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John watched as a final scream of pain ripped through Sherlock’s body. He staggered backward, his back soon colliding with concrete and causing him to slide down to the floor with a strangled sob. The floor was littered with shreds of the cheap wooden coffin. The practical choice, for someone unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. John had wanted it ripped apart almost as badly as Sherlock. The truth was that none of them wanted that coffin to be a reality.
None of the three men wanted to think of the fact that Molly Hooper was now headed for one just like it.
Sherlock had yelled, pleaded, offered himself and anything else that Eurus could possibly find useful. But his words didn’t stop the clock from running down. Molly had puttered around the kitchen, glancing at the repeated calls, but choosing to ignore them, instead finishing her tea preparation and then pouring some food in Toby’s bowl. And eventually, after the fourth attempt, the clock inevitably ran all the way to zero. Considering the things they’d seen in the previous sessions of torment, John supposed it wasn’t shocking that Eurus didn’t hesitate for a moment to carry out her previously spoken threat. And after a popping flash of light that made them all jump...the screen displaying Molly’s pristine little flat went completely black.
A few moments after, Sherlock turned from the screen with eyes aflame and teeth clenched tight to scream his protest at the top of his lungs as he rushed over to grab the lid to the coffin and slam it down over the final resting place for Molly Hooper.
Molly Hooper- the woman who loved Sherlock Holmes.
As the dust had finally begun to settle, John slowly approached his friend, picking up the handgun on his way. He sniffed away his own emotion as he looked down at Sherlock, whose hands were still shaking.
“I’m so-” He stopped. God, it sounded so hollow. Those stupid words always sounded forced when it came to death, no matter how genuinely they were spoken. He hated the fact that here he was now, saying the very same thing to another man in pain.
Because what else was there to say?
“Sherlock, I’m so sorry,” John finally managed to whisper.
The great detective, reduced to a shell of a man on the floor, seemed in a sort of trance still. He spoke softly to himself rather than forming a direct answer to John.
“So many words unsaid…”
John hung his head for a second and sighed, trying to breath through the lump in his own throat. “I know, Sherlock. Believe me...I know. She should have had a lifetime left. And she should have had the chance to say whatever she-”
“Yes,” Sherlock cut in. “But I...I meant me, John. Because, you see, I already knew. I knew how Molly felt. But Molly- good, kind, understanding Molly Hooper...now she’ll never know.”
John stared down at him, knowing what he meant but being terrified to hear it come from his lips. Because it was truly heart wrenching.
Sherlock tilted his head up then, eyes still red and shining as he spoke in a broken voice. “I loved her.”
John had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, wondering how it was possible for all this to be happening. He glanced over at the doorway for a moment, seeing the way even Mycroft hung his head in his hands.
“This isn’t fair, none of it is,” John said, trying to speak in a strong and steady tone. “Least of all what just happened to Molly. But, Sherlock...we still need to get out of here. We need to keep going. Do it for-”
His voice broke again and he had to pause.
“Sherlock, do it for Molly. Finish this for her. And for Mary, because God knows she wanted Rosie looked after. And we just can’t let her lose anyone else. We can’t.”
Something steadied in Sherlock’s gaze at the mention of his God daughter, and that was just what John was hoping for. He needed something to fight for. Something outside of the walls they were confined in.
Sherlock looked up, his voice a bit calmer. “Soldiers?”
“Soldiers,” John agreed, and he helped his friend to stand.
Sherlock’s legs began to feel like jelly as he reached the door to Bart’s museum of pathology. His hands fumbled with the keys that he fished from his pocket, noticing the way they all looked awfully similar in the palm of his hand. It took him a while to pick out the one that Molly had given him a couple years back.
He knew very well that he wasn’t himself at the moment. He was a scientist. None of is needed to be explained to him. He’d been drugged, and then proceeded to function after waking purely on fear and adrenaline. There was no time to process anything really. All he could think about was keeping John and Mycroft safe, and getting his sister back to a place where she could get the needed help. Those were the only things that mattered. But now, suddenly the dust had settled. He’d made sure John and his brother were safe and in good hands, his sister was being taken away, and then he’d avoided any further communication with anyone else, wanting only one thing. To be alone.
