All characters belong to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat and the BBC, except the OC. I just own my own ideas and a basil plant. Thanks to writingwife83 for telling me this wasnt all gobbledygook.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Ahhhhh."

A heart-in-the-mouth moment as she leapt off the small plane, in tandem with the instructor. Initially all she could feel was the air rushing by but then it was like floating! Looking to her right she saw Isaac spinning around, his arms and legs spread wide. He practiced some style moves, performing acrobatics in air before he came towards her. Holding her hand and giving it a squeeze, he let got and continued enjoying his dive.

The promised three minutes in air were up too soon and suddenly they were approaching the ground. She let out a squeal as her instructor pulled the parachute cord, getting a jerk as the parachute opened and then landing with a slight jar and a small run. As she was removing the harness, Isaac landed nearby, all smooth and gracious movements.

Molly hugged her instructor, conveyed her thanks and ran towards Isaac with shaking legs. Just as he was free of his harness, she jumped and gave him a tight hug.

"Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. That was the best moment of my life. By miles. And thank you." She was not even embarrassed by the few tears that escaped. The experience was exhilarating and she felt free, like she had lived and each and every pore screamed of their existence. She wanted to yell and soak in the silence. Wanted to jump and dance and remain still. Her blood sang in her veins, demanding more.

"Adrenaline still high?" He teased as she jumped around and laughed.

She then turned to him, a wide grin on her face.

"So, what's next, Mr Holmes?"

Isaac was everything that a Holmes man was expected to be, probably by some law laid down back when the Anglo-Saxon kingdom was established. He was tall, with dark blonde curly hair, blue eyes and a lithe built. He was frighteningly intelligent and was proficient in his field of choice. His field being Archaeology, at least officially.

"But our fields are similar, Miss Hooper. We use clues left behind by people to build their life stories. As a matter of fact, paleopathology is and should be an integral part of every archaeology site."

He was friendly, charming, easy going and had a quick genuine smile on his face, the few traits that seemed foreign to the Holmes brothers.

Looking around at the crowd celebrating the Holmes' parent's fiftieth wedding anniversary, Molly was still trying to let it sink in. The celebrations were on, the party was loud and people were eating and drinking and dancing, like any other party. Except maybe you could up the 'posh' meter…by several notches.

And if she thought a chatty Sherlock was a weird sight, a chatty Mycroft made her want to rub her eyes and pinch herself.

"We all grew up together, it's a huge family. And Uncle Siger is a favourite with most…not to say Auntie Violet still scares the hell out of us. Such a good attendance was but natural. But most of these people, once they step outside, would be aloof as ever."

"You too?"

"Ah!" he chuckled, "I am the family black sheep!"

Downing his drink, he got up and invited her to yet another dance. She almost left the floor when the music started (it was a bloody waltz!) but he pulled her in, his easy manner and light banter making her forget her anxiety and follow his lead.

She had been surprised to receive an invite for the function in the first place, but was glad she'd accepted as the company was better than expected, way better.

Molly had been reserved initially. His last name was Holmes after all; she did know how that generally turned out.

But she was surprisingly wrong. She may have been ignored by Sherlock most of the evening, but it didn't sting as it usually did. She didn't even have to put on the false smile that she had mastered to an art, being too immersed in sharing true smiles and stories with someone who seemed to share her interests.

They were discussing astronomy (of all the things), when she mentioned that she wondered how red the surface of Mars actually was.

"No need to wonder, I can show you!"

Next thing she knew, she was being dragged up the stairs to the roof.

"Life's too short to have an unfulfilled wish, so let's take care of this one!... Welcome to Auntie Violet's astronomy lab…she really knows the sky."

The laboratory was small but well equipped, with telescopes mounted in opposite windows. And Isaac looked absolutely enraptured by the site the clear night rural sky offered.

"The sky reminds me that we are all so small, so young. We are but tiny bits and we would do well to remember that. But that doesn't mean we are insignificant. We all matter!"

The last statement startled her with a sense of déjà vu. Glancing at him, she wondered if he knew more but he was still gazing at the sky; a bit lost in his own world. But she liked what he said, what it meant.

