Liar, Liar

Molly had always praised herself to be a honest being. Well, as honest as one could be in today's society without being purposely hurtful. She always hated telling lies as a child, and now as an adult, that not changed what so ever. Honestly, Molly believes, is usually the best policy. There is no such thing as a good lie.

She remembered the time when she was a little girl. She had been roughhousing with her brother when she accidentally smashed the vase that some great aunt had given the family. It was an ugly thing, huge and a disgusting shade of green. Molly had not been purposely aiming to smash the vile thing, but she had taken quite a tumble and smashed the thing into many tiny little pieces.

Unable to hold unto the lie anymore, the truth had burst right out of her. In the stream of babbling, somehow her father had learnt the truth. Instead of yelling at her for breaking the vase he had bent down and gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, thanking her for the truth.

While she was sent to her room for running in the house and for eventually breaking the gift, Molly felt happy. Because it was then she learnt that truth was the best medicine. It made the sick feeling of guilt, to go away. She had never felt freer than she had at that moment. She would take any punishment to take that feeling away.

Maybe that why she had admired Sherlock so much. He sought the truth endlessly, despite the many barriers that were erected in his way.

So when she helped Sherlock to fake his death, she hated it.

Molly knew that it was for the best. A fake-dead Sherlock was much better than a dead-dead Sherlock. He needed her help, and Molly gave it to him willingly. Even if there was a chance that it could destroy herself so utterly, that not even Sherlock would recognize her, then so be it. Molly was willing.

As much as she hated lying, she preferred to be more useful instead. It was that simple fact, Molly knew that it would lead to her eventual downfall.

There was no point in lying to herself, when she already does it so much already. Molly knew that she was a liar. And a horrible human being.

How can she live day to day knowing the truth about Sherlock's current living status, when everyone else suffers.

The rare occasions where she manages to see John, she cannot stand to see that deadened look in his eyes. All honestly, Molly was surprised that he was as functioning as he was. John had watched Sherlock's apparent suicide, and no one could walk away from that without any damage to their psyche.

She watches them; John, Mrs. Hudson and Greg. She watches them suffer from the pain of Sherlock's death. And then she watches them start to move on. Baby steps, of course, but them moving on nevertheless.

First, they stop denying the fact that Sherlock is dead (impossible to do since they saw his body fall off from top of the hospital). Then they were angry, not understanding why, why he would do this? All of which is quickly followed by the last three stages of grief. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

They avoid going to St. Barts. They avoid seeing her as well, not that they were aware that they were doing it.

Molly watches them slowly heal from their grief. She watches them slowly returning back to life.

While all of this is happening, she can't even move. Tied to her lie, she could not even bring herself move on. They don't know, they could never know.

Molly was terrified that one day the truth would slip out.

And no one would believe her. They would think she must have finally gone mad in her grief. After all, little timid Molly Hooper would never lie. Her fragile mind, she must have not been able to handle it. She had a crush on the freak... never been able to move on, you know.

Molly could not move on, because she knew the truth.

It's not that Sherlock is not dead, but rather Molly Hooper is a liar.

And that is a truth she'll have to live with.

-fin-