Being in Love is a lot like falling, you're not just falling in love with someone, you're falling into them. The way they smile, the color of their eyes, or just the way they make you feel all becomes aware to you in that moment. But loving someone for everything they are in total, is just like after the impact of falling. The air is knocked out of your lungs and you can't open your eyes because it's all so beautifully painful. But when you finally do open them, it's like being alive for the first time, or being born again. It's as if you've just opened the gates of heaven and you have an angel watching over you. Yeah, that's truly what love is. Falling in love is just the gravity that get's you there.
Molly's eyes flickered open as the sun's early rays of morning light peeked through her window. Shaking her head awake with a jerk, the little girl smiled widely. Today was Sunday; to be more specific, this Sunday was her tenth birthday. Rushing down the stairs she found both her parents in the kitchen, her mother by the stove flipping pancakes with the smell of sizzling bacon wafting around her slender form and Molly's father sitting at the table tinkering with odds and ends. Her father saw her first and cracked a lopsided grin at his daughter before motioning her over to him, his potpourri of metal laid forgotten on the table.
"Hello, princess!" He crowed jovially, wrapping his strong arms around Molly and squeezing her lovingly.
"Hullo, daddy." Molly answered her hands already sliding behind his neck in a warm hug.
"How's my birthday girl today? Are you ready for your present?" He asked.
Molly nodded her head furiously, causing her father to laugh and her mother to tut from the stove.
"James, don't overwhelm her! Let her at least have breakfast first before you start your shenanigans." Her mother swatted at his shoulder, only causing him to laugh harder.
"Aw, but mommy can't I open presents first?" The little red head pleaded, her large puppy dog brown eyes watering slightly. Her mother sighed but nodded her consent, a condescending smile forming on her face.
Molly gave a small squeal before hopping off her father's lap and running straight into the living area, her night gown tail flailing behind her.
Her eyes widened as she set sight on a large box in the middle of the room, it was the only present there. A hologram delivery man stood next to it, a touch pad in his hands. He offered it to Molly's father who quickly signed the dotted line. Once his job was done the blue, glowing man disappeared.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it up!"
"James, I swear you're more excited about this than she is!" Molly's mother scowled halfheartedly.
"Oh, hush Barbara. You're just as happy about it as I am, you just happen to be too proud to admit." James admonished, waving his hands in dismissal.
While her parents bantered back and forth, molly had taken the initiative to start opening the box. Taking a laser pen from off the wall, Molly made quick assertive movements and before her parents had stopped arguing the box was completely opened.
Before this day had even begun Molly had heard her friends talking about the new C.O.N.A.N (Constructive Organizing Nano Adolescent Neuron-Bots) technological creations. From what she'd heard from other children was that they were robots designed to help those in adolescence, to be a permanent child care taker.
Her friend, Lucy, had a female caretaker; she said it was actually quite nice because you could tell the bot anything and they would listen, as long as it went in line with their coding and rules. They were incredibly rare and increasingly expensive. This was no cheap gift, it probably took the entire year for her parents to save enough money for this.
In the present, Molly looked up at her robot to find that he looked like a normal human. He was tall with wavy black hair and pale, perfect skin. His eyes were closed, however, and his hands were perched underneath his chin as if he were a priest praying on behalf of someone.
Molly looked up at him in wide eyed wonder, her mouth slightly parted.
"He's beautiful." She whispered, her hand reaching up to briefly brush against the caretaker's hand. Immediately his eyes flashed open, revealing cat like eyes that had a slight slant to them and frosted green irises. Molly saw his pupils dilate and change to take in the room's surroundings and people in said room.
When he finally took notice of Molly, he bent down and offered his hand, his eyes scanning her features as she took hold of his much larger palm.
"Hello, Madam." His voice was deep and soothing, it resonated into Molly's soul and she shivered at the sound of it. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm and warm.
"Hello, my name is Margaret Hooper. What's yours?" She smiled shyly at her C.O.N.A.N caretaker, thrilled about everything he was. The caretaker tilted his head to the side as if confused.
"My number code is 3112194308." he offered at which Molly shook her head in bafflement.
"Don't you have a name? I can't just go around calling you a number, you're much more than that." The caretaker raised an eyebrow at her statement.
"Molly," her mother interrupted thoughtfully, "what was the name of the detective you love reading about in your adventure stories?" she asked. Molly's face split into a wide grin.
