And the light of the world is in darkness now by chibiness87
Rating: T
Spoilers: 4.03 The Final Problem
Disclaimer: not mine.

A/N: Um, yeah, I wrote another post 4.03 fic. Angst like whoa in this one. Sorrynotsorry.

Sherlock thinks it's going to be easy. And that, right there, is his first mistake.

"You say it. Go on. You say it first."

She is staring at him, though she does not know it. Daring him with the last threads of strength she has left. She is so very, very strong, his Molly. Sometimes he forgets just how strong she really is. It takes him off guard. Molly was supposed to do what he asked, because it is him, and she always helps him. Always. But instead, he is being forced to do something for her in return. Something he never thought he would have to do. And oh, is this, this feeling, is this what his sister was aiming for? Trying to buy some time, some strength, he asks, "What?"

But Molly is resilient. Defiant. "Say it." And then her voice softens, and he can almost believe it was just the two of them in the room. Except for the part where he is being observed like a lab rat and she is doing all of this through a phone call and a secret camera feed. Which, side note, definitely going to have to do something about just as soon as he gets out of this laboratory. "Say it like you mean it."

"I-I…" He stops. Pauses. Takes a breath. "I love you." And then, because it is out there, because it is true and god knows she deserves to find this out in a better way than this but it is all he has right now, not to mention the clock that is ever ticking down in the corner of the screen and if it'll help her say it back and live, he says it again. "I love you."

But then, to his horror, she simply stops. "Molly."

There is no movement, and if it weren't for the sound of her breathing coming down the phone he would have thought the screen had frozen. But he can see the way her hand is caressing the handset. Can see the way her mind is trying to work out the end game to this whole phone call. It's taking too much bloody time. "Molly please."

He hears her take a breath. Watches her move her phone away from her mouth and look at it, only to bring it back again. The seconds continue to tick by but he is unaware of anything and everything except for her. Begging her with his eyes to hurry the fuck up and say the words back, his voice no longer working. But it is not enough.

The clock hits zero.

And as he stares, as he still wills her to say those words, both the line and the screen cut out, and he is left staring at the white noise which is now filling the place where Molly Hooper once stood. Dimly, he is aware of John's startled yell, and his brother's cry, but it is faint. There is too much noise, too much silence in his own mind to comprehend anything.

Until his sister comes up on the screen where Molly once stood, a small, almost manic grin on her face. "Well. That worked out better than I was expecting."

Everything falls back into focus with a snap, but all he can do is stare at this being that is supposed to be his blood. "What happened?"

His voice is lost. Timid. Eurus gives him a mocking pout of disappointment. "What do you think happened?"

"She…"

On the screen, his sister is shaking her head. "Oh what, did you think I would spare her? Come on Sherlock, you know better than that. I told you what the consequences would be." And then she grins, some sick, twisted thing that sends sharp barbs of pain into his chest. His heart. Jesus, he's going to be sick. Eurus crows in apparent delight. "All those little emotions, I can see them all over your face. It's like Christmas." And then her face hardens, her tone going blank again. "Hurry along now. Pull it together, brother dear. I need you in peak condition for the next task."

The screen goes blank once again, and he is left in the room with his friend and his brother, and a coffin.

Molly's coffin.

Because Molly is dead.

There is a feeling of such raw grief rising in him, that it is all he can do to stay still. Tears run unchecked down his cheek, and he lets them flow.

"Sherlock…" John's voice sounds from so very far away, and he turns his head towards him in what must be slow motion. There is a look of such sorrow on his friend's face that the truth of what has just come to pass hits him in the solar plexus harder than any punch he has ever received.

"No." The word is whispered. Broken. A shell of a thing.

"Sherlock…" And now his brother too is trying to comfort him, and it is too much.

"NO!"

Approaching the wooden lid, he gently, reverently places it in position, stroking the words on the brass plate softly. Words that he at least manged to tell her, even if she never got the time to say them back. And then he is angry. At her. If only she had just done what he had bloody asked of her. If only she had read him in the way she had always read him in the past. If only she had never met his sorry hide, had never loved him, had never been so perfect that he fell in love with her…

His fist comes down. Again and again and again, uncaring of the gun he still holds. Smashing the coffin to splinters, rage and grief and despair filling him.

No matter what the final outcome of the day, he knows it doesn't matter now.

He has failed.

Molly Hooper is dead.

He sinks to the ground, gun still clenched in his hand, and, for the first time in his life, weeps. He doesn't even give a damn that his sister is likely watching all of this in glee; not anymore. Evisceration is obviously the point of this vivisection; she might as well get her fill. Because if there is one thing he knows now, it is that he will end her.

Sister or not, kin or not, she will pay for killing the only person he has ever truly loved.

Eventually, seconds or minute or hours later, he feels John approach. His tone is soft, even as the words are hard. "I know you're in hell right now."

Hell is an understatement for where he is right now. He feels like a small child, lost in the darkness. "John…"

John places a hand on his shoulder, and he feels the weight of it all though his being. "I know."

Helpless, lost, he tries to tell his friend what he has only just let himself feel. "Molly…" But his voice cracks on her name, and he falls silent once more.

He feels John increase his grip on his shoulder. It is the only thing grounding him right now. "I know, mate. Believe me, I know."

And yes, John would know. But at least with Mary he was there. He was there, and they had had some time together, and had a child. What does he have to show for a lifetime of loving Molly? Harsh words and a slap to the face? Brokenly, he asks, "What am I supposed to do now?"

There is a firm resolve that falls over the ex-army man's face, and he can see John firmly pushing his emotions down. "Right now, we need to get out of here. And to do that, we need to move. Can you do that?"

Sherlock swallow. Tries to push what he is feeling down, only to be hit with a visage of Molly, standing radiant in her lab coat, her hair down around her shoulders like he has always preferred it to be. "I don't…"

But John's voice is firm. "Sherlock. Can you do that?"

The image of Molly nods her head, a soft smile on her face. He nods back, just the smallest incline of his head, but the smile he gets in return brightens her whole face. He will get through this. Jump through the hoops and get to the end, because to do otherwise would be the biggest insult on her memory he could bestow. Meeting his friend's eye, he nods. "For Molly."

John nods back. "For Molly."

TBC

(Did I mention it was another multi-chap?)

Thoughts?