Please read: This one deals with parental loss. We don't actually see anyone die - as we all know Molly lost her father, this will examine that part of Molly's story, but completely from Sherlock's pov (within the cannon, for the most part. Although I did take some liberties, sorry.) There is sadness, I'm not gonna lie - but I promise a Sherlolly ending.

Once again I have to give props to my M(rs)(iz)es... Thank you MizJoely for betaing (and teaching me proper use of a comma.) Thank you MrsMCrieff for Britifying this, as always. And of course thank you both for being such wonderful friends. God only knows what I did to deserve you two!

So, surprisingly enough, I own nothing. Please enjoy. ~Lil~

~February 22, 2010~

Sherlock was just about to knock on Molly's office door to ask for her assistance in the path lab when he heard a strange sound coming from the room. He really didn't need her help, but Dr. Stamford had made himself quite clear that while Sherlock was allowed access to the facilities, it wasn't without restriction and he would have to be supervised. He had only been out of rehab for eight months and had finally gotten the attention of Scotland Yard for his assistance with a murder investigation that would have frankly gone cold, had it not been for him. His new relationship with Barts and the powers that be was all too tenuous to muck up, just yet. He had no choice but to grin and bear it, as it were.

He didn't know Dr. Molly Hooper very well, she seemed competent enough, certainly more intelligent than most of the half-witted idiots that surrounded him. It also didn't hurt that she made a damn fine cup of coffee and followed his instructions to the letter, that is when she wasn't stuttering and blushing like a teenager. But now, she was behind a closed door... crying. How was he to handle this?

He wasn't fond of crying. He knew very little about the pathologist, but he was certain if he marched into her office while she was in the middle of a crying jag she'd be even more of a blushing, stammering mess than usual. In the end he decided that his experiment could wait until tomorrow. He turned on his heels and left.

~February 22, 2011~

Sherlock sat at his preferred microscope looking at abnormal plant cells when Molly came in looking worse than normal. They hadn't spoken very much since the Christmas incident, but when they had it seemed that things were back to normal. Surely she didn't think he was going to melt at the sight of her in that awful dress and overly done hair and make-up? He was slightly confused by his guilt, however. Why did he still have an odd feeling in his stomach every time he looked at her? He couldn't figure it out, and he hated not being able to figure something out.

She came in carrying a stack of files, paying no attention to him whatsoever, then tossed them on the counter. She then picked up something from the corner of the room, retrieved the files and scurried out of the room, without so much as a glance in his direction. Clearly she was still upset. He didn't want to have to do it, but if her emotional state was going to affect their working relationship, he'd just have to address the situation once again. He finished what he was working on then went to find her. He deduced that she'd be in her office.

That was where he found her an hour later. He heard her sniffle as he approached the door. He rolled his eyes once before knocking, reminding himself not to do that in her presence – living with John Watson did have its advantages – John was constantly reminding him that the general public didn't like his patronizing eye rolls.

"Come in." He heard Molly croak out. She clearly had been crying for some time, as her voice sounded hoarse and strained.

He walked in and immediately felt the guilt once again. This is getting very old, he thought. "Molly, I thought perhaps we should talk," he said with a sigh.

She wiped her eyes as she stood up, then she removed her lab coat and cleared her throat. "Oh, ah, Sherlock- um did you need me from something? I was just getting ready to leave."

"Yes, you're clearly upset and..." He paused and looked at her desk. She had her bag sitting atop a blanket. Perhaps this has nothing to do with me, he thought. "Well, if you're leaving then I'll just speak with you some other time."

"Are you sure? Is it very important?"

Not about me at all, then. "No, no. It can wait."

"If you're sure." She put on her coat and picked up her things.

Sherlock was at a bit of a loss. He was certain that she was still emotionally distraught over the Christmas party. He had no idea what she was actually upset about and for some reason, he wanted to find out.

