(Goodbye, my dearest Sherlock Holmes.)

The commotion had ended. The crowd had left. The fake body had been brought back into the morgue by the willing doctors who participated in this whole elaborate scheme. John had left the scene, in shock of course. Who wouldn't be in shock? John just saw his best colleague... his best and only friend die. Or did he? Up on another rooftop there Sherlock stood and watched with his cellphone still clasped in his hand. The consulting detective gazed down at the street with a tear rolling down his slender cheek. Sherlock didn't really want to feel emotion right now, it would be a huge distraction if he let his feelings get in the way of his plan. With haste, Holmes turned on his heels; wiped the last tear off, of his cheek; shoved the phone back into his pocket; entered St. Mark's hospital; and rushed to his decoy. The consulting detective thanked the doctors for their help and placed the body on a stretcher. As he wheeled the body through the quiet and dark halls of the hospital he didn't know what it was but Sherlock just felt like seeing a familiar face right about now. " Not John... Not him..." thought Sherlock as he tried to control himself. There was only one person he could go to at a time like this and that was no other than the cheery and lovely, Molly Hooper.

Through the laboratory's double doors Sherlock wheeled the body through. The lab was dark and nothing except the few shades of green and yellow from the emergency lights illuminated the lab. " Molly! Molly! Where are you? I can't see a thing." A thud was heard and uneasy movement was seen. " Molly? Is that you?" asked Sherlock as he squinted his eyes to get a better look at the shadow.

" Oh, Sh-Sherlock. Sorry. Hi, I didn't see you there." the scientist replied anxiously.

Sherlock tried to get a good glimpse of Molly through the darkness. Honestly, he didn't know why, but he just wanted to see her beautiful emerald eyes and her warm smile. The darkness acted as a barrier to his need.

Molly swept a tuft of her long and ginger hair behind her ears as she asked,"Did you need something?" in a very odd and shaky voice.

" No." Holmes replied bluntly as he placed his thin, long, cold hands behind his back and raised a wondering brow. " Molly? Did I disturb you?"

" N-No. Why would you say that?"

" Something just seems odd about you. I can tell you're not in your usual state. For example, your voice is shakier than usual, not to mention I can see your body shivering."

" I just feel a cold draft."

" But the A.C. is off."

" I caught a cold." replied Molly in a flash.

Sherlock's eyes shifted from left to right. He turned his head a bit and noticed the hall lights to still be on. He probably didn't notice it as he wheeled the body in because he was too overcome with a feeling he has never felt before. " The lights are off. Molly, why are the lights off?"

" Blackout."

" But the hall lights are on."

" Probably j-just the faulty electricity." squeaked the girl as her body moved from side to side. Sherlock couldn't help but notice her odd movement. He opened his mouth to make another observation but Molly shushed him as she put her long finger up in the darkness. " Sherlock... I have to ask you something."

" If it's about our plan, no, nobody noticed the body was just a murdered prisoner disguised in one of my coats and scarves."

" No it's no-"

" John didn't see me either. Thank god he doesn't make good observations like me."

Molly shushed Holmes once more and squealed," Sh-Sherlock please listen to me!" Sherlock hasn't heard this tone of Molly's before. It didn't sound enraged or depressed. It was another tone. A tone that every murder victim used before they die. Sherlock just couldn't put his finger on it at the moment. " Do I count, Sherlock?" asked the girl.

There was a short pause in the atmosphere.

" Molly, wh- what are you talking about? Of course you count. I think we've established this before."

" No... tell me now. D- Do I count? I know your tricks Sherlock. I think I've known you long enough to know if your just pleasing somebody so that person can give in to what you ask."

The detective cocked his head to the side and eyed the still shadow in the darkness. " Mo-"

Suddenly, Molly's body began to look unstable. She trudged from side to side as she cooped up and grasped the nearest table with her right hand. " Sh-Sher..."

Sherlock knew something was wrong. He dashed to the light switch as he heard Molly demanding him not to. Holmes didn't listen. With a flick of the switch the lights slowly turned back on one by one. On and on each one went in a row until finally the luminescent light shined on Molly Hooper who was bending over a table with her hand placed to her side. Sherlock looked at her for a moment, observed, and realized what was going on. Instantly the consulting detective scurried back to the girl. Molly suddenly lost her balance and fell into Sherlock's arms. " Molly... Molly what happened?" asked Sherlock as he bent down and grasped the girl tightly in his scared, cold, hands.

