She was bleeding. From quite a few places at that. The most notable of which was her stomach, if the large and messy drops of crimson in the London snow were anything to go by. She knew that her nose, her lip, her arms and one of her legs was bleeding as well. She had always thought that if she were going to die, it would be in some glamorous and tragic way given the company she kept(perhaps in a weeping Sherlock's arms...), she certainly never imagined she would perish at the hands of a young mugger. He had approached her in broad daylight, on the empty road that lead to her flat. The skinny pale boy could only have been 17, 18 tops. He had quietly asked for spare change, and although Molly would usually dutifully dig out some coins, she was out. Earlier that day she had bought some truly awful coffee from a cheep vending machine, so she had no choice but to mutter a small "sorry love, I've no change", nod politely and move on.

She could only have made it 5 or 6 feet before he grabbed her pony tail and viciously yanked her backwards. After that it was a blur. Punching and slapping until she couldn't stand, so quick that she couldn't fight back. She was on her knees when he spat on her, and circled her slowly. Next was a large and forceful boot to her spine, right in between her shoulder blades, and Molly registered her nose breaking on the frozen ground. She tried desperately to crawl away, really she did. But his boot came down on her many more times. At some point she had rolled over, and was staring blankly at the beautifully clear sky. The little piece of serenity she found up there was ripped away when she felt it- an intense cold just to the right of her stomach. The cold gave way to a tsunami of pain, a million needles spreading through her torso, so raw and magnified in the crisp air. She registered the boy giving her a last dig in the ribs, and the feeling of her bag being torn from her limp arm. Then there were footsteps and she was alone.

She lay there a while, no longer in pain, but aware she couldn't last in the cold and blissful numbness. It took a lot of screaming from her subconscious self, to get up. There was no way to go about the action without wrenching away the shock and numb, and boy did she feel her injuries.

It took her a few moments to fight her way to her feet, and hot tears ran down her face the whole time. Suddenly her coat felt like it weighed a million tones, and so she shed it, leaving the purple cotton pile on the street and revealing a thin. With no phone, and with no one in sight, the now deathly pale girl said quietly to herself "There's only one thing for it Hooper", and set off in an odd, shuffle walk. If anybody could see her, they would note [with some alarm] that she looked rather a lot like a zombie.

She had made it about half way to the flat, and the feeling of pain was melting away, but fate was in no mood to make it easy on the young pathologist.

An orange blur planted itself under Molly's already unsteady foot, and sent her crashing to the unforgiving ground once more, and at that point Molly knew it was over. She couldn't get up again. The orange blur revealed itself to be Toby- her cat of all things. The miserable ball of fur padded up to her head, sniffed once, then went on it's merry way. Had she not been dying at that precise moment she might have laughed at the cat's indifference, but the sad fact was that she was. She was dying. The brunette waited patiently for her life to flash before her eyes, or to see a light in the distance.

She waited and waited and waited. To be perfectly honest, Molly was getting more pissed by the minute. Dying was supposed to be beautiful and sad and dramatic, it wasn't supposed to take ages and she was sure as hell it wasn't supposed to happen by the neighboring block of flat's bins!

But then the pathologist's train of thought was thrown off again, and something occurred to her. As the pain returned and threatened to engulf her, Molly writhed in her own stupidity. She hadn't called out for help. She hadn't screamed or shouted or cried. At this though, she found the strength to first facepalm (which was impressive) sucked in as large a breath as she could manage, then-

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPP! PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE! ANYBODY PLEEEAAASSEE!"

The effort had caused the already heavy bleeding to worsen, and now she couldn't breath. She could taste the sharp tang of blood in her mouth, and knew the end was nigh. Until a girl's face popped into her vision. A young blonde girl, 15 or 16, wearing a crop top and skinny jeans in the snow, clutching a mobile phone and a purse.

"oh my god... are you okay? What- what do I do, oh my god what do I do? You're bleeding!" her soprano voice rang out.

Molly was fading fast, and she knew this was her last chance.

"Give-m-me the phone..." she got out. it took considerable effort to force her lips into the correct shape to form the words and that worried her.

She felt something hot drip onto her face, and knew the girl was crying. She tried to smile;

"It's okay" she managed, wondering why she was comforting the girl that wasn't dying. She felt the cold metal of an iphone press into her hand, and Molly's hands went on autopilot, phoning the first number she thought of. Anybody in their right mind would have phoned an ambulance, or at least the police, but she she was not in her right mind. She was in fact, in her last moments, and she was damn sure she was going to hear the voice she wanted most.

The phone rang for an age, but eventually a familiar voice spoke; "Yes molly?" Molly couldn't help but let out yet more tears now, knowing that this would be the last conversation she would ever have. "Sh-sh-Sherlock... m' dying Sherlock" She breathed down the line. She knew she sounded stupid, or drunk, but the dying girl simply didn't care. "Molly?" he questioned. Had he heard her right? Dying?

"I got mugged.. and I just- I just um..." She was loosing her train of thought, trying desperately to stay awake now. the young girl beside her hadn't a clue what to do, but held her free hand tightly- it was the only comfort she could offer.

"I loved you Sh-Sherlock... and I just wanted t-to say that... say bu-bye to John alright? Sherlock?" She could hear his frantic footsteps and breathing as he tore through 221B, trying to find John. "Molly, I'm on my way alright? I'll be ther soon, just hold on Molly! Alright, hold on!" He was shouting at her now,having located John. "M' at my flat... juss' take care of the girl Sherlock.. she's s-scared". With that Molly lost all consciousness, and promptly let her hand drop limply out to the side. In the process she smashed the girl's iphone, but she didn't notice. She was too busy howling with tears, shaking Molly as hard as she dared and screaming "What do I do?! Please oh my god What do I do? Somebody help her! Please!"

That was how Sherlock and John found her two minutes later (as Molly only lives 4 minutes away from Bakers Street).

Molly's lips were turning blue, and the girl was shaking violently. John Gently but firmly pulled the girl aside and addressed the pathologist;

"Molly? Molly, can you hear me? I need you to wake up for me love. It's John and Sherlock" He was putting as much pressure on her stomach as he could without hurting her further, but there was so many other wounds, and there was blood everywhere... John feared the worst.

"Sherlock, you need to put pressure on her leg! And talk to her, just talk to her, get her to wake up", the doctor said, trying desperately to save his friend. The consulting detective did as he was told.

"The ambulance is on it's way. Molly? MOLLY HOOPER YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!" Sherlock shouted in a stern voice, almost as if he were speaking to a petulant teenager, and not a dying woman. Surprisingly enough, her eyes moved and fluttered a bit, opening just far enough that she could see. She gave a tiny smile and said through cracked and bleeding lips; "I heard you Sherlock". Both men sighed in relief, and not ten seconds later sirens were heard in the distance. "You hear that Molly? You're going to be fine, the ambulance will be here any minute" John said, hope for Molly growing every second.

Sherlock had his large pale hands clamped onto her thigh, trying to staunch the bleeding, and was muttering to her about the case, trying to keep her awake, until she spoke again, what she feared would be her final words.

"It...was awfully g-good of you two to c-come..."

Then just as John spotted the ambulance careering round the corner about 400 yards away, Molly's eyes slipped shut and her heart stopped beating.


So that was angsty and horrible haha. Please review and let me know if you want to leave it there, and imagine your own ending- does Molly live or die? What does Sherlock do?

All that jazz. Or let me know if you want another chapter! Thanks for reading!

xxx