Molly walked into her empty apartment.

John had been heartbroken at the funeral. It had taken all of her resolve to shake his hand and go without telling him that Sherlock was alive. She closed the door and put her keys into the bowl.

The apartment was silent. Molly was used to silence, but this silence was altogether eerie. Maybe it was being around all those graves. Bodies were one thing, Molly had no problem with bodies, but graves were spooky.

She listened for the skitter of little kitten feet, but heard nothing. "Toby?" she cried, but there was no reply. No purring, no sound of her lamp shaking as he rubbed up against the side table. Molly searched the kitchen and the bathroom finding nothing. Then she tried the bedroom.

The door creaked as she entered. The light from the window made everything seem grey-blue.
She saw a man's shadow on the wall. "Sherlock!" she called, but the shadow was gone. Lying on top of her blanket, there was a single black rose. Next to it was a white card. She opened it to see a single letter: M.

Molly's cheeks flushed hot, but her blood ran cold. "Jim?...but Jim is dead!" she said.
Then a noise startled her, but it was only Toby. He had been under the bed.