Set after Sherlock is shot but before he faces Magnussen.

Part 1

The slam of the front door and the heavy thud of footsteps on the staircase had Sherlock Holmes lifting his head from where it rested on the tips of his fingers and turning it to face the door. While John usually sounded that way when he was in a strop about something these steps did not belong to his best friend. No, these were lighter, though no less angry sounding.

Seconds later Molly Hooper burst through the door and slammed it shut behind her. She whirled around and fixed him with a fierce expression etched on her face.

"Why?" She demanded and Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

"Why, what? I believe I should be asking you that question. Though judging by how upset you are I can only assume – "

"Stop. Just stop." Molly said fiercely and Sherlock shut his mouth quickly, his eyes wide. Molly took a deep breath and closed her eyes for just a moment, struggling to calm herself. Sherlock observed her white knuckles as she clenched her hands by her sides and that her shoulders were shaking slightly. He would have to be an idiot to not know that she was angry, angrier than he had ever seen her, and this was after she had slapped him three times for being on drugs. His jaw clenched at the memory.

"I want you to tell me why, Sherlock. Why did you take drugs? Why would you do that to yourself, to your friends?" Sherlock heaved a great sigh of aggravation, annoyed that she was still harping on about that.

"As I told you before, as I told John, it was for a case – "

"No!" She cut him off again, stalking towards him until she stood before his seated form. Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. "Do not sit there and tell me that it was for a case, Sherlock. And even if it was for a case you didn't have to actually take the drugs. You could have faked it. We all know how good you are at faking things." She finished bitterly and Sherlock frowned, affronted.

"I had to make it believable, Molly. Solving this case is crucial to saving someone's life. Merely faking being on drugs wouldn't have cut it."

"So that's why you faked that relationship with Janine then? Breaking that poor woman's heart in the process because all you cared about was the case?" Her tone was harsh, accusing and Sherlock stood from his chair, moving into her space.

"Yes," he hissed, truly over everyone being self righteous with him. "And I would do it again if it means that I am one step closer to eliminating the man who has threatened my client."

"Even if it gets you killed?" Molly demanded, her dark brown eyes glaring up at him. "First you take drugs, knowing exactly what it would do to you, and then you go and get yourself shot. You almost died, Sherlock. In fact, you did die." Her voice broke on that last word and Sherlock felt something within him crack slightly. Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him.

"You died on that table, Sherlock. And by some miracle you came back. You keep throwing yourself into these situations that could kill you, regardless of how everyone who cares about you would feel if that happened. One day there won't be a miracle, Sherlock. One day you won't have a backup plan that could help you. One day you won't have someone there to save you." Molly paused and Sherlock's hands clenched at his sides, her words hitting him like tiny darts. His chest felt tight and his heart thudded in his chest when a lone tear slipped down her cheek.

"Does your life mean so little to you?" She inquired softly, her dark, tear filled eyes searching his face. His breath stilled in his lungs.

"Molly – "

"Because nothing, Sherlock," Molly said fiercely, her eyes blazing. "Nothing is worth giving up your life. Not drugs, not a case, nothing." Her gaze dropped to his chest and, very gently, she placed her hand over where the bullet had entered his body. Sherlock's breath hitched and he blinked rapidly, struggling to take in what she was telling him. Her dark head was bent, her gaze on her hand. Her fingers clenched in his shirt before her head lifted to meet his gaze.

"And I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "This is what I came to tell you today. That if you ever, intentionally, put yourself in a situation where you could be killed, then that will be the end of it."

"The end of what?" Sherlock rasped, staring at the small woman before him as if he had never seen her before. And perhaps he hadn't. The Molly Hooper before him now was fierce, determined and passionate, holding nothing back over how she felt about what he had done.

"Our friendship," she told him, another tear slipping down her cheek. "I cannot watch you recklessly throw your life away. You are such a wonderful, brilliant man, Sherlock, who has friends and family who love you and care for you so much. You have so much to live for, so much to give to the world, and the world has so much to give you in return." Molly's hand tightened on his shirt briefly before she let go, dropping it to her side.

"I love you, Sherlock," Molly said, a small, sad smile curling her lips. "I think you know that. You are one of my greatest friends and it breaks my heart to see you this way. I wish that I could have done more for you, helped you however you needed it." She moved back and Sherlock's arms rose as if to pull her back, his heart thumping erratically in his chest. He didn't like the heavy, leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach or the constricting tightness in his chest. Guilt, shame… Remorse... Feelings that he had felt more and more often ever since John Watson had come into his life.

"I – I…" He didn't know what to say. Molly always had him at loss for words, something that frustrated him and yet he admired her greatly for.

"Just know, Sherlock," she said quietly, her tone so gentle now compared to how angry she had been earlier. Now she only looked sad.

"That I cannot, will not, watch you destroy yourself. So, please," a choked breath had her gasping softly and her eyes flooded with unshed tears. "Please, stop throwing your life away. Please." His own eyes stung as he stared at her, the vice in his chest constricting further. She gave him that sad little smile again before turning and heading to the door and Sherlock was frozen to the spot. She was pulling it open when Sherlock's legs decided to start working again and he stumbled forward, a hand outstretched towards her.

"M-Molly – "

Without a word or a glance Molly slipped through the door, shutting it softly behind her. Sherlock stumbled to a stop, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Staring at the door he had the horrible feeling that he had just lost something precious.