And his mind instantly could only think of one place he wanted to be.
His fingers eventually managed the key in the door and he let himself into the darkened building, closing and locking up behind him, just as Molly had always reminded him.
He walked into the large empty center of the room, glancing around him and feeling the room spin ever so slightly as he did. The moonlight spilled through the skylights on the ceiling, giving the whole place a silvery glow.
Sherlock trudged unsteadily over to the metal spiral staircase, climbing up to the third level, gripping the railings tightly for support. He reached the top, peering up toward the moonlight again, blinking a little at the unexpected brightness. If anything, he craved the comfort of a bit of darkness.
His eyes shifted over to some of the carefully organized and labeled containers that lined the shelves on the wall. It was a wonderland of samples and the nuggets of knowledge they each offered. He’d spent countless hours in here over the years. Though, they hadn’t all been for the purpose of learning.
Many years ago-a lifetime, really- in a bit of a rough patch and looking for a place to hide out from his brother, Sherlock had broken in here. He’d been pleased at the choice of hideout at first...but then a small and rather angry young woman had made him regret the decision.
He’d met Molly Hooper here...right here actually, he noted, glancing at the brains housed in formaldehyde filled jars. His feet must have automatically taken him to this very spot. He had made a crack that night to her, saying that he should do the hospital a favor and donate his brain for extensive study upon his death. She threatened to help him along in that regard if he didn’t get out.
The friendship had taken at least twenty minutes to truly begin blossoming.
He smiled to himself at the memory of the first moment her gaze softened and lips began to turn up. The second he did though, his own lips turned downward again and he felt the tightness in his chest taking hold again.
She was gone.
Never more to yell at him, smile at him, correct him, commend him, laugh with him, or even gaze affectionately at him. How little some of those things meant at times. How very much he’d taken them for granted. But now, spending his first day without all that was Molly Hooper, he’d absolutely donate his brain and anything else, if it only meant bringing her back.
He kept walking, almost blindly at first around the corner, till he glanced at the display again and noticed all the hearts...so many hearts.
Unconsciously, he clutched at his own, feeling it pounding beneath his clothes. There was a time when he thought that of all the organs in his body, this one was the least interesting. Upon further inspection though, perhaps this was the organ that deserved to be donated. How very much he’d learned about it recently. Too late, of course, he reminded himself bitterly.
He tried to continue walking the perimeter of the large room, but stumbled a bit, having to clutch the railing of the upper level and help himself gently to the floor. Perhaps this was what he needed tonight. Just a quiet place to rest his mind and body, and perhaps sleep off the rest of whatever concoction his sister had drugged him with.
This was a place of peace to him, and he felt...close to her.
So close.
“Sherlock?”
He frowned, opening his eyes, though unsure just how long they’d actually been closed. Then he heard it again.
“Sherlock?”
But he didn’t only hear it...now he saw her.
Molly walked lightly toward him, approaching cautiously before crouching down to his level. “Hi,” she said softly, with a gentle smile.
“Molly,” Sherlock breathed, eyes wide with wonder. “You’re...here.”
She shrugged. “And so are you. Seemed a good place for me to be right now.”
Suddenly, a lightbulb switched on in his mind. He was taken back to his own flat, not so long before, as he watched John Watson have a conversation with his invisible and very definitely dead wife…
“This must be what I need,” he murmured, feeling a sort of calm wash over him.
Perhaps this was it. This was his chance. Maybe this is naturally what happens when you lose the woman you love without getting to say everything that’s in your heart. Your mind simply takes over and provides a therapeutic coping mechanism. And a bit of closure...a means to say goodbye.
Molly smiled. “I’ll help you however I can, Sherlock, I promise. You’re not hurt, are you?”
He frowned, glancing down at himself for a second. “Fine...just a bit...lost.”
She settled down on the floor next to him, staring into his eyes with concern. “You’ve been through some really awful things today, haven’t you?”
