He had one friend. One brother. One woman. One downstairs neighbor. One Molly Hooper. His circle was close, but he preferred it that way. One friend to break. One brother to disappoint. One woman to idolize or regret, depending on the day. One neighbor to keep safe. One Molly Hooper.
Sherlock sat stone still at 221B Baker Street, with his hands together under his chin and eyes closed, deep within him mind palace. He knew Moriarty, as he knew himself the flip side of the coin. The plan would have to be flawless and Molly Hooper was the vessel for him. He recalled her memories at length; Moriarty using her, the unabashed rebuke after he tore her down at Christmas, and that she always figured on never counting into any equation, let alone any equation with him. There was no emotion within Sherlock, knowing that he could count on Molly's help. No wayward, figurative "pluck of the heartstring" or even a feeling of manipulation. She would help him in this final act and she would do it without reservation.
How did she deduce that he was concerned…no, more than concerned. Sad? Was he sad like she said? Was the hollow and odd feeling that he was letting down John sadness? No, it had to be done, but it still felt contrived. Still, he hadn't changed his facial expressions or the tone of his voice. Nor had he worn different clothing or changed breathing patterns. Yet, her discernment of him was uncanny and unsettling.
"I don't count." Her small voice replayed over and over in his head. It was true in the grand scheme of his life. Her skills were precisely what he needed. Her absolute trust in him was unwavering, even after all of the times he had discounted her sentiments and the ridiculous things she said. "I don't count." He could see from her eyes that she was completely honest and believed every word. Molly Hooper thought she didn't count to anyone.
From her clothes, he could deduce where she was going and where she had been. Her makeup paved the way for how the work day had gone or if she was going out. Shoes gave away the degree of her exhaustion. But Molly Hooper's eyes told absolute, blatant truth. Those brown eyes blinked back tears and narrowed in anger, however, they never widened in anticipation of being the source of being needed by Sherlock. He had used her knowledge and skills without regard to anyone but himself and that pestered his thoughts. Had she never even offered to help him, he knew that she would because that was Molly Hooper. It was who Sherlock could count on for this ultimate act.
"I don't count."
He opened his eyes and started towards the door. She should know that she did count. Molly Hooper counted to Sherlock when he needed someone the most