This is my first story so please be nice, I know my writing isn't great so constructive criticism is most welcome. I would love to hear what you think. – Kat
Disclaimer: I dream about owning Sherlock, but unfortunately this is reality so sadly I do not.
Three years it had taken, three long years and now he was back. Back breathing in the London air walking past them familiar buildings, retracing old steps. But he was here, in London, where he belonged.
Sherlock had spent the last three years tracing and locating the rest of Moriartys web. It had taken most of his energy, but he was finally satisfied that the web had been untangled and none of that vast network remained. He could go back to john, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, they were safe now.
He strode up the road too 221b, trying to ignore the gawking faces and the quite gossip of: "isn't that the man that killed himself", "hey I'm sure that's Sherlock Holmes" and "is he the fraud one?" Sherlock just ignored it and concentrated on the job in hand so he knocked on the door and waited.
Inside john was with his wife Mary making their dinner. John had married Mary two years after the fall; she was the one who had brought john back to life. After Sherlock jumped everything was different for john it felt as if his whole world had been pulled apart. Sherlock was the one that provided john with support, the one that had saved him after his ordeal in Afghanistan, the one that had provided him with adventure and showed him how interesting civilian life could be.
Upstairs the couple heard the doorbell go and also the sound of Mrs Hudson going to get it and shouting up "don't worry dears I've got it". Then they heard something that was completely unexpected the sound of Mrs Hudson scream. On hearing that john grabbed his gun (which he still kept in the flat) then ran down the stairs, followed closely by Mary.
When john saw Sherlock in the door way with a fainted Mrs Hudson in his arms he dropped the gun, rushed over to Mrs Hudson's body (who was starting to wake), picked her up, passed her to Mary with the instructions of 'take her upstairs and lie her down'. Then went up to Sherlock and gave him a punch square in the mouth. John, then overcome by the whole situation pulled Sherlock into a hug.
Half an hour later they were all sat upstairs in 221b, Lestrade had been called over, Mrs Hudson had come round and Sherlock had been introduced to John's wife Mary and then their 5 weak old daughter rose. Off course Sherlock new about all of this as he had been getting regular updates from Mycroft about how john, Mrs Hudson and detective inspector Lestrade were doing. Baby rose slept soundly as Sherlock told them the story of why he had to do what he did and also how he survived.
Sherlock then asked,
"How is molly?"
Sherlock immediately noticed John's guilty look, so he adapted the question,
"Where is molly, john?"
By this time john had gone pale and Sherlock new something was up.
"John if you won't tell me where molly is simply because you're worried I will hurt her, and then believe me when I tell you that your concern is misplaced." Said Sherlock who was beginning to get irritated.
John was trying to pluck up the courage to tell Sherlock something, Mary had run off into the other room.
"Sherlock, sh she, mol, molly, well…" stuttered john
"Ohh for Christ sakes man spit it out" by this time Sherlock was very agitated.
"She's dead Sherlock" shot out john, then in a lower kinder tone he continued, "Sherlock, molly is dead"
The colour drained from the detective's skin, his face dropped,
"What do you mean dead, she can't be dead, she counts" Sherlock wavered in his speech, not quite understanding, then in a flash he changed, his face suddenly filled with rage, "who the hell killed my molly, just wait until I get my hands on them. Tell me john who"
John turned to Sherlock shocked at his words, did he just say 'my molly', but now wasn't the time to pick him up on that especially when Sherlock's piercing eyes turned onto his and he could see them filled with fire and rage. So john thought it best to tell Sherlock and tell him quick.
"Molly committed suicide about 2 months ago" john wasn't the world's only consulting detective but even he could see the drop of Sherlock's shoulders and a look of puzzlement cross his face.
"How, why…" questioned Sherlock.
"Molly shot herself in the head, in her office at St Bart's. Her thighs covered in scars where she has cut, some fresh some old"
"How old?" questioned Sherlock, trying to appear composed.
"Mike, he examined the body, said that the cuts have been going back approximately 5 or 6 years."
"Why would she do it john, she was happy, I've never seen her sad ever and I've known her for 7 years" but then it hit him, she said to him all those years ago that "you look sad when you think he can't see you." It was so true, but that's how she knew it herself so well, not only did she see it from her dad but also from herself. "It was me john, I did this too her, I tormented and manipulated molly's feelings so much that I drove her to self-harm" Sherlock looked at john and john saw that the eyes looking back at him weren't their usual sharp self they were empty.
John told Sherlock to wait while he went to fetch something. About 2 minutes later john emerged from upstairs holding and envelope. Sherlock's breath hitched as he saw his name on the front written in molly's girlish rounded writing.
John turned on Sherlock, "we've left your room as it was before, you will want some privacy" Sherlock simply nodded and walked in the direction of his room. John called after him,
"Don't do anything stupid Sherlock."