"Holmes! Sherlock Holmes! Oh, mother you're brilliant." Molly exclaimed. Turning to a now very befuddled robot Molly explained.
"From now on you will be Sherlock Holmes, if that's alright with you I mean." Molly bit her lip in silent anxiousness while Sherlock's eyebrows raised again.
"If Madam Margaret finds it suitable then it shall be so." The robot, now Sherlock, said.
Molly smiled before taking Sherlock's hand.
"I do. I find it completely suitable."
Sherlock sat with Molly at the piano in the tea room, her thirteen year old hands gently guided his over ivory and ebony keys while she spoke to him.
"This key here I called E flat, then back up to normal E and down again. Those are the beginning notes to Fir De Lis by Beethoven. It's pretty, don't you think?" She looked up at him with big doe eyes and Sherlock smiled and nodded. She was rambling again, but he didn't mind. Her voice was soft and sweet like a lullaby her mother would sometimes sing to her. Said little girl glared up at him gently, a smirk pulling at her pink lips.
"Do you even enjoy our Piano lessons, Sherlock? You hardly ever speak." Molly pouted, her tone teasing. Sherlock inclined his head to the piano and smiled gently.
"I'm simply listening, Madam Margaret. Music can be heard in more than just words or notes. It is a voice all on its own and I am simply listening to it." His cupids bow lips quirked pleasantly while Molly huffed and crossed her arms.
"That is the last time I allow you to stay up reading Famous quotes by Famous Cultural leaders." She sniffed daintily in the same way her mother did when she was irritated with her father. Sherlock chuckled deep in his throat and placed his hands on Molly's to continue their lesson.
The music they played was all he ever wanted to listen to.
Sherlock was in the kitchen preparing dinner, since Mrs. Hooper was on a business trip in the city, when Molly came home crying one afternoon when she was seventeen. The pasta bowl fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor, spilling bow tie noodles everywhere. Sherlock didn't even bother picking up his mess before bolting into the entryway to find Molly collapsed on the stairs sobbing.
Sitting down next to her Sherlock wrapped his strong mechanical arms around Molly's shaking shoulders and pressed his nose deep into her neck, his lips barely brushing and kissing her skin.
"What happened, are you hurt?" he asked quietly, not wishing to frighten her. Molly's hand snaked up to wrap around his neck before shaking her head no.
"It was awful, Sherlock." She murmured, her racking sobs quieting down considerably.
"What was awful?"
"There was a shooting at school today, someone brought a vaporizer gun to class and went after the kids who were always bullying him. One second they were there and then," Molly's clung tighter to Sherlock's torso, her nails digging into his back as another racking sob escaped her. "They were gone."
She took a deep steadying breath and unclenched her hands.
"Why is the world cruel, Sherlock? Why do people hate one another? I remember my grandparents telling me about 9/11 and men who killed thousands just because they could, because they had the power." Molly began to shake again and Sherlock felt helpless to do anything.
"'Man is subject to innumerable pains and sorrows by the very condition of humanity, and yet, as if nature had not sown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another.'" He whispered, closing his eyes as the familiar words of Joseph Addison rolled off of his tongue. Molly smiled against his shirt, her tears slowly subsiding.
"We really do need to get you more reading material." She laughed wetly and held on to Sherlock as if he were her life line, the only thing keeping her alive. In a sense, he was.
"Smile sweetheart!" Molly's mother crooned, the paper thin tablet in her hand snapping a picture of the graduate holding her scholarship and certificate. Molly grinned in relief, her days of schooling finally completed.
"My daughter the pathologist; It's not every day you get to say that to your drinking buddies!" Molly's father guffawed while her mother swatted at him with the tablet. Molly only rolled her eyes at them before turning to look at Sherlock who remained motionless and stoic as he looked at the sea of swarming students and families. But Molly knew better, she could see he was anxious and uncomfortable; he never liked big crowds.
"Thank you for coming, Sherlock. It really means a lot to me." She pushed her cap back farther on her head and wrapped her arms around the caretaker's neck. He remained frozen for a moment before wrapping his arms around her in response.
"You and your parents would never forgive me if I didn't and... I've missed seeing you." Sherlock admitted, his words muffled by Molly's auburn hair which lay in loose waves down her back. He always preferred her hair that way, it suited her more than she thought.
