Molly hooper, assassin for hire.
Everybody thinks that Sherlock died falling from that roof top. Truth is he survived it, he had gone into hiding after she had helped him fake his own death, Only she knew this. She had been kept in regular contact with him, she may of loved him but she still gave him updates on how John was doing. However, with her being the only one who knew that Sherlock survived the fall, she was also the only person who knows who killed Sherlock at 18:00 on the 9th day of the 4th month. Ironic that number kept on popping up. This is her story.
Getting home from a long day of work she slide off her shoes, took off her clothes and settled into her nighties. She wasn't going to be going any where so she might as well be comfortable. She sat down on her sofa and picked up her favourite book, one she had been reading a lot lately. Game of Thrones. She liked to read, explore new worlds. This was just a normal evening for her, no one would bother her. No one had any reason to.
Sherlock looked at his new laptop, he still kept up with the news and what was happening. He had found a small cottage for himself, out of the way from civilisation, just the way he liked it. Getting up in his quilt he walked over to the kettle then he... tripped. He still wasn't fully healed from the drug. Just as he had tripped he had heard it. The thud. The thud of a bullet hitting a wall. Staying on the floor he quickly looked up to the wall and located the bullet hole. He quickly scrambled to the wall out of view, grabbing his phone on the way. Dialling the one number he could he waited breathing sharply as it rang, he couldn't focus on anything else but the ringing noise. Just repeating in his ear.
The thud came again, this time going straight through his laptop. Then again, but this time he heard flesh being torn apart. He screamed in pain as he felt the blood running down his arm. Then another this time in his leg. He couldn't contain the pain, tears ran down his face as he screamed in agony. Finally the call got through. "Molly, Molly. It's Sherlock. I've been shot, looks like I'm going to die, won't be able to get out of this one. Please just make sure they're all safe, All of them, not just John but my brother, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and above all yourself. Thank you. I cannot say that enough, You really are amazing. Come at me Moran!" He then cancelled the call, Molly couldn't get a word in, she panicked. How could this happen, no one was suppose to know that he lived on, but now he really was dead. She grabbed the closest pillow and cried, what else could she do. She felt so helpless. She no longer cared for the once interest book. She no longer cared for anything. Moran, that was the name of the killer. She was going to find him.
Sherlock's breaths were sharp, short and fast. He couldn't move much, he could only watch as the hooded figure grabbed the chair and sat in front of him.
"Do you know who I am?" The figure asked as he toyed with a knife "Moran." Sherlock said back with conviction. He knew it was Moran.
"Ahh yes, one of the names you know me by." Moran chuckled. Grabbing Sherlock's arm he then started carving an 'A' into the skin. "For all your observation and intelligence you certainly are stupid. You didn't notice something right infront of you." He moved on to carving the letter 'N' "You thought you were so clever, you thought you were better than him." 'D' "You thought you could beat him, well my lover beat you." 'E' "You really didn't notice, not much of a 'High functioning Sociopath' are we?" 'R' "I was even in your house, next to your land lady, next to John." 'S' "Yet you always called me stupid." 'O' "Did you like the way that the both of us took you down, how I used Lestrade" 'N' "Yes it's me, Anderson. You were never good enough. You could never compare to him. A life for a life. Now I'm going to kill John, going to kill Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs Huson and Molly Hooper. Going to carve your name into them and hear them scream." Pulling out his silenced pistol he shot Sherlock in the head. His job was done. Using the quilt to wipe the blood off his knife. He calmly walked out the house, he had some more targets.