He didn’t feel even an ounce of shame as a tear slipped from his eye and down his cheek. “So have you.”
Molly’s cool fingers came to rest on his wrist to get his pulse as she nodded with an understanding expression. “Don’t you worry about me right now, I’m just fine. I’m here for you, ok?”
He chuckled lightly. “Not that I deserve it. I should have been there for you today! I’m sorry, Molly, so so sorry! But I- I couldn’t! Why? Why didn’t you answer your mobile?!”
“Shh,” Molly soothed, looking concerned. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you needed me to. But it’s in the past now, and it’s all going to be ok.”
Sherlock shook his head adamantly, despite the fact that it made the room spin again. “No, no it’s not. It’s not ok. I could have saved you, I know I could have! All I would have had to do was just say it! Why couldn’t I ever just say it? And now…”
He reached up hesitantly, wondering at first what it would feel like, touching his palm to her cheek.
“Now it’s all gone. I’ve lost everything,” he said, staring deep into her moonlit eyes. “I’ve lost my home.”
She always was like home to him. Strange that such a profound truth had only now just become clear.
“I know you have,” Molly agreed sadly, a little moisture clouding her eyes as well. “I hate it too. But you haven’t lost everything, Sherlock. I’ll always be here for you.”
He blinked away tears and enjoyed the feel of her cheek beneath his thumb, surprised at the power of his brain to conjure such a softness. “Not like you should be, Molly. Now it’ll never be like it should have been. I never got to say-” The words caught in his throat and he wished so much that this wasn’t the way he had to do it.
“Sherlock,” she coaxed, touching his hand on her face. “You know you can say anything to me. I’m here now, so say whatever you need to.”
“Yes,” he agreed desperately. “Yes, you are. You’re here now. Now is the time to be honest, I suppose...about how I feel.”
Her expression quickly became one of wonder.
“I so...very...desperately love you, Molly Hooper,” he said between gasps of breath. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room at the moment, which was odd, considering the square footage.
Molly’s eyes were wide and her jaw hung open for a moment. But then she reached out and grabbed him by his coat, pulling him in against her, holding him tight.
Sherlock clung to her, thanking God that he had actually hugged her a couple of times in the course of their friendship, enabling his mind to recreate the realistic memory, complete with the smell of her hair and the feeling of her breath against his neck.
Molly pulled back again, giving him a watery smile. “Sherlock...you know I love you too.”
He nodded. “Wonderful to hear it though. Even in the circumstances.” He clutched his pounding head as she felt his forehead and then checked his pulse again.
“Sherlock, I really think you need some help,” she said a bit more firmly.
“You’re all I need, Molly,” he said with a groan. He looked up at her again and it seemed she was even more fully cloaked in the shimmering moonlight. She truly seemed a bit unearthly, and he wondered if this was his mind’s way of reminding him that she wasn’t physically there.
“Molly,” he whispered, almost in awe. “You are so very beautiful. Did I ever tell you that?”
“That’s so lovely you think so, but why don’t you tell me about that another time?” her voice soothed. “First we need to take care of you, ok?”
“You always have, haven’t you?” Sherlock said with a contented sigh, leaning over against her. Or possibly the railing. He wasn’t sure. “I will miss this.”
“Sherlock?” Molly’s voice questioned.
“Mm…” he hummed in answer, eyes closed again.
“Sherlock? Can you hear me?” Her voice sounded a bit different now. “Sherlock?”
He began to feel a bit agitated, hearing more than one voice now. And none of them sounded like Molly anymore. But he was also tired, so tired.
Sherlock gave in to the fatigue, stress, and medication still present in his system, and finally fully dozed off. He knew very well that may have been the last time he’d “see” Molly Hooper, but he tried to find peace with that. That was how it worked, he supposed. He’d finally said what had long been unspoken.
And now, as much as he hated to, he could say goodbye.
Sherlock startled awake, his mouth feeling rather dry. He glanced around the room with squinting vision, too much sunlight streaming in for his liking. After realizing he was in a hospital room, he noted the pitcher of water and cup beside his bed and helped himself. As he drank, he also noted that he wasn’t alone.