"You're right, I wouldn't have forgiven you, but since you actually turned up there's nothing to forgive, right?" Molly grinned cheekily, her arms still around Sherlock's throat. Sherlock coughed to the side lightly before gently prying Molly's hands from his neck. Luckily her parents had yet to take any notice of the two of them as they were still arguing.
Molly stepped back regretfully, mumbling a quick apology. Sherlock didn't really mind touching when she was a little girl, but now as a young woman the prospect of such close proximity would be viewed as inappropriate. Societal rules aside, the robot instantly regretted his action and wished to take Margaret into his arms, damn the rest of the world and what it thought.
"Madam Margaret-" He started, an apology already on his lips.
"No, don't. It doesn't matter." She smiled at him, but it never reached her eyes, before trotting over to her parents. Sherlock stood alone, cursing himself for being a sentimental fool. Robots don't fall in love with their cases.
Sherlock sat cleaning the Hooper's hover mobile, his back resting on the garage floor as his hands worked effortlessly on the oil can underneath. Rushing padded feet made him look away and see two denim flats facing him leading to two very slender legs and beyond.
"Margaret." Sherlock said, returning to his work on the car. He hadn't called her Madam since her graduation over a year ago and had no desire to repeat the process.
"Sherlock!" Molly replied, slightly breathless from apparently running. Her voice cause Sherlock to roll out from his position and stand up to face the young woman.
He quirked an eyebrow at her and motioned for her to continue with his oiled hand.
"I received a call, and to keep the long story short, I got the job at Bart's!" She exclaimed in delight, nearly squealing as she used to when she was little.
Sherlock grinned in reply and gave her a side hug that, if he was honest, felt rather awkward.
"Congratulations, Margaret. You are a brilliant woman, you should feel proud." Sherlock commented, already kneeling down to return to the bottom of the car. Molly shuffled her feet and stood for a second more, looking as if she wanted to say more before nodding and walking away, her face strangely contorted.
Sherlock sat staring at the underside of the hovercraft, listening to the retreating steps of the only person who mattered to him. Molly was leaving and Sherlock could not go with her.
Rain pelted down from dark, brooding storm clouds overhead. Thunder rolled distantly as two mahogany caskets were lowered into six feet of soil.
Black umbrellas dotted the lush grass and sacred graves of loved ones. Molly stood without an umbrella, her hair plastered to her head and arms wrapped tightly at around her waist. Her eyes remained dry and dull, seemingly staring off into what appeared to be nothing. Even when sympathetic friends and family had left, Molly remained immobile and soaked.
Sherlock strode up to her, his black trench coat billowing behind him and his chin tucked into his blue scarf. Hesitating for only a moment when Molly didn't respond to his presence before wrapping an arm tightly around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. Not sparing a second, her arms responded by slipping past the coat's fabric and pulling him closer by the shirt beneath.
"Margaret. Margaret, I am so sorry." Sherlock whispered softly, his voice cracking and slightly hoarse. Only then did the tears come, mixing with the rain as it fell to Molly's face.
Jim came a few months later into both of their lives, soon after Molly moved out completely taking Sherlock with her. The flat was appropriate and Molly-like in its quaintness. It wasn't fancy or outrageous, it was simple and warm, beautiful in its own small way.
When Jim came though, it changed, all of it. Molly seemed frailer and became more and more depressed, withdrawing herself from not only her coworkers, but also Sherlock. The flat no longer glowed with the Pathologist's presence, instead growing darker each day.
Sherlock tried to confront Molly about it but she grew angry with him and defended Jim to no end. She was killing herself and the only person who cared happened to be Sherlock. One evening when Molly did not return from Bart's and had made no reply to Sherlock's texts he finally sprang from the couch and rushed outside to find his pathologist.
They air was cool against his simulated skin as he ran down the well worn streets of Old London. Upon reaching Bart's Sherlock quickly scanned the area and tried to discern any sounds other than the screeching of taxis and wails of sirens. Adjusting his sound amplifier he finally heard it; a slight scuffle and a small whimper that was undeniably Molly's.
Sherlock leaped into the side alleyway of the hospital. What he saw chilled his circuit.
James Moriarty had his filthy hands wrapped around Molly's throat with his belt buckle and pants undone. Sherlock saw red before lunging at the unsuspecting rapist. A scream dimly sounded in Sherlock's ears and then there was black.
