My dearest Molly,
This is the last time I will be able to communicate with you.
I am being sent to clean up my brother's messes in Eastern Europe and am not expected to return alive. He estimates 6 months and he is never wrong.
I murdered a man in cold blood. I did so to protect John, and Mary. I do not not regret my actions and I would do it again if I had to.
I am telling you this so that you will not mourn for me, at least not for very long.
I have always known that you are not fragile, Molly. My mistake was thinking that meant that you were unbreakable. I deeply regret every chip and crack I ever caused you and marvel at the way you have always seemed to bounce back, never falling into cynicism and despair.
In Japan, they sometimes mend cracked pottery by using gold to hold it together. That's you, Molly, full of gold.
I am not actually calling you pottery.
Now that I think of it, though, you would be a beautiful teapot. Often inconspicuous, but always indispensable. A source of warmth and comfort. Provider of the thing one wants first in the morning, or after a shock.
Please find someone who deserves you; someone better than "Meat-dagger", or me. Someone who will appreciate every part of you; your beautiful intelligence and your boundless compassion. You deserve only the best in everything. Please don't make yourself small for anyone ever again.
Goodbye, Molly Hooper.
Sometimes I wish I could have been
Yours,
Sherlock Holmes
As the black sedan pulled up to the airfield, Sherlock Holmes handed a sealed envelope to his older brother, Mycroft. It was addressed to Dr. Molly Hooper, at St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London.
"Are you certain, Sherlock?", Mycroft asked. "Sentiment has already been your undoing."
"Molly Hooper's sentiment saved me three years ago. She deserves to know the truth."
"As you wish, dear brother."
Four minutes after Sherlock's plane had lifted off the taxiway, he received a call from Mycroft. Sherlock was needed back in London to deal with the latest manifestation of Moriarty's machinations.
Mycroft remained on the line as Sherlock's plane turned around, explaining the sudden appearance of a video clip showing James Moriarty on screens around the nation.
"Molly!" More calmly, Sherlock continued, "Dr. Hooper. He'll have -"
"Obviously. That was the first text Anthea sent, Sherlock. Do keep up."
This time the sedan was driving away from the airfield; towards London, and St. Bart's, and Molly Hooper.
"What do we do with Dr. Hooper, Sherlock?" asked Mycroft.
"Protect her. Obviously," Sherlock spat back.
"Anything else? 'Deathbed' confessions are one thing. What is the truth now?"
"..."
"You need to figure it out. Sentiment is bad enough, once you've let it slip into your mind. Indecision is far worse."
Molly Hooper looked up from her work in surprise as five people barged into the lab where she was running tests for her latest postmortems.
"Sherlock! John! Mary! And er... Why are you here? Is this about that video thing? Surely that has nothing to do with me..." Molly trailed off, chuckling nervously as she registered the intensity in Sherlock's face.
"Molly, I told you that you counted the most in thwarting Moriarty's plan. If this really is him, he will have figured that out and he will not make the same mistake twice. Don't worry, my brother Mycroft has assigned an extra protection detail on you, at least until we stop this lunatic for good. This is my brother Mycroft, you've met, and his PA, Anthea. That's not her real name, but don't worry about that either-"
"Sir, we have a lead on the video trace," Anthea interrupted Sherlock.
Sherlock inhaled, almost explosively. "Mary, stay here. Make sure that Molly is safe. John, the game is on!" He turned and ran out of the room, three people in his wake.
Mary was the only one who had noticed Anthea slipping an envelope into Molly's over-sized tote bag. Her small smirk was attributed, by those who saw it, as amusement at Molly's shock. It was unusual for a heavily pregnant nurse to be assigned as a personal bodyguard.
Later that evening, Sherlock was ensconced in his mind palace, reviewing the case so far. Molly had been sent home with Mary and John; between the two of them, she should be as safe as anywhere else.
He startled upright at the sound of feet stomping up the stairs to 221B. Molly slammed the door shut, not even trying to avoid disturbing Mrs. Hudson.