"Well, I'll see you... later, then," he said, then he turned and left her office. He didn't go far though, just hid out of Molly's sight and waited for her to leave. There was a mystery a foot and he decided he would solve it. He had no case and his experiment was finished, not to mention his curiosity had been piqued. And there was still that lingering feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach, even though her current mood had nothing to do with him or his Christmas cruelty- no honesty... he hadn't been cruel, had he? Uncalled for perhaps, yes, that would do.

He followed her to the Tube, staying a safe distance away, then sat down several seats behind her. She kept her head down, not noticing anything around her whatsoever. It was shockingly easy to follow the pathologist. He was disturbed by the amount of attention she paid to her surroundings, which was next to none. He considered trying to 'gift' her self-defense lessons, but decided that perhaps he should just ask Mycroft to assign her a security detail instead.

Soon enough she stood up and he once again followed as she walked through the crowds. He thought he would have to intervene at one point when she very nearly stepped in front of a lorry, but she looked up just in time to jump back to the curb. She finally (carefully) crossed the street and entered a cemetery.

Within five minutes Molly had found what she was looking for. Sherlock tucked himself behind a nearby tree, close enough to see her and hear her, but obscured from her sight (not difficult considering her poor observation skills.) She spread the blanket on the ground at the end of the grave and sat down. It was a cold day but not wet, thankfully.

Sherlock waited and listened. She didn't speak for several minutes, she was crying softly. Then finally...

"Hi Daddy. Sorry it's been so long, work's been... well work." She sniffled. "I should have visited sooner but... oh and sorry about my little breakdown at Christmas. That was uncalled for. This year was, as you know, a tough one. I won't go through that again, you don't need to hear about all that rubbish with Sherlock over and over. He's, of course, acting like nothing happened. Don't know what I expected." She fished a tissue out of her pocket.

"Sometimes, like today, I feel so lonely, Daddy. It would be nice to have someone just to..." She didn't finish the sentence, instead she cleaned her nose and took a deep breath. "I used to love my birthday. But now... No one knows, I don't want them to know, but..." She paused and blew her nose again. "I told Mike when I started not to mention it and he's been good about it. He's a good man Daddy, a good boss." She started crying harder.

"I called Mum. She's... well she's worse. She wasn't very kind. Didn't want to see me, so..."

There was a long pause filled with soft whimpers and sniffles. Sherlock knew he was witnessing something completely personal and private, he knew he had no business being there, but his feet were rooted to the spot. The guilty feeling in his stomach had been replaced with something so distractingly foreign, he couldn't begin to name it. He couldn't, however, take his eyes off of the petite woman in front of him.

It was her birthday, of course. He didn't care for his birthday, none whatsoever, but some people, he was aware, did. She was sad and lonely and seeking comfort from her father's grave. For a split second, he wished he were the kind of person that could go to her and wrap his arms around her. He wished he had words of comfort and kindness to end her sadness. He wished he knew how to make Molly Hooper happy, if for only a moment. But he wasn't that kind of person and he had no idea how to heal her hurt, so he watched as she finished visiting with her father, then picked herself up. She folded the blanket, put her bag on her shoulder then walked to the grave marker and pressed a kiss to her fingertips then to the stone. As she walked away, Sherlock walked out from behind the tree and closer to the headstone.

Oh...

~February 22, 2012~

Foolish sentiment. He had no business leaving his work in the middle of an important operation to scurry back to London just to stand in the middle of a cemetery and wait for a small woman to come cry over a dead man. But that's exactly what he had done.

He'd been in Prague and had to work double time to get things to a point that he could take the time to get here. And now he was. And there she was. He watched her lay down her blanket and sit. She wasn't crying yet – a good sign, he hoped. It was colder this year, a light snow had fallen earlier in the day. He held his breath and waited.

"So it's my birthday again. I can hear you saying 'that happens every year whether we want it or not.'" She forced a laugh. "It snowed today, not much- just enough." She took a deep breath. "I went to see Mum for the holidays, she's a bit better, I think... maybe."

