Sherlock waits for Molly in the morgue. She enters, humming quietly to herself, blissfully unaware of what's to come.

"You're wrong, you know."

Molly jumps at Sherlock's words. "What are you doing here?"

"You do count, Molly. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you're right…I'm not okay."

"Sherlock…tell me what's wrong."

"Molly, I think I'm going to die."

Molly steps closer to Sherlock. "What do you need?"

Sherlock steps closer to Molly. "If I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

Molly closes what's left of the gap between them. "What do you need?"

"You."

Sherlock bends his head down, just so his lips graze Molly's forehead. Molly sighs with contentment. Sherlock kisses her temple…her cheek…her nose, and finally, his lips find her mouth. He breathes into her saying, "You've always mattered."

"Shut up, Sherlock, and just kiss me."

"Oh, that I'll gladly do, Ms. Hooper."

Sherlock presses his body against Molly's and Molly molds her body to fit Sherlock's. They fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces put together for the first table. Sherlock pushes Molly's body onto the mortuary slab and Molly begins to unbutton his shirt. She traces her nimble fingers across Sherlock's pectorals and Sherlock intertwines his fingers in her hair. "How dare you think you never mattered, Molly. Besides John and Mrs. Hudson, you are the only thing that matters and you are the thing I need to protect the most."

2 Hours Later

Sherlock stands on the edge of the St. Bart's Hospital, his trenchcoat flapping about in the wind. He gazes down and sees the doctor exit the cab. He takes a shaky breath, trying to stabilize what's left of the guilt on his conscience. If only Moriarty…Damn you, Moriarty.

Sherlock takes out his phone and dials those crucial numbers. The other end rings and a familiar voice picks up. "Sherlock?"

"Jim's dead. You know what to do."

The line clicks dead and Sherlock takes another shaky breath. He dials the other numbers…John's numbers. John answers on the first ring. "Sherlock?"

"Go. Run away, John. Take Mrs. Hudson with you. Just go."

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Turn around, John. Look up."

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?"

"John. I'm a fake."

"What?"

"John, listen to me. I pretended the entire time. I hired Rich Brooks to play Moriarty. Moriarty isn't real. He never has been. I invented him as a child."

"No, Sherlock. HE WAS GOING TO BLOW ME UP! YOU WOULDN'T DO THAT TO ME, SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock feels tears streaming down his face. "John, it was never real. I pretended to be brilliant."

"No one could ever be that brilliant. You told me, on the first day we met, all about me. You knew everything. You knew about my sister."

"John…I researched you."

"What?"

"I researched you."

"Sherlock, get off that fucking ledge."

"No, John."

Sherlock hangs up on his best friend and the wind whips around him, allowing him to look like he is wearing a cape. The trench coat billows around him and Sherlock types one last message. Goodbye, John. He tosses the phone away leans forward.

3 Months Later

Sherlock looks on towards John and Mrs. Hudson in the cemetery.

"Um…hmm….you told me once you weren't a hero. To be honest, I didn't think you were human sometimes. But to me, you were the best human…the best man and the most human person I have ever known in my entire life. That phone call…by the hospital…it didn't convince me. Nothing will ever convince me that you lied. When I met you, I was alone…so very alone and you reached out into my personal hell and gripped me….you pulled me out from my own personal hell. I love you so much, Sherlock, so do me one more favor…please, please, please don't be dead."

As John turns and walks away from the black headstone marked Sherlock Holmes, both the genius and the soldier shed a tear for what they have lost. Mrs. Hudson opens her arms and John crumbles into them, sobbing loud, ferocious sobs. They climb into the hearse with John going home to his frequently filled liquor cabinet and another prostitute for the night while Mrs. Hudson goes to her annual bingo night. Since Sherlock jumped, nothing has ever been the same on Baker Street again.

Sherlock sighs, wishing he could go to John and Mrs. Hudson. Still hiding behind the tombstone, Sherlock turns and sees her.

"Well, Sherlock, it's been three months. You promised three months and then we could go." The woman stretches out her hand, which Sherlock takes.

"You're quite right, Molly. It is time."

Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper, an extraordinary man and an ordinary woman walk hand in hand to the car waiting to take them away. As Sherlock opens the passenger door for Molly, the gold band on his fourth finger glistens in the sunlight.