Synopsis: Molly considers what she's done and how that has affected the people she cares about.
Introspect - whovianallover
Molly Hooper's eyes snapped open and she blinked. Her brain allowed her a moment of peaceful bliss before reality hit her hard in the chest, making it hard to breathe. Breathe in. Sherlock Holmes was dead. Breathe out. And she had killed him. She had pushed him off the top of St. Bart's roof and now his best friend was becoming a skilled expert in grief.
In Molly's guest room, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, slept the Consulting Detective. She hadn't said a word to him since he had woken up in the morgue, and the silence continued all the way home. It wasn't an angry silence, nor was it pitying. It was a tired silence, and an understanding silence. She broke it once, to direct him to the guest room, however after that she had dragged her feet to her room and collapsed onto her bed.
As much as she hated it, Molly could remember John Watson's face as he watched his best friend plunge from the roof. It was an odd mixture of fatigue and confusion, like he needed a long nap so he could remember it wasn't real. She could still see John's tears as she lied about the autopsy results, hear his ragged breathing as he hid head in his hands. She could hear the way Greg's voice trembled like a leaf as he dealt with the news. She could still see Mrs Hudson's tissues all balled up in her hands as she reasoned that Sherlock was always disappearing on her and that he was going to come back. Molly had assured her he wasn't.
Molly felt guilty for lying to her friends (of course she did, she was making them believe that Sherlock had died) but there were times when lying to them became even more difficult than it already had been. Molly was lucky tocountGreg, John and Mrs Hudson as her friends- she was lucky- and how was she repaying them? By feeding them lie upon lie until they were convinced Sherlock was deadand that it wasn't some terrible trick. She had assured them it wasn't.
The funeral was hell. Molly wished she could just tell them- just yell out that Sherlock isn't dead, okay? All throughout Greg's eulogy for Sherlock (John had given him the honour as he was too broken to do it himself) all Molly wanted was to stop their howls of grief and to comfort them with the most comforting news they could hear. Sherlock was alive.
Mrs Hudson had begun inviting Molly to tea in 221A soon after meeting her at the funeral. She was such lovely lady, always trying to smile, always trying to comfort her. She had reassured Molly that Sherlock was happy, wherever he was, blowing holes in somebody else's walls with that gun of his. Molly had laughed. It had been the first time she'd laughed in a month, and it felt good. She felt light. But as soon as she had returned home to an empty flat, Molly had understood that Mrs Hudson was taking pity on her because she had had some petty crush on the man.
Molly had politely declined the next invitation to tea. She never wanted to be pitied. After Sherlock's return, they will look at her with disgust. She lied to them, comforted them in their grief, held their hands as they cried all the while content in the knowledge that the man they were crying for was in her living room, typing away on her laptop. Molly never wanted their pity. She didn't deserve it.
A/N Well this turned out a lot different to how I intended, it turned very dark towards the end. What did you think?