She was silent for a long time and Sherlock wondered if she was cutting this year short for some reason. Until...

"I miss you Daddy, I do. But, this year I miss someone else too. He's, he's... well, I haven't mentioned what I did because I didn't know, for a long time, I didn't know how you'd feel about it. But I think you'd be proud of me." She paused. "Yeah, I think- no I know I did the right thing. But, oh I miss him... I just want him home and safe, even if it means him ignoring me and being cruel." She fished a tissue out of her bag. "He said something to me, before... he said that I counted- I have absolutely no idea what that means." She laughed, then started crying. "Daddy, this would be so much easier if I weren't alone, but I can't tell anyone, I shouldn't even be talking to you." She looked up, scanning the cemetery. Satisfied that no one could hear her she lowered her head, pausing before she continued. "His friends are all so broken and I helped break them. I did that." She started crying in earnest.

His friends? Something in the way she said it made it sound as if she didn't include herself in that category. He huffed and thought back to what she had said about not understanding what he had told her. He knew he wasn't good at expressing his feelings (as they were few and far between), but he had really tried that night, to make her understand her importance in his life. Clearly he had failed.

As he watched her quietly sobbing he realised he was shaking, his fists tightly clinched. He could go to her, he was in disguise, no one would recognize him as Sherlock Holmes. But he did nothing, just stood there, watching - hating himself even more than usual.

She's hurting because of me... again. How much more pain can she endure, he wondered.

She blew her nose and cleared her throat. "Sorry Daddy, this is supposed to be about us, our day. So I'm ah, going to go get some chips and watch Alien, your favorite." He could hear the forced happiness in her voice and wondered why she was putting on an act for a dead man.

"I need him to come back Daddy. I wish you could come back, but of course you can't. He can though... he can do anything." With a heavy sigh she stood up, folded her blanket and hitched her bag onto her shoulder. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the stone. "Until next time," she said, then walked away.

Sherlock's feet ached to follow her, but he looked up and saw her detail. The man looked him right in the eye, and he knew he was caught. Damn, be getting a call from Mycroft soon, he thought as he walked up to the gravestone. He stood there for a couple of moments before leaving the cemetery.

~February 22, 2013~

He tried, he really did, but he was nearing the end and there was too much at stake. He couldn't leave at such an important juncture of the mission. It didn't stop him from thinking about her all day, though. He pictured her walking up to the grave and laying down her blanket, sitting down and crying.

He didn't want to remember Molly Hooper like that, but on this day he couldn't picture her any other way. He considered sending her a gift, but that was dangerous and besides, she said she didn't want to celebrate her birthday.

He wondered what she would tell her father today. Was she well? Had she seen her mother again? Does she still miss me? That was the question he most wanted answered and he hated himself for it. He had no right to wish for Molly Hooper's tears. Though in some dark corner of his mind, he dearly hoped she still missed him, still needed him to come back.

He closed his eyes and could, with perfect clarity, pictured her sitting on the cold ground crying at the foot of her father's grave, telling him about the irascible detective that had broken her heart one Christmas, then asked for the unthinkable a few months later.

Oh how I miss her - irony is such a cold, heartless bastard.

He could sense that the end was near. He could go home soon. Home to Baker Street and John and Mrs. Hudson's tea and Lestrade's cases. Home to Molly. But after all he had asked of her, all he had done to her in the past, would she still want to be his... he didn't think she considered them friends, so... what then? He decided he'd figure that out as soon as the mission was over. He'd do something special for Molly, show her how important she was to him. Maybe he could take her out for chips, since she obviously liked them. Yes, he knew of a good chip shop, he'd make a day of it. He smiled for the first time in - well he smiled - thinking about a whole day with Molly Hooper. He replaced his memories of the cemetery with plans for the future, and sighed contentedly.