Molly let out a raspy sigh as she stared up at Sherlock's bright and clever eyes. They always had a spark of brilliance in them but now they had the show of worry and panic, something Holmes tried not to show. " H- He got me." shivered the girl as she removed her left hand from her side to reveal a big, bloody, wound. Blood started to drip to the cold and unforgiving marble floor. It started to reach Sherlock's pants but he didn't mind.

" When?"

" When you were on the rooftop having a... having a conversation with him." she grunted.

" He said he only had three snipers." thought the detective. Sherlock realized that Moriarty did say he was 'so changeable'. " Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

" I didn't want you to worry."

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He was frozen with panic and fear. His hands began to shake but he continued to grasp his dear friend close. Suddenly, tears ran down his cheeks.

" You're crying... ",she muttered in a very faint tone. " You know you remind me of my dad. He's dead now."

" Molly, don't talk."

" Before he died he would do this thing and look sad when he thought nobody could see him."

" Molly."

" You look sad when you think nobody could see you."

Holmes paused for a bit and looked down at the girl as be brushed off some of her long and orange hair from her thin face. " You could see me."

" I don't count." she forced a smile.

Sherlock parted his lips. He wanted to say something but no words came out of his mouth.

Molly smiled up at Sherlock as more tears began to well up inside her lovely and sweet, green eyes." I know I screwed up a lot in the past... I also know that you think of me as a nuisance." The pain began to swell but she continued to keep a weak smile on her face.

" Molly." said as Sherlock closed his eyes and wished that this was all a dream. He wished that this was all a magic trick. " P-please don't talk anymore."

" Even though I never counted I would just like to say that, y-you always counted. You always counted... and you always will." she whispered in a hushed and shaky tone.

" Molly..."

" This... this is my note. Goodbye, my dearest Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to face reality. There her emerald and beautiful eyes stared back into his. Her tearstained, rosy cheeks weren't rosy anymore. They grew paler and paler each and every passing moment. Even at the face of death she kept her small and lovely grin stained on her lips. Sherlock looked into Molly's eyes for one last time. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to say something but it was as if his mouth had dried up. Sherlock let one more tear roll down his long and thin cheeks as he gently placed his hand on Molly's forehead, and slowly slid it down to close her eyes.

(You Always Counted)

Sherlock's funeral had ended. From behind some bushes Sherlock watched his friend walk away from the lonely gravestone. He couldn't believe that John actually cried for him. Even after he told him of how much of a machine he is. " Sorry, John." Sherlock whispered from behind the shrubbery. He knew, though, in time he would reveal himself. Till then, Sherlock would hide in the shadows like a fugitive...

The detective turned around and noticed a group of white flowers growing on the ground. He stooped down to pick a bunch of them up and walked back to a nearby tree. Under the towering tree there lay a single gravestone. On the slab the words ' Molly Hooper ' were engraved onto it, as plain as day. Sherlock stopped, laid the flowers down right in front of the slab, and stared at the stone like he was in some sort of trance. Silence filled the air, the heavy, heavy air. " Hello, Molly." said Sherlock, a bit awkwardly. " I- I hope the flowers are to your liking. See they're your favorite kind, Tulips. If you're wondering how I knew it was because I saw a vase in your office that had a bunch of them. You always bought new ones every time the old ones dried out. So, I assumed you liked them." Holmes wasn't good at showing affection or emotion, but it's just that he had so much emotion bottled up inside of him. Too much emotion in fact. He just had to let it out, he just had to, for Molly. "I...er... I remember what you told me before you died, I mean... about how you don't count." Sherlock paused for one moment and held back the tears that were beginning to well up in his bright eyes. He cleared his throat and began again. "You, uh, you were wrong... Molly." Another deep breath was taken. " You always counted. You always counted and I always trusted you." One tear trickled down Sherlock's face and fell off, of his chin. " I- I wish you could have seen how amazing you were, to me. You were always there for me...always... and I- I never was there for you. I just wanted to say that, now that you're gone... It- it's like my heart was ripped out of my body and crushed onto the floor." Sherlock looked up wishing he could see Molly's smiling and cheery face, but he couldn't. He never could, not now not ever again. " I know I'm not the most endearing person in the world and that I can come out like a heartless machine. I also know that I don't convey feelings well, like John, but... I just want to say that without you... Without you my life is empty." Small drops of rain began to beat down on the detective's head. Sherlock fixed his scarf; pulled his collar up; and looked at Molly's gravestone for one last time. He was just about to leave until he found a marker in his pocket. Sherlock rushed forward to Molly's grave and under her name he wrote in small letters, 'Always Counted. Always Will.' With that Sherlock gave a nod as he whispered the words, " Goodbye, my dearest Molly Hooper."

The End

You Always Counted