January 22nd
Molly
3 AM was when she heard the first crash.
Molly had gotten home from a long, painful day at work. There had been a fire at a school and three children, aged 5, 10, and 7 had died, and she was the one performing the autopsies. It was so hard not to cry while she was there, and she broke down the second she got home. She had faced so much death and non-death in the past week, and while she had kept a cool head with Sherlock, he was gone now, and for all she knew, he could be dead too. She chastised herself for thinking so. She knew she had to keep faith in Sherlock. But she still couldn't handle the thought of making dinner, let alone eating it, so she skipped and headed straight to her shower, happy to get the smell of chemicals and death out of her skin and hair. She changed into her white and pink pajamas and plopped herself in front of her television, where she fell asleep while watching the episode of Graham Norton she'd DVRed.
3 AM was when she heard the first crash.
There was the sound of glass shattering, and Molly's eyes flew open. Her window was crashed in and she grabbed her phone from the table next to her and dialled the first number that came to her mind: the number to 221B Baker Street. Molly held the phone tightly as gun shots rang out from the streets. Her other windows crashed in and she backed into her kitchen. She thought all the shooting had stopped, when she crept closer to edge of the window. The floor rumbled. Molly was thrown across her flat and the last thing she remembered was feeling something wet and red drip onto her nose.