She was a part of the bigger story, no matter what. Looking up at the infinity above, she suddenly believed it like never before; she did matter.

Smiling at her companion, Molly was suddenly very glad that Mary had coerced her to attend the party.

She could swim. If her life depended on it, she could swim. As long as her toes reached the bottom, she could swim. Till the almost drowning incident, she swam in the seas without a worry. No more.

But Isaac had somehow managed to convince her to give it a try.

So here she was, wading in waist deep water, holding his arm in a death grip. As he put the floatation tube around her waist, she was almost trembling with the effort to stay calm.

"It's a waste of time. The water may be clear but I think snorkelling is better suited to the Mediterranean." She blurted out.

"We can do that too. But don't dismiss the English waters so easily!"

With a cry of 'Allons-y', Isaac pulled her deeper into the water, till the ring was the only thing keeping Molly afloat.

"Look at me and breathe. Breathe with your mouth, and relax."

His eyes were kind and encouraging, soothing her nerves till her heartbeats calmed down and she started enjoying the water. He held her hand, gently pulling and guiding her till she remembered to use her legs.

Isaac was now humming a song which she slowly joined in. She was way away from the shore but she didn't panic, just gripped his hand tighter. They stayed that way for some time before he let go of her hand.

She had to take a deep breathe to stomp down the fear as he adjusted her snorkel mask and mouthpiece. Doing the same for himself, he then held her hand again as he dipped his head below water. Watching him do the same a few times, she followed suit slowly, tentatively, succeeding after a few tries.

She had forgotten how the world looked underwater. Where it was all gentle, swaying and moving, the light playing on the undulating surface below. She saw a few fish dart by, mesmerised by how even the plainest of them looked beautiful. It was a terrain that she had forgotten about, or rather had been too scared to appreciate.

It was a rather reluctant move back to reality when Isaac pointed out that they had been floating for about an hour. She didn't let go of the ring, but swam to the shore on her own. When her feet finally were able to touch the ground, it felt…wrong. Removing the ring around her waist, she continued to stay in the water; slowly swimming deeper and deeper till she was finally swam to the point where they spent the morning.

"You have no idea how long I have tried to do that. I can swim, I just…I am glad we did what we did today. It felt liberating!" Molly knew Isaac understood what she meant when he responded with a nod and a tiny smile.

Though his first words the next time they met sent a shiver down her spine.

"Today, we dive!"

Oh dear god!

The jump was scary, the descent beneath the blue surface almost made her leave the instructor's arm and swim up. But she persevered. And then got lost in her surroundings.

There was silence around her, lightness in her movements, yet she felt anchored. Slowly but surely touching the shallow seabed, she looked around her, the light playing with the blue colours. This world that was hidden from her suddenly seemed inviting, so accepting.

She wished she had explored it earlier.

As they sat on the boat in the evening, watching the setting sun paint the sky, she didn't realise tears were flowing down her cheeks. Her heart felt heavy and light at the same time, her tears the outlet for years of some suppressed emotion.

When they got back to shore, she was too tired to even smile.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow and spent the whole next morning sleeping, getting up finally by noon for a light meal and then sleeping again.

She was better by dinner, feeling some strange latent energy flowing through her.

"How did you know?"

Isaac just laughed, but she knew he understood what she was asking.

"Eyes are the windows to one's soul Molly. They rarely lie… I am just trying to help in what little way I can!"

"By making me do things I am scared of?" she frowned.

"By nudging you to do things that you want to do."

"Sounds like I am completing a bucket list or something…"

He laughed, "There's a whole new world to explore…if you want!"

"So an archaeologist as well as philosopher!"

"Both fields are a study of human beings…their nature, what made them 'tick'. It's when you dig deeper and deeper in time, searching for older and older stories that you realise that man hasn't changed much. What he seeks, what motivates him, what scares him, has remained more or less the same."

"Besides, as a very wise man, who laughs at my profession and who some say is fictional, very rightly said, 'We are all stories in the end'."

"But…why? Why should you do this? Any of this?"