"Number 3112194308, you have here by-"
"Sherlock."
"Pardon?" The judge looked down at the male robot currently standing handcuffed in a hovering containment chamber with puzzlement.
"My name, that which was given to me by Miss Margaret Hooper at the age of ten, is Sherlock. I prefer to be sentenced with my name, Your Honour." Sherlock met the Judge's gaze steadily and for a brief moment Molly felt a small spark of pride from where she sat in her seat.
"Oh, erm... very well, Sherlock." Said convict resisted the temptation of rolling his eyes. It was a wonder to him how many idiots were let into the law system these days.
The judge continued, "You have here by been found guilty of murder; do you accept these accusations?"
Sherlock gave a swift, curt nod before speaking, "I do." Molly thought her heart might break right then, the way his voice was he sounded almost bored, as if his whole life didn't depend on his every word.
"Then I hereby decree, by the power given to me by the country, that you are to be Shut Down permanently on the date of July 19th. This case is now closed." the mallet slammed against the podium with finale, but its sound echoed deep into Molly's mind.
"How can you be so calm?" She asked angrily. She wasn't upset at Sherlock, she was, however, rather pissed off at the rest of the world.
"You're going to die yet act like we're heading for a picnic. They were in a hover cab now on their way back to Baker Street. Molly was the only person speaking, or rather yelling, through the entire drive. Paying the taxi on arrival, Sherlock silently extracted himself from the vehicle and held the door open for Molly who still cursed angrily behind him.
"And further more, I don't think you understand the situation completely!" Sherlock turned on his heel and glared at Molly so severely she stopped mid stride with her mouth hanging open in surprise. His cat eyes shone not with their usual excitement, but instead with fear that was slightly tinged with pain and exasperation.
"I murdered a man to protect you, Margaret, and now I must pay with my own life. There isn't much left to understand, is there?" His voice wavered only slightly. Inhaling deeply Sherlock carefully wiped away Molly's tears with his thumb and in the process he cradled her soft face.
"I wish life had given me a different path, but it is one I must walk, even if it is alone." He removed his hands from her face, instantly feeling the cold emptiness in them.
"My only regret is that I could not be the an you deserve." Molly glanced at him sharply, taken aback by his words.
"But I don't want a man, I just want you. Isn't that enough?" She cried.
"I could never be enough for you. You are an empty cup that I try to fill with unsatisfactory wine, a gate that can never be closed," He stepped closer and gazed forlornly into her eyes, "a kiss that could never be stolen." His finger brushed against her lips with such a tenderness as never felt before.
"Please be with me, just this once tonight." Molly's voice cracked as she gripped his shirt in her fists. "You know I've wanted this, wanted you, for years. Just tonight, please. Let me be yours." Her eyes closed against his touch as the tears came more freely. Sherlock pressed his lips into the crown of her head and ran his hands down her back soothingly. Turning her head to face his she looked up at him and allowed the smallest seed of hope to grow inside of her. Sherlock pressed his lips chastely and, though he'd never admit it out loud, a little uncertainly onto Molly's own pink ones. He broke away and stared intensely into her dazed eyes.
"You've always been mine, Margaret. My Margaret. My...Molly."
"That is the first time you've ever called me Molly." She whispered warmly. It was all the invitation he'd ever need.
Tenderly reaching her hands up Molly ran her fingers through his silky black locks and tugged Sherlock, who was quite willing, back down to her waiting mouth. Molly, having finished with what she considered child's play, flicked her tongue across his lips. Sherlock drew back gasping, though his arms never loosened their hold, Molly mewed suddenly aware of the space between their lips.
"Hold a mo, Molly." Sherlock gently calmed her with his voice. "John?" He called to the empty house. There was a slight flickering in his peripheral vision as a hologram man stood leaning against the sofa, in his hand was a cane and on his face was the most ridiculous grin.
"Hullo, am I interrupting something?" He said cheerfully, eyeing both Molly and Sherlock with the most curiosity a hologram could manage.
"Don't be a smart arse, John." Sherlock drawled while Molly blushed and tried to hide behind her lover as much as she could.
"I could say the same to you." John snorted, crossing his arms conversationally.
Sherlock ignored his last statement and continued speaking.
