If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. ~Cicero
"Did all of your dates with John end up like this?" A slightly hysterical Molly Hooper asked.
"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock Holmes responded, no less on the verge of panic himself, but slightly better at hiding the evidence. Just as he finished speaking, the unsteady scaffolding on which the couple were trying to stand shifted. Metal scraped against metal in an ominous shriek that had them both holding their breaths. "Don't move!" Sherlock shouted as he himself froze in place.
The couple were inside the construction zone of one of the St. Bartholomew's hospital complex. The old building was being gutted and modernized with open walkways, steel accents and glass. Loads of glass. The precarious arrangement of bent steel bars on which they were standing had separated from the wall just before the two had climbed high enough to reach the catwalk. It was just their luck that they chose to run into the unstable building to escape their pursuers instead of the nearly finished building on the other side. Yes, they had lost the hitmen, but they were now in as much (if not more) danger.
Later, Molly would probably laugh about the irony. They had defeated the pretender to Jim Moriarty's throne (Moriarty Lite, as John had dubbed him), evaded his "back-up plan" consisting of four assassins, only to end up killing themselves with their own bad choice of escape route. If they survived this, Molly was going to use this story to get free drinks in every pub in central London. In the same night. She'd make John Watson pay for the cabs because he bloody well should have been there by now.
"Yes, he should have," Sherlock agreed and it was only then that Molly realized that she had been babbling. Some people cried when they were frightened and some people froze. Molly Hooper lost control of her tongue. Well, it was better than losing control of her bladder.
"Agreed," Sherlock said and Molly resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth. She needed both of her hands to stay on that blasted jungle gym from hell. The part of her brain not preoccupied with survival noted how patient Sherlock was being, even though Molly's steady stream of nonsense had to be annoying. It was that thought that finally allowed a sense of calm to penetrate Molly's mind enough to calm down and think logically. It wasn't enough to prevent the scream that erupted from her throat as the scaffolding jerked violently.
"It's okay!" Sherlock shouted, "It's all right," he insisted as the sharp movement slowed, "Just be still and settle down. I need think." Sherlock's eyes darted around, analyzing their predicament, determining scenarios… obviously not finding a solution.
Calm enveloped Molly as she watched Sherlock. She could see as clearly as he that the scaffolding was not going to hold both their weights for much longer. Sherlock was on the side closest to the catwalk just above them. If the scaffolding swayed that way, he could theoretically grab the edge of the walkway and pull himself up. He was tall enough. Molly, on the other hand was on the far side and too far down to hope to reach the edge of the walk way.
"This isn't your fault," Molly said suddenly, but with firm determination.
"Molly, please, do shut up for a moment so I can think," Sherlock said in the same calm voice he had been using since the situation began. He was still desperately looking for a solution. Molly understood now that there wasn't one. At least, not one he would care to consider.
"I love you," Molly said plainly, and oh, how good it felt to say those words out loud finally. With that declaration, Sherlock's attention focused sharply on her. It only took an instant for the detective to read her intentions, but in the space of that instant, it was too late.
Molly could hear Sherlock's shout of denial even as she fell.