"What the HELL is this ridiculous letter, Sherlock!? I would think that it was a prank, but I know your handwriting - I've seen it often enough in the lab! I never thought that even you could be so cruel as to say such things to me! To give me such false compliments as if I mattered, as if you cared, as if..." Molly glared at Sherlock as he sat in his chair, gaping up at her.
In the busyness of the day, he had forgotten about the letter he had written; his final farewell.
Embarrassed and slightly confused, Sherlock deflected. "Why are you here alone?"
"Mary and John are down with Mrs. Hudson. You left me with them for a reason. I'm not stupid, Sherlock... and you haven't answered me."
He rose from his armchair. "I meant every word I wrote and would not change any of it for the world. Hmmm, except for one thing."
"What?" It was Molly's turn to gape, confused.
"Please don't make me say goodbye."
"Make you? I'm not the one who was leaving, Sherlock. You weren't even going to tell me! Why didn't you tell me!?" She was angry again.
"I didn't...know...what to say. I didn't want you know that I was going off to die, so I didn't want to see you, because you would know. You always see through me, Molly Hooper. Then I thought of you alone for the rest of your life, or worse, with some new "Meat-dagger"; some small part of you waiting for me to return and I knew that I couldn't let that happen again. So I had to tell you. But how much? Would you hate me for murdering a man in cold blood?" He was pacing, not looking at her.
"Sherlock, I-"
"But the thought of you hating me made my stomach hurt. You might be the only person who has never hated me, not even when you should have. Even John hates me sometimes. So how could I explain what was coming without explaining what happened? So I couldn't tell you. But you deserve the truth, so I wrote that letter this morning. I sealed the envelope as they came to take me away. You do matter, Molly. You count. I had to tell you that; the only way I had left." He stopped in his tracks, turning to gaze at Molly's face.
"So this..." Molly waved the letter in Sherlock's direction. "...is what you think of me? That I'm...gold? That you wish you were...mine?"
"Sometimes. I said sometimes, Molly." He looked away again.
"Right. Okay...well...never mind, then. I'll just...go. Goodnight, Sherlock. I'm...er...glad that you're not...leaving."
"Molly..."
"How long have we known each other?" She had turned toward the door, but Sherlock's voice prompted her to turn back to face him. "I've loved you all these years, even when I didn't want to. Even at your very worst, even when I slapped you in the lab. Even when you are cruel, manipulative, obnoxious; I still love you."
"There's a thin line between love and hate, Molly. Non-existent as he is, God knows that we see it all the time."
"Well, you haven't pushed me over it yet. I can't imagine what could. Or maybe John hasn't told us quite everything?" She smiled.
"I'd be a rubbish boyfriend, Molly Hooper."
"Yes, and not many people thought I was a very good girlfriend. What's your point?"
"They didn't deserve you, then. I don't...deserve you."
"Deserve, don't deserve. It doesn't matter. I love you. I know you don't love me, and it doesn't matter. I know what you're like and I know that you'll do anything for John and I know that you're half a madman and it doesn't matter. I love you." She turned toward the door again. "Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Molly... you asked me once what I needed. The most important question of my life. The answer was you. The answer is still you. I didn't know it, and then I couldn't admit it, even to myself. Once Mycroft told me I was being sent away, all I could think of was you. John and Mary have each other and the baby; they'll be fine. But what about you? I thought I didn't want to leave you alone. But I really just don't want to leave you. Ugh, if I keep talking, it will only be those ridiculous cliches that too many people use for me to delete them. Molly?"
Sherlock had started walking toward Molly as he spoke, so he was close enough to catch her when her knees buckled. He swept her into his arms and carried her to "John's" chair, setting her down gently.
"Sher-"
"Molly, my Molly, will you stay with me?" She nodded, speechless. "Stay here...just...stay. I'll be right back and then we can talk."
Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective in love, clattered down the stairs to ask Mrs. Hudson for tea and to send John and Mary Watson home, with a small cheer. Molly Hooper was going to stay with him for the night. Maybe forever.