"I need you to shut off all security cameras in the flat but keep check regularly on Mrs. Hudson in case she, ah, hears anything and decides to investigate." John chuckled and shook his head.
"Are you both really that loud when you shag?" He teased.
"John!" Both Sherlock and Molly exclaimed, though a part of Molly wondered if maybe he might be serious.
Said hologram raised his hands in mock defeat before disappearing altogether although his voice was still speaking.
"Right I'll let you both get to it then, no worries the doctor is in. And by the way,"
"What is it now?" Sherlock snapped.
"Oh, keep your pants on, Sherlock, at least for a second longer. All I was going to say was have fun." His voice was no longer teasing and sounded rather endearing.
"Cheeky wanker." Sherlock muttered. His mind was far from John at that moment though as Molly once again claimed his lips in hers. Sherlock wrapped an arm under her knees and shoulders before lifting her up bridal style while Molly squealed and clung to Sherlock for dear life.
"What are you doing?" She asked, her head nestled into the crook of his neck.
"Carrying you to the bedroom." Sherlock stated simply, as if they were just going to a movie or he was listing off supplies they needed from the grocery store down the street.
"Yes, but why?" She prodded again. They were in the bedroom now and Sherlock carefully put her down on the bed.
"I thought we were having sex?" His eyes were wide and his lips parted making him look innocent and too damn adorable.
"Now who's the cheeky wanker?" Molly asked, rolling her eyes. Sherlock broke into a lopsided grin and chuckled deep in his throat.
They both quieted as the situation of they were to do grew heavier in their minds. Sherlock fidgeted with his fingers and wouldn't meet Molly's gaze.
"Molly," he paused and flicked his eyes up to meet hers briefly before looking down again. His shoes were very interesting at the moment.
"What is it, Sherlock?" Molly asked, she reached up to lightly brush her hands over his. He shivered under her touch.
"You should know that...I'm not entirely...built or made like a human male." He drew the words out slowly as if he wasn't quite sure how they would sound out loud.
"What?" She asked, looking quite confused. Sherlock grew even more uncomfortable under her questioning gaze.
"I don't have the reproductive organs or functions of the male body." He explained, motioning to the lower part of his body. Molly's eyes widened in understanding before she let out a soft giggle. Sherlock's head snapped up and he looked a little more than upset.
"It's not funny!" He complained, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursing into a pout.
"No, no, it's not, but you don't have anything to worry about, Sherlock." She smiled at his bewildered expression.
"Pardon?"
"We don't have to do any penetration, I just want to be near you, as close as I can."
"Oh." Was all he could manage. Molly shrugged.
Sherlock pressed his forehead to hers rubbed his nose against her own.
"Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?" Sherlock captured Molly's lips in his own as she once again ran her fingers through his hair and across his sharp features.
He forced his fingers to stop shaking as he slowly started undoing the buttons on his dress shirt. Molly covered his hands with her own as she helped the process, their lips never parting once. With a small hiss the material fell to the floor and Molly ran her hands over the white, marble like skin with admiration. She kissed a freckle that dotted his collarbone, causing Sherlock to hum in pleasure. Molly removed her hands from Sherlock, much to his dismay, and slipped out of her own shirt and slowly removed her bra. She smiled in victory as the article of clothing slid from her form and Sherlock devoured her newly exposed body with appreciation and love.
Molly resisted the urge to cover herself as Sherlock committed everything to his memory. His hands cradled her hips while his mouth played favor to her neck. She moaned as his fingers splayed up over her abdomen with a benevolence she had never known. Sherlock's lips withdrew for a moment, forcing Molly to open her eyes and look into his own.
"Are you sure about this?" Sherlock's voice broke through her train of thought. She nodded,
"I am if you are."
They did not speak for the rest of the night.
Molly woke blissfully the next morning, her head resting against Sherlock's chest. She inhaled his scent and smiled at it's familiarity and warmth. Who needed coffee when you had Sherlock? His aroma in itself was enough to drive any person into a caffeinated drive.
"You slept well, I take it?" Molly felt rather than heard his question. She smiled and turned her head to look at him through half-lidded eyes while his fingers made trails over her back and tangled into her hair.
"Wonderfully." She grinned, enjoying the way his mussed hair curtained his beautiful almond shaped eyes.