"I would rather say, why not?"

Molly knew her eyes shone when she smiled, feeling lighter and better than in ages. There were new opportunities out there and suddenly she felt she had become more aware of them…that she could explore more, live more.

If her friends noticed a more chipper version of her, they didn't say anything. They were just glad to see her looking happier and more relaxed than in ages.

All but one man, of course.

"Surely there are more men out there in the world Molly, about three billion of them. Don't tell me you are so desperate for a Holmes that you have set your eyes on Isaac!" Sherlock sneered, to the collective gasps of their gathered friends.

But John and Greg were stunned into silence when Molly retorted with a, 'It could've been Mycroft' and continued playing with the Watson baby; only Mary saw the humour and snorted loudly. The earlier Molly would have been upset and would have tried to hide it. This version just didn't care.

They couldn't decide to be relieved or worried.

The changes also reflected in her day to day activities. She refused to cover for colleagues who were lazy or just using her good nature to get their work done. She was more precise in her actions around Sherlock too, handling his snarky comments with more grace. He was getting more flustered around her, than the other way round.

But Molly didn't seem to notice it at all.

"Sky diving! On a working day? Were you affected by bends…did you surface too fast?" Sherlock was almost spluttering in indignation when she told him she was going to take Thursday and Friday off.

"Those were the only days we could get bookings and Isaac is travelling again. So yes, a working day and no, not affected by bends."

"Never knew you to be so frivolous Molly. This is being careless."

There was a pause where she looked as if she didn't believe he actually uttered those words.

"Careless! I have had no complaints from any of my colleagues. Are you saying that the tests I did today were incorrect? Have I ignored any of your experiments? I am not careless Sherlock Holmes!"

The last words were growled out. She was furious! She took great pride in her meticulous work and offended, had marched right into his personal space, eyes glowering.

Sherlock seemed suddenly indecisive, as if he couldn't decide whether the anger surprised him more or her proximity. Huffing out a breath, he turned and left the lab, banging the doors on his way out.

"Drama queen!" Molly muttered.

"What did my dear brother say now? You almost look like a cat that got her tail stomped!" There was more surprise on Isaac's face than worry.

She was still angry. Careless! How dare he! It still rankled. After all that she had done for the man, that was a label that she refused to accept.

"It's got nothing to do with Sherlock."

He smirked as he pointed out that his cousin was a known specialist in throwing barbs.

Shaking her head, she said "Forget it. I am here to have some much fun, try something new. The last thing I need to do is rant and rave about that man!"

Isaac smiled, put his arm around her shoulders in a side hug and walked towards their waiting car.

"In your current mood…I doubt you can enjoy anything that isn't violence against my brother…"

She smiled reluctantly.

"This isn't about him, I swear. I mean not directly…oh, whom am I fooling, it is, it always is DAMMIT!"

She hated the sudden tears in her eyes. Rubbing her face, she turned helplessly towards him, but paused and took a deep breath, her body language changing.

"I will do this, no matter how shit scared I feel!" she announced resolutely.

"I am sure you will my dear." His eyes twinkled even in the dark interiors of the car. "Way better than you think," he muttered under his breath.

"I feel so elated…so light." She slightly slurred over her fourth glass of wine. "What next? I have no answer to that."

Celebrating her jump, they were sitting by the small café, pizza and wine their choice of cuisine.

She suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. "What are you doing here Isaac Holmes? It's Friday evening, you should be wining and dining some gorgeous woman, not wasting it having pizza!"

"What's wrong with pizza? I love it."

"Nothing, nothing at all. Pizza is fine, pizza is good. Pizza helps with those sudden hunger pangs or when you want a full tummy or…or company for your lonely beer. Pizza is good for general purpose…filling up? But then, you choose nice, healthy salads and gluten free sandwiches and granola bars. Smoothies and soups and whatever. The pizza is relegated to the backseat. Why, you even denounce it publicly. All the while, the humble food just does its work, filling your stomach and trying its best to serve its purpose. It's not the pizza's fault if you turn a glutton, it's your fault."