~February 22, 2014~

This year would be different. She had... oh damn, he couldn't remember his name, but she wouldn't be alone and that was all that mattered. He really had no idea why he had come today, she'd have her boyfriend- fiancé? Didn't matter, the fact remained; he shouldn't be here, shouldn't have ever been here. But here he was, hiding behind his tree waiting for Molly, knowing her shift had ended a half hour prior and estimating the length of time it would take if she took the Tube.

Suddenly he saw her – she was alone... why? She spread out the blanket and sat down, just like she always did. He watched as she took out a tissue, a preemptive strike this year.

"So Tom wanted to come with me today." She paused.

Tom, yes... have to remember that, he thought.

"I should have just lied to him, but I'm so tired of lies. We got into a bit of a row about it." She sighed. "Seriously, Dad, he can be so clingy. Remember how I said I hated being alone on my birthday? Well, I think I prefer it to this." She seemed to think for a moment. "That's not fair, he doesn't understand... everything. I- I haven't told him, well you know. I don't even know why, it certainly would have been simpler than having a fight." She huffed. "What kind of girlfriend doesn't want to spend her birthday with her boy... oh yeah, fiancé. I keep forgetting." She looked down at her left hand and got quiet for a long moment.

Sherlock knew very little about romantic relationships but even he knew it didn't bode well when one of the parties forgot that they were engaged. He couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips.

"Daddy, I don't think I love him- I mean I do love him, but I'm not in love with him." Pause. "I'm an awful person. Horribly ungrateful, hateful even. Because I still want what I can't have. Tom is perfectly fine. URGH! Fine..." She tore at the tissue. "I know you loved Mum, but she never made you happy. How could she when she was never happy herself? I won't be happy with Tom, Daddy, he'll try and I'll try, but it will all be fake and false and that's not fair... not to anyone."

Sherlock knew she was crying, but she sounded so much stronger than in previous years. Something had changed. She was different.

"I have to end it. I know I can't have what I want, but I won't settle for second best just... just because he won't have me." She cried a little harder at the admission.

Sherlock's earlier elation at Molly's decision suddenly felt hollow. He was once again the cause of her pain and could do nothing to change it.

"I'll wait though, I have to go to this wedding and I'll be damned if I'm doing it alone, it's only a couple of months. Selfish I know, but just this once, I..." She sniffled. "He'll be there you see, the best man. He'll be beautiful and brilliant, I can't face that alone. Hey, maybe Tom will surprise us all, do something shockingly clever and impress the hell out of the arrogant bastard." She laughed.

"It's no great loss, Daddy. I wasn't looking forward to getting married anyway. Not without you there to give me away." She stood, folded her blanket and picked up her bag. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to his headstone. "This is for the best, I'd rather be alone than marry the wrong man. Love you Daddy." She turned and walked away.

Sherlock walked out of the trees and stood in front of the marker with his hands in his pockets. He stayed a bit longer this time. He considered talking to Molly's father, but he didn't quite know what to say. Finally he walked up and touched the stone, then walked away.

~February 22, 2015~

It was just before noon when he knocked on Molly's office door. She said come in and there he was. This was it, he had been planning this for a while.

Molly looked up from her desk and her eyes locked on the item in Sherlock's hands. "What – why do you have a blanket? What's going on?"

Sherlock held out his hand. "Will you come with me Molly, please?"

Her eyes were filling with tears. "I- I still have five more hours..."

"I've cleared it with Stamford," he said with a smile.

She still didn't move. "Where are we going Sherlock?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Come along." Still holding out his hand.

"Why do you have a blanket?"

"Because yours won't be big enough. But do bring it though, it's very cold today."

Molly slowly rose from her seat. She put on her coat, picked up her bag and blanket, then finally took Sherlock's hand. They didn't speak as they walked down the hall and exited the building. Sherlock only released her hand to hail a cab and open the door. Once inside he clasped her hand in his and didn't let go. The ride to the cemetery was silent, neither spoke. Sherlock was concerned that Molly wasn't breathing at one point, but he looked at her and checked her pulse, finding it just a bit elevated.