"And," He looked sheepish, "how...how was I?" Molly looked at him and pursed her lips thoughtfully as she mused how to answer him.
"No one is ever great their first time, Sherlock." He looked slightly dejected. "But," Molly continued, "for a man with no 'equipment', you did very well." He offered a small smile, obviously pleased.
"Besides," Molly kissed his collarbone and winked, "they say that practice makes perfect." It took him a second to comprehend her reasoning, but as the little light bulb clicked in his head an impish grin unfolded onto his features.
"Indeed it does, Miss Hooper, and I think we should take full advantage of our resources, don't you?"
"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Holmes." Molly giggled. Life could end another day, but for now Molly Hooper was too happy to care.
As you know dear readers, all happy days must come to an end though we all wish to have eternities filled with them. But do not think Sherlock's final moments with Miss Hooper were ever unhappy, I dare say they were the best moments of his microscopical existence before his plug was pulled, no pun intended. My brother did live as he was intended to, that's why I sent him to Miss Hooper in the first place. I don't think you quite understand who I am, My name is Mycroft, though some have mistaken me for Microsoft. Eejits. I am the largest computer program for the British government and literally the British Intelligence.
But that is all I can disclose at the moment, I think it's high time we returned to our story, hm?
Sherlock stared numbly at the syringe that was emptied into his mechanical brain.
"It will only take about five minutes. Hurry up with your goodbyes." A woman said briskly before walking out the sterile room.
Molly glared angrily at the woman's retreating form, "Bitch." she hissed. Sherlock chuckled, his thumb drawing slow circles over Molly's hand.
"Molly," Sherlock spoke, "I want to you to do something for me." He met Molly's watery doe eyes for the last time.
"Anything." Molly promised.
He took a second to mull over his words before speaking, "Please don't give up. I want you to live life and move on. Ah, don't interrupt," He placed a hand on her warm cheek as she tried to stop his speech. "You are so full of life and have so much to offer, don't waste your life wishing for a different one. I have known more love with you in just one week, than most people know in a lifetime. This really isn't a goodbye, it's more of a letting go." He whispered hoarsely.
Molly choked on a wet laugh. "How can I let go of you, I can't even live without you." Her face was wet with tears as she tried to fight the insanity creeping up inside of her.
Sherlock traced a tear as it made its way over her cheek, down her chin, and fell onto their clasped hands.
"How tragic it is that you can cry and I cannot." He said sadly. His eyes started to droop as his binary functions began to slow.
"I will miss you, my Molly. You were the heart I never had." His head slumped back as his eyes closed shut in finality.
He was gone.
Molly bit back a sob as Sherlock's eyes slid close and his hand grew slack in hers.
"You're allowed to take him back home if you'd like. Poor bastard." The silver haired policeman who had escorted both Sherlock and Molly into the discharge room spoke with sincerity. If Molly remembered correctly his name was Greg Lestrade.
"Yes, thank you." Molly whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She refused to cry though, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction.
Sherlock's body was placed into a steel container,not unlike the one he had arrived in all those years ago at the Hooper's home. Molly remained stone faced and silent the entire drive back to her flat, though Lestrade did try to make small talk with her only to give up soon after.
As soon as the container was placed in her living room, Lestrade politely shook Molly's hand and said:
"I don't know quite how to say this, but I'm glad for what your caretaker did. He, Sherlock, seemed like an amazing bloke. I'm truly sorry that this had to happen, he might have made a great addition to the force." The older man looked like he wanted to say more, but instead nodded his head in resolution and closed the door behind him.
Molly walked over to the container and placed a warm hand on its cool, sanitized surface. The tears finally came and she sank to the floor with a sob.
"Molly, are you sure this is-"
"I know what I'm doing, John."
"But-"
"No, no buts. I know what I'm doing." Molly's mouth was set in a firm line of determination while John faced her with a furrowed brow and frown.
Sherlock lay on the table a sheet covering the lower have of his body while his bare chest was sliced open showing the contents of his mechanical being.
"I don't think you do, you're going out of your mind and I can't stand by and watch you become some sort of... of Frankenstein!" John fussed.
"I can bring him back, isn't that what you would like, too? I can create a central nervous system for him, hell I can even give him a reproductive system!" Molly shot back, tears starting to prick and sting at her eyes.
John sighed, static pixels breaking his form for a split second.