Sherlock just ignored him. As he walked in he saw the cold simplicity of it all and he couldn't help but think how different molly's room would be, she would have colours and patterns too brighten it up and pictures of family all around giving a very homely feel. But then it occurred to him how well did he actually know molly. Sherlock sat down on his bed and opened the letter, it read as follows.
Dear Sherlock,
If you are reading this it means that you are alive and I am dead. I have known you long enough to know that you at least will be curious to know why I did what I did even if it is just for aiding your learning. I am a pathologist so I know that they will examine my body and I also know that they will find the traces of my scars ad my fresh wounds. I want you to know that it is not your fault what has happened.
Sherlock I fell in love with you with full knowledge that you could never love me back; I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but I wasn't. Cutting gave me an outlet, a way to handle the pain first of losing my dad then my little sister and finally you. In my life I have lost so many but I don't want you to pity me, I should have been stronger.
Do you remember the first time we met, you could tell my whole story from me being new at Bart's to my dad just being diagnosed, in just one glance. All I could do was go weak at the knees and squeak. I knew I had fell for you, even when two days later you reduced me to tears I still couldn't get over you. You told me then and there that you didn't do sentiment, but I didn't listen.
I told myself time after time that just knowing you was enough.
Then the last time I saw you, you told me that I counted, that you were going to die and that you needed me, you needed me to be strong. You said I had to wait for you, that you would come back to me. The next day you jumped, they showed me your body. I didn't want to believe that you were dead I really didn't.
Eventually everyone moved on, they found a way out. John even got married, but I was left behind little mousy molly from the morgue. Sherlock I waited I really did, but I couldn't stand waiting any longer.
I am broken Sherlock, but don't you dare think for one second that it is your fault. I knew that you weren't capable of loving me. I thought I could be strong enough to bare it and to move on but I'm not.
Sherlock if you are reading this then you are alive and I am dead. I want you to move on with your life and get back to how it used to be. You will find a new pathologist, but Sherlock promise me one thing, just one thing, don't forget me. That is all I ask of you.
Yours eternally,
Molly x
After reading the letter Sherlock was crying, he loved her he well and truly did, he had been trying to supress the feeling for years. But in this last year thoughts of molly were the only thing that would keep him going, she was his reason to fight. He discovered that love wasn't found in the losing side but the winning. When it was all consuming love like he was experiencing it didn't tear you down but build you up. And he most certainly loved her: He loved the way her hair fell into soft chocolaty waves if the let it dry naturally; he loved the coffee she makes; He loved the way she could look at a corpse and see much more than others would; he loved how even after all he had done she would keep coming back to him and forgiving him. But now he gets how love makes you the looser, now with molly gone he has nothing to hold on to any more.
He sat there thinking of all the times he had used her, of all the times he cut her down. Molly deserved the earth but all he did was give her death. Then anger rose up in him again, he hated himself he hated what he had done to her. He then began to think about molly. She was bird like and graceful, her eyes could hide so many secrets, just like his own. Molly wore the hideous, child's clothing as she wanted to hide in every way possible. Why hadn't he noticed before he left that she was not ok. He was meant to be the best at deductions and he always deduced molly so how had he missed it.
He knew deep down how, he never really looked at molly as he did other people, he used to just skim over her just saying the nearest thing that he knew would cut her down. Why did he have to do that why did he have to destroy and cripple her. Why. Sherlock grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled two quick notes. The first to john the second to molly.
John,
By now it is too late to stop me I am dead and not like before I mean for real this time. It was my fault what molly did, I pushed her too it. John I know you will hate me for doing this too you again and I am truly sorry, but you have your family now and you would do the same for them. I made molly a promise a long time ago and I plan on fulfilling that promise tonight. I said I would find her and come back to her. You don't need me any longer and I have done my work taking Moriarty down, I have nothing to live for and molly is waiting. Good bye john and be happy.
Sherlock.
Molly,
I made you a promise and I am going to keep it. You were wrong though you do count, you count in every way possible and I'm coming to find you. Molly you are strong and you are loved. It was my fault and I wish to make amends. Hello Molly Hooper.
Sherlock sneaked into the living room of 221b it was once again all quite, it had just turned 3 am so naturally Mrs Hudson had left to her own apartment, Lestrade and gone home to his and john and Mary had retired to bed with baby rose. Sherlock folded the second note into his pocket and he went and put the first in the fridge. He walked all the way to St Bart's, easily sneaking down to Molly's old lab. He pulled johns gun out of his pocket (which he had retrieved from the steps going out of 221b as it had been left there earlier that day). Sherlock pulled the note out of his other pocket and smoothed it down on the desk, he read the letter one last time then placed the gun to his head whispered the words "I'm so sorry molly" and shot himself clean in the temple.
Many staff heard the shot and ran to see what had happened, all they saw was the detective who had meant to of died 3 years ago, freshly dead on the desk hands curled on a note and a gun.