Once they arrived he paid the fare and helped her out, then carried their blankets to her father's grave, all the while keeping a hold of her tiny hand.

He spread out the larger blanket and took her bag, placing it on the ground. "You ready?" he asked.

"H-how? How d-did you know?" she asked.

"Because I'm Sherlock Holmes, it's my business to know things like my friend's birthdays." He sat down and tugged at her hand. She sat down next to him.

They sat staring at George Hooper's headstone for several minutes before either spoke. It was Sherlock who finally broke the silence. "Molly, your father died on your birthday. You didn't have to bear this on your own. Why do you come here alone?"

Molly didn't look at him, she kept her focus on the headstone. "Doesn't really matter." She shivered.

Sherlock picked up the other blanket and put it around her shoulders. "It does," he said.

She shook her head. "How did you know?" she asked.

"It's a long, boring story and frankly unimportant. Today is about you. Why don't you think it matters?"

"I've only ever mattered to him, and he went and died on my birthday. I-ironic isn't it?" She laughed coldly.

Sherlock lunged for her gripping her arms "Damn it Molly Hooper. I told you that you count and that you matter the most. You matter to me!" He looked at the startled expression on her face and softened his voice deliberately. "You don't know what that means... I-I realise that, but it means... it means I don't want you to spend your birthday alone, anymore."

Molly shook her head again. "Pity," she said as she wrenched her arms out of his grip. "This is why I don't want anyone to know. I don't want your pity Sherlock." She turned back to the grave. "I'd rather be alone."

Sherlock huffed and pulled at his hair. "What if it wasn't pity? What if I simply... care?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "Don't, it's really not your area."

"I can't pretend that I didn't deserve that," he mumbled.

She sighed. "Look," she said turning back to him. "This was... kind. I do appreciate it. But, there is a reason I don't celebrate my birthday, it's the looks. 'Oh, poor Molly... lost her father on her birthday, it'll never be the same.' And you know what? It's not! I don't want it to be. He's gone and..." she said with a sob. "Shit! Now I'm crying in front of you... happy?"

"No. But I've been watching you do this for the last five years, it's not new."

Molly looked up with comically wide eyes. "What?"

He watched as the realisation washed over her, all the things she had said to her father, about him.

"Dear Lord," she whispered, staring off in the distance.

He had to gain control and fast, before Molly had a panic attack or ran away or keeled over (frankly the possibilities were endless.) "I followed you, for the first time February 22, 2011. You were upset, I assumed it was about the Christmas party, but when I realised it was something else, I-I was curious. Sorry. It was an intrusion, it was completely inappropriate. I shouldn't have done it." He looked down at his lap. "But I did." He looked back at her, he had to face what he had done. "Then I came back, every year, except one, 2013. I was stuck in the middle of the mission, couldn't get away. Horrible year. But I thought about you, wondered how you were, what you were saying. If you had spoken to your mum." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, I know I it was wrong of me. This is personal and private, but you were so alone and sad... it made me feel- well it made me feel. Molly, I don't feel, or at least I didn't. I do now, of course," he finished quietly.

"Oh."

"Yes. Are you angry?"

She appeared to be considering it. She looked away from him to the gravestone. "I'm embarrassed of course, and a bit confused. If you cared so much, why didn't you come to me, say something?" She turned back to him.

"Right. I had a different excuse every year. But it basically boils down to me being a coward."

Molly nodded her head. "Anything else you have to tell me?"

So very much! "Well ah, I'm sorry about this last year."

She rolled her eyes. "You've already apologized for all of that Sherlock."

"Of course, but... I just, I am sorry."

"I know," she said quietly.

They sat in silence for several minutes.

"Did you want to talk to him?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think I can with you here."