John was slumped over, sleeping in the hospital chair. He stretched a moment later though, likely disturbed by the sound of Sherlock waking.
“Sherlock, hey, you feeling better?” he asked, blinking away the grogginess and clearing his throat.
“I am, yes,” Sherlock answered honestly. “You?”
“Yeah, better,” John agreed, rubbing his neck. “They checked me out as well yesterday. In fact I was still here when I got the call that you were being brought in.”
Sherlock frowned. He reached over and grabbed his mobile, checking the call history. Just as he thought...a call for an ambulance at about two fifteen. He’d somehow called 999 for himself. He set his mobile down, now wearing a thoughtful expression.
“John?”
“Hm?”
“Was it...very real...with Mary?”
John stiffened, not angrily, but just in hesitance at the shift to such a tender topic.
“I mean after she was gone,” Sherlock clarified. “When she was...still there.”
John pursed his lips and cleared his throat again. “Well, I um- it was- you know, just a very hard time and, well, still is really, so…” He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Yeah it was actually. It did feel pretty real.”
Sherlock nodded. “I thought so,” he replied softly. “I never knew how wonderful it could be.”
John frowned at him. “I’m sorry, did you...did you see Mary?”
“No no, that wouldn’t make quite as much sense. But I had a very similar experience to yours. You see, John…” Sherlock paused, emotional to even speak the words aloud. “I saw Molly.”
John’s gaze shifted in confusion. “Well, right, yeah I imagine you did. She was with you the whole time.”
Sherlock smiled at his friend, releasing a shaky breath. “Yes, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Always the romantic! And having experienced something so similar. I have to admit it was rather cathartic.”
“That’s good,” John said with a short laugh. “I’m sure she’ll be back any minute and you can tell her yourself.”
Sherlock shook his head. “No, John. I imagine not. I said what I needed to say. I was finally honest. I doubt I’ll be seeing her anymore.”
Now John looked deeply puzzled. “So you were honest...and you think that means she won’t want to see you anymore? My God, what did you say?”
Now Sherlock was becoming confused. “John, you of all people should understand how this works. We can’t just keep them around in our minds forever simply because we loved them! Ultimately they are gone.”
“Sherlock, why the sudden drama?” he asked, his voice rising. “Molly’s only gone to her flat for a change of clothes and a coffee! She should be back in another ten minutes!”
Sherlock stared back at him wide eyed. “H-her flat? What do you mean? Her flat blew up!”
“What?! Why are you so confused? You saw her last night with your own two-” John’s expression shifted in understanding. “Oh...my God. You thought she wasn’t real. That’s why you were just- ok well that makes more sense now.”
Sherlock had jumped to a full sitting position in the bed now, his eyes on fire. “A-are you telling me, John, that Molly is...she’s not-”
“Molly is perfectly fine and alive,” John stated firmly. “Her flat is fine as well. There were never any explosives. Eurus was bluffing. Her intent wasn’t to harm Molly. Her game was, as all of this was really, psychological and emotional. Emotions were the weapon and you, Sherlock, were the target. Molly never was.”
Sherlock was frozen in shock and awe, realizing how very wrong he had been. And oh how glorious it was to be wrong now!
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I needed to tell you,” John went on. “When I heard Molly had you brought to the hospital, I assumed you knew everything.”
“The call...for the ambulance,” Sherlock questioned, still working through the hazy details. “It was made from my mobile.”
“Yeah, she mentioned to me that hers was dead, so she used yours. She was probably a little out of sorts as well. I mean, it was past two in the morning and she only came to the museum because-”
“Security called her,” Sherlock finished, beginning to make logical sense of the events. “Of course they did. They saw me go in and thought to check with her. She’s got the clearance and they know she’s my friend.” He lowered his head into his hands, laughing softly at himself in hindsight.
John placed a hand on his shoulder, making him look up again.
“I’m glad yours was real, Sherlock,” he said softly.