Isaac's face was suddenly severe.

"Its food for the soul Molly. Its value cannot be judged or rated on any scale."

She snorted as she shook her head, which suddenly seemed a very bad idea.

She rested her forehead on the table and inhaled deeply, trying to stop the world spinning.

Looking up after a few minutes, she saw that the table was cleared. Isaac placed a glass of water before her, ordering her to drink it. His deep, cultured words reminded her of a less kind, more cutting voice, that would have berated her current condition. She grabbed the water to shut that voice and drank the whole glass, almost retching in response.

"Whatever Isaac…you make it sound better anyways." She slurred.

She hadn't expected this to be her next stop. It wasn't a new destination, it was routine. But then, not really.

London looked so different and yet oddly familiar. It wasn't exactly a panoramic view, with rooftops and construction cranes. But it was a new angle, a new perspective…. Leaning over the low wall, she looked down and saw the place where the body she had helped throw landed. The place where Sherlock Holmes had died for the rest of the world. She had felt curiosity to see the Barts roof but had shunned it as morbid.

And then it happened. "Suicide of Fake Genius" got replaced by "Fake Suicide of Genius"; the newspapers thought they were being so clever.

But that was the distant past. It was history. All ends had been tied up, her actions appreciated. Roles relegated, players back in their pavilion. Matter closed.

She was back in the lab, playing her small role in the huge universe. Things changed around her, some drastically, some barely. Some were visible changes, some she felt and some she was informed in retrospect.

Her role hadn't been small, it had been tiny. She did matter, but what's a drop in a thunderstorm? It didn't count for much, did it?

It was finally as clear as the day dawning around her, as she stood.

This was her closure. The final one. So she let her tears flow, found that she suddenly couldn't stop them, didn't want to stop them. Her lungs felt starved for air, it was a fight to breath. It was painful, torturous.

It was like being born again.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there, resting against a pillar when heard the door opened behind her. "Wow. The view is…wonderful."

"Yes I suppose it is. Now that I can manage to look around."

"So Will jumped from here…" Isaac muttered under his breath.

"Will?"

Isaac turned to her, a questioning look on his face which turned to a frown, and then seemed to recollect his words. Which led to the frown slowly turning to an embarrassed smile.

"That's what the family calls him in private. His first name is William. All this 'Sherlock' business is a bit new and tedious."

William…Will! For the life of her, she couldn't envisage the Consulting Detective answering to anything other than Sherlock or Mr Holmes. Or the colourful names that Greg and John chose.

The name made him sound human, almost ordinary. She decided then that she didn't like it; it just didn't fit the man she knew.

"Thank you Isaac, for making me come here."

He paused before responding.

"The list was incomplete without this."

She nodded as she recalled, "The look of vulnerability on his face that night…scared the living daylights out of me. I just…I just hope he always has someone to turn to, rather he knows that he has someone to turn to. He looked so lonely that night."

"He does. And he knows that now." Standing beside her, he muttered, more to himself. "Sherlock Holmes has finally acknowledged that having a family isn't so bad after all."

He missed the relieved but sad smile on her face.

"So…did you know about the fake suicide?" She hesitated, wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. They were now sitting in her flat, beers in hand and watching TV. The question had been burning in her mind.

"God no! I was in the dark till he turned up right on my doorstep on a dig in Central Asia. Never been more scared in my life or more relieved. Cried like a baby." His smile didn't cover the haunted look he had in his eyes.

"Sorry about that. I still feel guilty at times, when I remember how people suffered."

"That's why it was better the last time, if you can call it that. Mycroft was a bit desperate, we all were. Desperate times, desperate measures. Only just managed to get our act together in the nick of time. We knew we could only truly protect him on British soi-."

Isaac abruptly stopped, but his words lay heavy in the air. Molly blinked once, twice.

"You mean the Moriarty broadcast? ...you were involved?" She whispered, her eyebrows almost shooting into her hairline.

"What are you talking about?" The smirk on his face was familiar. "That case was officially solved by Sherlock; couldn't let a psychopath run free around the country and all that. Mycroft ensured it."