"I've been here for years."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, well I wasn't aware of it, now was I?"

"Right."

More silence.

"He would have liked you, you know," she said after several minutes.

"I highly doubt that."

"No, he would have. He was clever and so funny. He always teased me about my birthday. When I turned eighteen he told me that would be my last birthday party, that I was an adult now and adults didn't have parties. Of course he was kidding, but I always made such a big fuss out of my birthday, he couldn't help but tease me about it. Every year after that he said we wouldn't be celebrating my birthday anymore, every year he said would be my last one. When he died I couldn't help but think that he really got the last laugh. Finally managed to ruin my day." She was staring ahead, tears falling down her face.

Sherlock's hands itched to hold her, but he wasn't sure if she was ready to forgive him for his stalking just yet. He was in the middle of reviewing social protocols when he felt Molly's hand take his. He looked over at her, she was still looking ahead. He pulled his hand free of hers and watched as her face fell for just a moment before he put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a tight embrace. As soon as her face landed on his chest she wrapped her arms around his middle and sobbed loudly. It was a bit uncomfortable, so he picked her up and placed her on his lap, and held her until she stopped crying. When she pulled her face away from his chest he handed her his handkerchief.

"Thank you." She cleaned herself up. "My dad always carried one of these."

He smiled.

"Um, I should..." She made to get off of his lap.

"No. I mean, you don't have to. Unless you're ready to leave. In which case I have something for you."

She leaned back. "What?"

"Um, I thought- well hoped really, that we might get some take-away and go back to yours and watch this." He pulled a DVD of Aliens out of his coat pocket. "I've not seen it and you watched Alien a few years ago, I thought perhaps..."

Molly cut him off with a swift kiss square on his lips. "Oh my... I'm so... I didn't mean... it was just..."

Before she could continue he grabbed her face and closed his lips around hers. They kissed slowly and deeply. He poured as much meaning as he could into the kiss, trying to say with his actions what he hadn't managed with his words. When they parted Molly looked a bit dazed.

"Oh," she whispered.

He smiled and nodded. Molly stood up and folded her blanket and picked up her bag. Sherlock picked up his blanket and folded it. Molly kissed her fingertips and touched the gravestone then took Sherlock's hand. The walked out of the cemetery hand in hand.

~February 23, 20015~

Sherlock left Baker Street very early the next morning. He found himself standing in front of George Hooper's grave. He also found himself quite nervous.

"Mr. Hooper, I've ah, been meaning to talk to you for some time now. However, as brilliant as I am, this is not my area of expertise." He paused selecting his words. "I'm not a good man, Mr. Hooper, not even close. But, I love your daughter. She's quite extraordinary, she's so easy to love, but of course you already know that. I've never believed in luck or blessings or any of that foolish nonsense, but I do believe in Molly. And I believe that she's waited long enough for me to locate my heart. Now that I have, I'd like to give it to her. I'm not nearly good enough to keep hers, she's far too precious. But I will endeavor to be better, for her. I will keep her safe and do everything in my power to make her happy, I promise you that. If she will have me, I will always put her first.

"I wish I could have known you, Mr. Hooper, I really do. Even though I'm sure you would've told her to stay away from me, any good father would. And I'm certain that you were a wonderful father, look at what you did - you raised the most amazing person I've ever known. She's radiant.

"I'm going to tell her today - tell her that I love her. I just hope she believes me. By all rights, she should... well, as I said, I don't deserve her. If she does, I- I have a ring. I would have liked to have asked for your blessing, but..." He paused and looked around, suddenly feeling unsure. "I wish we could have met Mr. Hooper, because, and this – this is huge for me, because I don't say things like this – I'm nervous. I'm afraid."

He took a deep breath and walked to the gravestone then placed his hand on top of it. He leaned down and mumbled, "Wish me luck." Then he turned around and left the cemetery.

This was for my dad.

Please let me know what you think. And come visit me on tumblr, same name. ~Lil~