'No explanation?'

'There's nothing I could possibly say to convince you otherwise.'

Molly looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a fraction of the pain and sorrow she felt and even that glimpse was too much. Sherlock averted his eyes. The silence fell heavy between them.

Finally, he heard Molly turn to leave. Her soft footfalls fell like a gavel on his heart. She stopped as she reached the door and Sherlock finally raised his eyes. She held the edge of the door in one hand, her face turned back to look at him.

'You're wrong. There is one thing, Sherlock, the only thing I ever needed to hear from you,' she smiled sadly. She turned her face away from him as the tears she'd held at bay began to fall.

His mind raced with words, trying to grasp the ones that would keep his girlfriend from leaving, the ones that would convince her to stay. They were always there, but now, when it counted, he could not force them past his lips. Molly's shoulders began to shake and she wrapped her arms around her waist.

'Good-bye, Sherlock.' And with that, she fled Baker Street.

Sherlock remained frozen in the middle of the flat, staring at the space she had just occupied. Somewhere at his feet were the shattered remains of the heart he once claimed he didn't have. The words he had been so desperate to find seemed to mock him in their lateness, as they finally were given life.

'I love you.'

But it was too late.

The three days after their break-up passed in a haze. Molly begged off from work and locked herself in her flat. The first day was spent curled up in a ball on her sofa, sobbing, trying to ease the overwhelming ache in her chest. By the afternoon of the second day, she was a wreck. Her eyes were sore and red, her nose tender, and the pain not lessened in the least. The third day found Molly with her thumb hovering over the 'send' button on her mobile, a text to Sherlock asking to talk. Just as she was about to press it, the image from the day she left him flashed through her mind and she choked on a sob, chucking the phone across the room.

Knock knock knock

Molly hiccupped and looked at the door in fear, praying it wasn't Sherlock.

'Molly?'

She breathed a tremulous sigh of relief at the familiar voice and unfolded herself from the sofa, shuffling to the door. She pasted on a smile and opened it to greet the concerned John and Mary Watson.

'Hi, John, Mary. What can I d-do for you?' She cursed her stammer as her smile wobbled tellingly.

John took one look at her and enveloped her in a brotherly embrace, despite the fact that she was in ratty, two-day-old jammies and now sobbing into his dress shirt. Mary ushered them inside and immediately bustled about making tea.

'He's an idiot,' John joked as he led her to the couch, rubbing her arm soothingly.

Molly nodded, her cries abating. 'B-but he was my idiot,' she lamented.

'He's an utter cock, that's what he is,' Mary interjected from the kitchen. John snorted as Molly giggled, her crying calmed. They sat in silence for a while until Mary joined them with a tray of tea and Molly's favourite biscuits.

'Thank you,' Molly murmured, realizing she hadn't eaten in three days and her stomach was quite unhappy with her. She nibbled on a biscuit. It tasted bland, but she knew that heartbreak was no reason to starve her body.

Mary sat in the armchair nearby and placed three more biscuits in her hand, 'I will not have my best friend die from hunger because of that arse.'

'Mary,' John warned gently.

Molly shook her head, 'No, it's fine. I'm a doctor, I should know better than to forego eating for three days.'

'Three days?' Mary and John exclaimed simultaneously.

Molly grimaced and stared intently at her hands in her lap, 'I haven't even moved from the sofa since…' She trailed off as new tears formed.

Over Molly's bowed head, John and Mary exchanged a familiar look. The one that said 'We will kill him when we see him.'

'We understand if you don't want to talk about it,' John reached a hand out to cover hers. 'Sherlock hasn't spoken a word to us, he just keeps playing the same damn mournful tune on that bloody violin of his.'

'All we could get from Mrs. Hudson is that the two of you had a domestic and you walked out on him.'

Molly crumbled the biscuits into the napkin on her lap, debating whether or not to say anything. But knowing that John and Mary only had hers and Sherlock's best interests in mind, she took a deep breath and explained:

'I've known Sherlock for seven years. And we have been in a relationship for ten months. He told me I was the only woman he could logically be with. Like a fool, I thought I could trust him.'

Molly gulped, a lump forming in her throat as she fought against more tears. 'I was wrong.'

Beside her, Mary inhaled sharply as if bracing herself.

Molly finally raised her eyes, turning her gaze to John.

'Do you remember Irene Adler?'