She looked blankly at him.

"No," she whispered. "Of course not."

Getting up, she went to the kitchen and put the kettle to boil. Her hands on the counter, she stared into space before the whistle distracted her, when she started speaking slowly.

"I didn't know then, you know. About his one way ticket. I guess people close to him knew some version of it. Things haven't been the same since. I assumed Moriarty was responsible somehow but…that's not the case, is it? You guys fanned the smoke. There was no Moriarty! This was some big exercise to get him back."

Isaac made to approach Molly but the hard look on her face stopped him.

"I don't blame you for that, not at all. You definitely have the brain and the man power for it. But the distance that Sherlock kept has increased after he came back from that four minute exile, as he calls it. He is more…cold. He realised something after Magnusson, didn't he?"

Approaching him, Molly calmly spoke on.

"Sherlock wants me away from him, from it all, would prefer I move on. But does he know how tough it is? I have tried and failed even though I want to do it."

"So he enlists you, a Holmes well versed with human psychology…the perfect foil."

Isaac stood watching her put the pieces of the puzzle together. She looked utterly miserable as the final piece of the puzzle fit, too tired to protest when he took her in his arms and held her close.

"Oh Molly, I told him you would get it but would he listen! I am sorry, so sorry."

She let him hold her, leaning on him, taking some strength from the fact that he hadn't bolted like his relative but was staying back, even if just to hold her.

His eyes showed his remorse, and then they didn't.

"I am not going to apologise for spending time with you or getting to know you. I am sorry for the ruse early on, but now all I really, really want is to see you happy."

"And there's one man who can do something about it, don't you think?"

Giving him a small smile, Molly then turned, grabbed her coat and purse and ran out of the flat.

Sherlock was on the phone when she entered Baker Street. From the short answers but subdued tones, Molly guessed he was talking to his mother. When he saw her, he just raised an eyebrow, before using her presence as an excuse to escape the call.

"Molly? Fancy seeing you here." He had reverted back to conducting whatever experiment he had been doing before.

She had been battling her emotions all along the way here. Pride made her want to leave and at the same time stay to demand answers.

"Isaac." That was all she could manage to say.

He frowned.

"What about him?"

"It was all planned…you planned this, didn't you?"

He face turned blank.

"I don't know what you are talking about." Arrogance dripped from his tone.

Her anger deflated and she spoke quietly.

"Oh, you do. You definitely know what I am saying. I am just disappointed that you stooped to such low levels."

Feeling tired to her bones, she sat in John's chair. Fiddling with her fingers, she continued.

"The Magnusson episode. Made you realise that you have become vulnerable, even more than when you faced Moriarty. John Watson, he is a necessity; you need him, always did and always will. Greg, Mrs Hudson…nothing has changed."

She paused, still looking at her hands. "Mary is an addition to that list, so is the baby. But they are John's family. And he isn't going anywhere without them."

She raised her head, finally looking at him. "You mentioned me yourself in Anderson's interview. So you have reasons to believe that I would be included on that list the next time… And there will be a next time."

He met her gaze unflinchingly, his face carved in stone.

"It would be best if I move away. And it has to be voluntary move, a complete break. It should seem natural, gradual, else…else this whole exercise is futile. You know I won't accept any offers from other hospitals, so you focus on the emotional front."

She got up and moved to the window, talking more to herself now. "Clear old emotional baggage, make fresh ground. Point towards greener pastures. And who better than another Holmes to do that work."

She finally turned around to face him. "To be fair, Isaac has been lovely and supportive throughout. He listened, suggested and was just there for me. Didn't even ask for anything in return."

She laughed a humourless sound that grated on his nerves. "He is the male version of me! I should really be with him."

"Then why aren't you?" His harsh tones seemed to anger her further.

"Because I don't want-…actually that's none of your bloody business. I came here with an offer."

He raised his brow at this.

"Quid pro quo, Sherlock, you stay out of my life and I will stay out of yours. Let us both suffer alone."

At his questioning look, she laughed her humourless laugh again and approached him.

