When the world is at rest, he wept.

Not REAL weeping, just a small sigh or breath.

He watched as the world reduced to ashes. This was the end. He was powerless.

Sherlock couldn't go on after Molly left the lab.

It killed him on the inside, to see someone leave, that is.

Not because of how useful they are, or how much they work for the world.

It was because they counted.

As much as everyone hated him for the things he had done in the past, he would always have those people who cared no matter what.

Molly was one.

She laughed and dated psychopaths, and was always mousy.

Sometimes that was just enough.

And for all those people who said he didn't have a heart or soul, he had people like Molly who could prove them wrong.

He cared.