"You know I wish that bugger of a robot was still here, I just don't want to see you build false hope only to fall again."
Molly let a bitter laugh escape her lungs, "If only you knew how far I've already fallen." John gave one last sad look at Molly before dissipating back into the house computer.
"I-I know what I'm doing." Molly spoke to the empty house as if to reassure it more than herself.
She looked down at the still face of a man who hadn't even had a heart but learned to love her anyway.
"I know what I'm doing."
Molly pointed the electrical pen at the prosthetic lungs and breathed a sigh of relief as they started to pump air in and out.
"How...how's it coming along?" John asked shyly from behind her, making her jump. She relaxed slightly and her gaze softened at his embarrassed gaze.
"He's stable, thank God, in fact he's mostly complete. Only a few more things..." She trailed off, her hand tracing gently over Sherlock's forehead and pushing his unruly hair away from his closed eyes.
"What can I do to help, Molls." John asked, his face holding a small, recognizable signature smile.
"Decided to get in on the Frankenstein action, huh?" Molly teased, her lips quirking.
John grimaced playfully, "Just don't tell me to pull any switches, please." Molly laughed.
"I promise, do you think you could help me with his stomach and intestine next?" She asked.
John nodded, "Yeah, why not? S'pose even this bloke's got to be able to digest food."
"Please, John?" Molly begged.
"Hell, no!" He snapped.
"I need another pair of hands. It's not like he'll remember you doing anything!"
"I don't care, I am not touching that man's bollocks!"
"You're not touching them! I just need you to help me get the prosthetic skin over him!"
"Yeah, and we're putting that skin over where? His bollocks. No thank you, Molls."
"What do want in exchange then?" Molly asked in exasperation.
"I doubt there's anything worth this." John scoffed.
"Oh for heaven's sake! I'll make you a hologram girlfriend." She hadn't meant it to be serious, it just sort of slipped out, truthfully.
John perked up slightly, "Mary,"
"What?"
"Her name has to be Mary." John looked at her with such seriousness that Molly nearly deflated.
"Fine, Mary. Now will you hold him while I spray the skin on?" John's face puckered as he did as he was told.
"Christ, this is so wrong." He muttered.
Molly sealed the skin around Sherlock's heart before grazing the freckled skin with her lips. Just for good luck, she told herself.
She looked at a nervous John for confirmation.
"Are you ready?" She nearly whispered. He nodded, looking almost sick with anticipation.
"Just do it." He breathed out through his teeth, making a low hissing sound.
Molly inhaled deeply and pressed the electric pulse pen to the skin over his stilled heart. Three years of scrounging and building, tears and cursing, all to finally be finished at last in this moment. Exhaling, she pressed the button sending an electrical current through the once robot, now human, Sherlock.
The two of them waited, fingers crossed and breath bated, for any signal that Sherlock was alive. A minute ticked by, then a second, nothing. Molly pressed her ear to Sherlock's chest only to find an empty sound. No heartbeat, not a single breath or twitch of an eyelid.
"No," Molly said forcefully, "No!" She pounded angrily at the dead man's chest.
"YOU BASTARD, NO!" John tried to pull Molly away from the body only to find his efforts in vain. She collapsed onto Sherlock's body and sobbed. "How many times does my heart have to break before I completely die?" She wailed, her body convulsing and shaking as her tears made tracks down her face and onto Sherlock's closed lids.
She didn't feel his heart as it stuttered back to life, nor did she listen as breath was sucked into his lungs once more. However she did feel his hand gently push back her hair and wipe at her tears.
"And her tears were the rain that sewed upon her love, to reap the heavens and call upon the sun above. Her lips the red of a roses blush, and hear her speak my name, ah, to me it was enough."
Molly smiled through her hiccups and remaining tears. "I've never heard that one before." She murmured into his breast, the steady heartbeat there humming into her parted lips.
She felt his chuckle rather than heard it. "That, my darling, is because it's my own. I had very good inspiration for it." Molly heard the smile in his voice.
Lifting her head, Molly finally looked him in the eyes. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes." Her voice offered no argument or refusal.
Sherlock kissed her forehead and trailed down to her nose before stopping just next to her mouth.
"And I love you, Molly Hooper."
She blinked her chocolate brown eyes down at him, a smile never leaving her face.
Two cobalt blue-green eyes blinked back.
~Fin~