"Sherlock, the amount of effort you have put into this, getting your family involved…you are not as unaffected as you pretend. You care… you definitely do…maybe almost as much as I do?"

They stood facing each other, blue green gaze meeting a determined brown one, neither backing down.

"But I've had enough of this, whatever this is. No more potential for trouble from me…trust me. Only thing left is goodbye." The resolve in her words was clear.

There was a pause as she slowly backed away and turned towards John's chair.

"What?" He frowned.

She picked her purse and started to leave.

"You're leaving?" This time the question was louder, a bit angry.

She didn't answer, nor did she turn around.

"Molly?"

She turned the handle to open the door.

"Molly!"

As she exited the room and turned to pull the door shut after her, it was wrenched from her hands. But Sherlock stopped dead at the look on her face.

It was a resigned look, defeated yet determined.

"Goodbye?"

"Yes, Sherlock, bye!"

Her tone was flat. She turned to take the stairs when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Holding her close by both her arms, she could feel the fury emitting off him. He was changing his grip, almost kneading her arms.

He opened his mouth a couple of times but shut it, not finding the words.

She calmly brushed off one of his hands, he let go of the other.

"You can't go, not like this!" His was tone harsh.

"And why not?"

He swallowed. Taking deep breaths, as if to steady himself, he spoke through a clenched jaw, his eyes shut.

"Because I am not prepared."

"Sorry…I guess." She shrugged, after a pause.

"What?"

"What do you want me to say Sherlock?" She snapped back at him.

"Why the sudden decision?"

"Oh you want me to wait till you are ready with whatever and then move at your convenience, is it?"

"I didn't mean that." He growled out.

Moving close into his personal space, gaze fixed, she demanded.

"How about saying what you actually mean Sherlock. You should try it sometime, it's not very difficult." Sarcasm dripped from her words.

"Don't get all cocky Molly." He warned.

"See, told you it's not difficult." She smirked.

He grabbed her arm again, his eyes shooting fire.

"Let go Sherlock." Molly tried to free herself, but this time his grip was vice-like.

"Sherlock, let me go!" She growled.

"I would," he rasped out, pulling her against him, almost whispering in her ear. "If only I knew how."

She jerked away, expecting to see a smirk on his face. Instead she saw frustration tinged with anger, but knew it was directed at himself.

He could not meet her gaze, addressing the floor behind her.

"You were right, as always. I do care. A lot. Quite a lot." He muttered angrily.

Passing his hand through his hair, he sounded helpless.

"But I can't, Molly. You have no idea what John and Mary went through, just because they are my friends. If anyone, anyone knew how I felt-"

He stopped abruptly, turning and stalking inside 221B. Molly followed him after a few moments.

She had been sarcastic earlier, when she said that he cared about her. But now for him to admit it, it seemed unreal. False. A put on act.

Then again, knowing him as she did, if he had been lying, he would have been his confident, charming best. Not this.

She hesitated as she entered the lounge,

"Well, this is a surprise." She muttered, not sure how to go on. Sherlock's confession, albeit reluctant or maybe even accidental, had thrown her off.

"Is it really?" He was still facing the window.

She sat on the sofa, sighing, and feeling worn out.

The silence was strangely comforting and welcome.

"I love you, you do know that, don't you? Never could say that out loudly before." She said in a low voice.

"What are you trying to prove, Molly?" He whipped around, almost vibrating with some barely controlled emotion.

"Just that I know how you feel."

"I could do with not feeling at all." He bit out, and then sighed deeply as he sat down in his chair, holding his head in his hands. "It's exhausting."

"I know," she gave a sad smile. "The constant struggle, wishing you could stop feeling so much, caring so much, just wanting to let go … I really do know how you feel Sherlock."

She spoke with surprising calmness.

"But…do you still want to continue doing that? Honestly?"

After the longest possible pause, he looked at her, his face mirroring the on-going battle between head and heart.

He got up, his decision made. She followed suit, feeling apprehensive as he approached her, his face blank until it suddenly his eyes shone with the emotion he had hidden so well.

"No."

It was the sweetest refusal she had ever heard.

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