled into a million pieces of centrifugal chaos and deposited in a chasm of uncertainty. I somehow managed a constraint smile that matched yours and I'm sure you spoke, offered some reassuring words about your return. Did I breathe? I can't remember. But, I remember the cool spiciness of your aftershave, the light reflecting off your hair, the fine lines on your beautiful face and a longing in your eyes I had never before seen. I remember the warmth of your gentle hands and how your coat felt against my body as you pulled me along side yours. You held me, I'm sure of it. I remember you called my name, asking if I was alright. What did I say? Where did I go?

All I know is that my knees have buckled under me and I desperately search the horizon for some balance.

3 November 2013

2:30 am

Well, there's no sleeping tonight. My mind has been racing and I can't seem to find any thoughts to bring about calm. This diary has been my confessor, the silent counselor that knows my deepest secrets, all the thoughts and words that must never be whispered or inferred. These pages have carried a load that has far too often felt unbearable; the truth about you, what you're doing and why...the grief stricken faces of those who love you, those who continue to struggle for answers and search for some kind of peace. I doubt you'd understand how much you're loved, and wonder if you would even care.

I did something tonight that I never do. I prayed. No, not to some mythical god-like deity born from man's imagination, but maybe the Universe? The stars? The energy force that binds us all together? I don't know. Then again, I looked upon Quan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, and prayed for John's well-being. Why do I worry so? Seeing you again is a good thing – a happy thing – but there's a panic within me that refuses to yield. I prayed you were easy with John – you have no idea what your death has done to him; to everyone. And, now, very much unlike the allegory of Plato's Cave, it's doubtful you'll understand the frailty of emotions at your resurrection. I know these spiritual references would affront your logical sensibilities, but could you please, maybe, not be You? Am I too late?

Now, on to other business, some things you should know: I'm engaged to Tom. I never shared that with you. He asked and a stranger disguised as me said 'yes.' He's kind and decent and never really asks much of me. He's got a dog named Boston, whom I love. Maybe that's why I said 'yes'? Boston is a flat coat retriever who instantly knew me. He senses me, understands me and I am so grateful he's not here as I write this. I'm afraid he sees me too clearly and I know I wouldn't like what's being reflected. In a way, Boston is similar to you…not much gets by him.

I don't want you to see me too clearly right now, either. I don't want your eyes telling me what I already suspect. Will you please let me have this? I know the day will come, but until then, allow it to remain unspoiled. I do love him, especially his simplicity. You might find this surprising, but I never speak of you. Still, Tom knows you were somehow a part of a life I've chosen to bury. He's been patient with my melancholic moods, although doesn't understand where they come from. Except for Boston – he always knows. This must count for something?

I can hear you now, finding all of this tedious, and reminding me that relationships, like conversation, are not my area. No one will ever be you, and for all the times I wished it weren't so…it's always been you. I want so badly to be free of your hold. I wonder if I have what it takes? I can love you from a distance, can't I? In the quiet moments shared with no one - only the shadow of you that follows me everywhere.

Like the thousands of unspoken words that come easily to me in reflection, the pages of my diary are conversations you and I will never have. I've learned the extraordinary art of censoring myself and even when you think you see or know something about me, it's only what I want you to see. I've learned to appease you – it's so much easier when you think you've gotten your way. And, I don't mind. I'd rather see you happy – or what passes as happiness. I will always be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need. Always.

I've decided, then, this will be our agreement: I will pretend happiness until it becomes real. If you ever ask, I'll tell you I'm well and things are good. And, for your part, you'll believe me.

Author's Notes:

This whole story is Molly Hooper centric and written in journal format. While some entries include dialogue to provide backstory and context, this is not the main theme.

The first chapter is focused just before, and immediately following, Sherlock's return - The Reichenbach Fall and The Empty Hearse. Subsequent chapters focus on Molly's thoughts and events that took place immediately following the 'I Love You' phone call from Sherlock, The Final Problem, and how the two reconciled.

Fair Warning: Chapter 15 is NSFW, has mild and implied sexual content. It's my first time writing 'sex' so the goal was to keep it more about imagery than the actual mechanics.

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson are the creation and property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, etc. BBC Sherlock is the creation and property of BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. No harm is intended, this is all in good fun and adoration for the world they created.

I love FEEDBACK. I live for FEEDBACK. I breathe for FEEDBACK. But, keep in mind, this isn't timeless literature and I'm not Emily Dickinson.