"Yes, very good, Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid."

Sherlock turns and walks over to have a closer look at his brother's words.

I LOVE YOU

Shit.

He sighs and closes his eyes.

"Only it isn't a name."

Mycroft again. It might as well be a name Sherlock thinks as he moves back towards the coffin.

"So, it's for somebody who loves somebody." John stated, exasperated. No.

"It's for somebody who loves Sherlock. This is all about you. Everything here. So who loves you? I'm assuming it's not a long list." Wrong again.

Sherlock holds on to the edge of the coffin and imagines the person it is meant for lying there cold, waxy, lifeless.

"Irene Adler" John pipes up.

Sherlock practically sneers at his friend, "Don't be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone." Now is not the time for stupidity.

"Molly."

Yes. Finally. "Molly Hooper." Sherlock's heart fell into his stomach. Please. Not Molly. I showed my hand with the fall off Bart's roof. I showed the world that I care about her. This is why I need to be alone.

"She's perfectly safe, for the moment. Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes… unless I hear the release code from her lips. I'm calling her on your phone, Sherlock. Make her say it."

"Say what?" John asks.

Four images from the interior of Molly's flat and a countdown clock, currently fixed at 03:00, replace Eurus on the TV screen. Sherlock presses his lips together and closes his eyes, lowering his head, already knowing exactly what he is supposed to do. Please, anything but that.

"Obvious, surely?" Eurus is stunned by John's intellectual shortcomings relative to the geniuses surrounding him.

"No."

"Yes." Sherlock turns to look at the coffin lid, now leaning against the wall with the top facing them. Eurus had already given them the answer.

"Oh, one important restriction: you're not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger. You may not – at any point – suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?"

Crystal clear. The clock started. The game was on.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick.

They watch as Molly ignores her phone. It's like she doesn't hear it wringing.

"What's she doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"She's making tea," Mycroft said, dumbfounded, as if none of them had ever seen the phenomenon of brewing tea before.

"Yes, but why isn't she answering her phone?" Sherlock tried to control the panic and anger rising in his voice.

"You never answer your phone." John chided.

"Yes, but it's me calling." And I'm trying to save her life.

Molly's voicemail finally answered with a ridiculous pun.

"Okay, okay," Eurus practically sang, "Just one more time."

John vocalized all of their desperation, "Come on, Molly, pick up. Just bloody pick up."

Sherlock let his head drop over the gun, praying that the pathologist would answer this time. Surely if she didn't Eurus would kill her out of spite for her unknowing refusal to play along.

But then she did.

"Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent, 'cause I'm not having a good day."

Sherlock's head snapped up. A glimmer of hope crossed his face. "Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why." He said as urgently and calmly as possible.

"Oh, God. Is this one of your stupid games?"

"No, it's not a game. I…" Christ. This was harder for him than he thought it would be. "I need you to help me."

"I'm not at the lab."

"It's not about that."

"Well, quickly, then."

Sherlock blinked rapidly and bit his lips. He wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself long enough to ensure her safety.

"Sherlock? What is it? What do you want?"

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick.

He wanted to scream, to tell her the truth. Every fiber of him seemed to be on fire. "Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."

"What words?"

This was where everything got so much worse. "I love you."

He heard Molly sniffling. He watched her move her thumb, ready to terminate the call.

"Leave me alone."

Sherlock reached toward the screen as though he could reach all the way to Molly. "Molly, no, please, no, don't hang up! Do not hang up!" he was shouting now, utterly frantic.

"Calmly, Sherlock, or I will finish her right now."

He glanced at the countdown: 01:08. Molly raised the phone to her ear again.

"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?" He could hear the tears in her voice.

Sherlock lowered his voice in an attempt to compose himself. "Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me."

"Softer, Sherlock!" Eurus ordered.

Sherlock forced some cheeriness into his tone and tried again.

"Molly, this is for a case. It's ... a sort of experiment."

"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock." Molly hissed.

He hated the bitterness and loathing in her voice. It killed him to hurt her like this.

"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends," he pleaded. "But... please. Just... say those words for me."

"Please don't do this. Just ... just ... don't do it."

I promise you, if it wasn't so bloody important, I would never do this to you. "It's very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

"I can't say that. I can't ... I can't say that to you."

"Of course you can. Why can't you?"

"You know why."

Yes but you must. Molly you must. "No, I don't know why."

"Of course you do," she retorted.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick ...

Sherlock's control was waning fast. He tried to shake off everything else going on, everything he felt. "Please, just say it."

"I can't. Not to you."

"Why?"

"Because… because it's true. Because… it's… true, Sherlock. It's always been true."

Molly's voice broke and took Sherlock's heart with it.

Soldiers. "Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."

"You bastard."

Soldiers. "Say it anyway."

"You say it. Go on. You say it first."

Completely taken aback, Sherlock turned to John. What am I supposed to do?

"What?"

"Say it. Say it like you mean it." Her voice had become cold and hollow.

"Final thirty seconds."

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Sherlock shook his head, trying to focus, and half stepped forward, exhaling loudly. Sherlock faced the screen, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath trying to summon the strength to say the words. This goes against everything I have ever said, ever believed.

"I-I… I love you." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked towards the screen. "I love you." Don't hang up now, Molly. "Molly?" 13 seconds. Sherlock took a final step towards the screen. "Molly, please," he begged.

Time seemed to stand completely still.

Come on, Molly. Come on. I can't lose you. I love you.

"I love you."

Oh thank god! Sherlock gasped and buried his head in both hands, bending forward.

"Sherlock, however hard that was…" Oh do shut up Mycroft.

"Eurus, I won. I won." I did it. I did everything you asked. Sherlock ignored his brother's attempt at consolation. "Come on, play fair. The girl on the plane: I need to talk to her." Sherlock felt the rage building up in him again. "I won. I saved Molly Hooper."

"Saved her? From what?"

No.

"Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy?"

No.

"You didn't win. You lost."

No.

"Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time."

He wanted to die. He wanted to be the one in the coffin as he walked past, laying the gun down beside it.

"Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy."

Easy? Sherlock was completely drained.

The door slid open.

"In your own time."

Nothing about this is my own.

Sherlock picked up the lid and walked towards the coffin. He delicately placed the lid on top of the coffin and rested his hand on the top, trying, at least in his own mind, to put this 'challenge' behind him. But he just couldn't do it.

"Sherlock?"

"No. No."

His face twisted with rage as he pulled back his right arm and smashed it with all his strength down onto the lid. He continued hitting it and slamming it over and over on top of the trestles, disintegrating the wooden box. This is for the girl on the plane. This is for the governor and his wife. This is for the Garrideb brothers. This is for John. This is for Mycroft. This is for Molly. While he bashed the coffin, Sherlock let out a long anguished scream. This is for me.