Sherlock felt a fresh stab of guilt. “John, I- I’m-”
“No no, it’s ok,” John cut in with a small smile of reassurance. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just relieved that none of us, especially you, had to go through losing another rather remarkable woman.”
He returned John’s smile.
“But on that note,” John said, stepping away and grabbing his coat. “I think I’d better leave before Molly gets here. I imagine you’ll need to pick up where you left off and I want to go home and hold my daughter.”
Sherlock promised to pop by to see Rosie once he was cleared and out of the hospital, and then John made his exit, leaving Sherlock to think seriously about what he needed to say once Molly walked through that door.
He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and resting his joined fingers against his lips. It was a bit difficult to plan what he was going to say, if he were honest. Every which way he tried, he kept getting held up at one little point and being unable to focus on anything else.
She was alive.
All he wanted to do now was jump up and down and sing out his relief. And then hold her. Yes, hold her and hold her till the muscles in his arms turned to mush. Nothing sounded better than that.
He had become so lost in thought that he didn’t notice when she finally did enter the room. It wasn’t till he felt her lay a hand lightly on his shoulder that his eyes popped open. At the sight of her sitting on the edge of his bed, her serene face staring back at him, he couldn’t help the way he launched forward and instantly wrapped her up in an embrace. He felt her gasp a bit at the sudden force of it, but then her arms locked around him with equal intensity, her cool fingers even slipping inside the opening of his hospital gown to rest on the skin of his back.
With greater clarity than he possessed the previous night, he knew very well that even his mind couldn’t duplicate a feeling like this.
Sherlock pulled back, not really wanting to let go but also needing to see her face. He looked at her, every detail, while caressing her face and brushing away the hair that he’d messed a bit.
“You’re real,” he whispered.
Molly nodded. “You didn’t think I was last night, did you?”
He let out a slow sigh. “You’ve heard all about it then?”
“Most of it, yes. You see, after I got the call from the museum security and eventually got you settled in the hospital, I also got a call from your brother’s PA Anthea. She told me they were sending over some special team to my flat to sweep for explosives.” She let out a short laugh. “Naturally, I had a few questions after that, so she filled me in.”
Sherlock’s expression turned a bit sheepish. “I...wasn’t exactly myself last night.”
Molly’s face fell a touch. “Oh...right, well...naturally you wouldn’t have been. It’s fine, I know you weren’t in your right mind and-”
“I wasn’t saying I didn’t mean mean it,” he hurried to clarify, grasping her hand. “I simply meant that I’m sorry that’s was how it came out. But I thought it was my only chance to tell you- well, sort of you.”
“Sherlock,” she laughed. “I can’t really imagine a scenario where I’d be disappointed at you telling me you love me. What does it matter where we were or how you said it? Those are just little details. What matters is that you said it...and you meant it.”
He smiled, pleased that he hadn’t mucked the whole thing up by confessing his love to what he thought was a mind projection of Molly Hooper. And then he leaned forward, grasping her face again and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before speaking against her skin.
“And I’m sorry it took me this long.”
She shook her head a little against his lips. “S’ok. Don’t be sorry. Just…” She pulled away and smiled at him. “Let’s move on instead. No more being sorry and living with awful regrets and what-ifs. Let’s just be happy, ok?”
Sherlock smiled in agreement. “No regrets, hm?” He moved one of the hands that cupped her face so his thumb could experimentally caress her bottom lip. “That should probably include not...holding back, correct?”
Molly’s eyes brightened a bit. She nodded rapidly, attention drawn to his mouth now as well. “Mmhm. You should just go ahead and do, you know, whatever you’re feeling…”
Sherlock leaned in slowly, enjoying the sight of her eyes fluttering closed as his nose touched hers.
“No more days not lived,” he murmured.
“Hm?”
He didn’t answer though. Instead, his lips finally made contact and melted blissfully into hers. But he did want to tell her about those words of Eurus’, and he planned to tell her many other things about that day as well. He’d like to share it all. And everything beyond that as well. Starting at that moment, Sherlock Holmes had so very many things to say.
And say them, he would.