Socializing with the living is not one of Molly Hooper's strong points. But really, what can you expect from someone who works with the dead? People without a heartbeat listened to hear silent troubles so much better. It was better than the piteous stares that she would receive. People always assumed she was a naïve little girl, stuck in her fantasy world.

The truth was, Molly knew about the harshness of the world around her. The dark corners weren't so hidden. She wasn't naïve. Molly was a Reaper, and being a Reaper meant hearing about all the gruesome deaths, and the lives that came before them.

Sure, she held a respectable position in the morgue, but it was in the Reaper business where she shined.

Molly was kind to the souls who stood beside her. She comforted them as best she could. Some would get angry with her. Many would shed tears after being filled with the pain of knowing that their lives are not lost, and wondering what will become of their loved ones. Molly would give them all the time they needed, within reason, before they passed on to the next part.

They would ask her what came next, fearful that there was absolutely nothing. Others, to her distress, felt that they deserved to go to hell, or a place much like it. She explained to them, each time, that she was the kind of reaper who dealt with good souls. If you went to her, there was no reason to fear.

But Molly was never quite sure. Reapers knew next to nothing about what happened when you passed. Besides, why wouldn't there be an after if there were Reapers? What would be the point of having a soul if it didn't transcend the body?

Yes, Molly completely believed in an after-life. So, she didn't fear for the souls that she helped move into the after-life.

Molly has had to take many souls. She has taken the souls of children. She has taken the souls of people who had to leave their beloved behind in the world of the living. She's taken mothers just as they've given birth.

The very first soul that she reaped happened to be her father.

Despite all of this, she trusted Death, although she did not like him very much from time to time. The one time that Molly came very close to hating Death, was just a few days ago.

It was late. Molly always worked late. When a Reaper worked in a hospital (as most of them did), they made sure that there was another Reaper there to take over. Molly liked to stay later than most, however. There wasn't much going on for her outside of her job, and she knew that other Reapers never really got the chance to live.

She didn't mind all that much.

Just before she flicked the lights out, John Watson walked into the room.

Immediately, Molly looked for Sherlock. Although her feelings for the detective have finally subsided (mostly) she couldn't help but look forward to their meetings. He was really interesting- and he didn't mind spending time around dead bodies.

"Molly?" John asked, which brought Molly's attention back to him. The poor man looked confused, almost lost. It made Molly worried. John never looked like that, not really. Sure, she had seen him look worried about the things that Sherlock did or said, but now... This was different. Not only that, but Sherlock wasn't here with John. Why wouldn't Sherlock be here? It's not like John had any business in St. Barts.

Right?

"What's wrong, John?" She asked, taking a few steps forward. This entire situation felt familiar. The coldness in the air, the silent prayer that she wasn't quite aware she was praying, and the way her fingers itched to reach out to a person. It's not the first time Molly ignored an instinct.

"I don't know why I'm here," He said, almost surprised at his own words. "I was with Sherlock... then... I was here," He held a hand up. Molly knew that look. She'd seen it on John's face a time or two when Sherlock's said something awful. He's trying to make sense of something. At least she thinks so.

"And not one person, no one but you, anyway, could see me." He frowned, as if he had figured something out. But he wasn't the only one.

Molly's heart sank.

It never did work. Ignoring her instincts, that is. Every single time, she was disappointed. And now here? This might be the worst of all. Because this is John Watson.. She is still holding out this small hope that she's wrong, but with souls, she rarely is.

"You don't remember?" She prompted.

John smiled, and waved his hand in the air, as if to clear out everything that has been said.

"Never mind. I'll just... find Sherlock. Must have drugged me again, or something," He started to turn around and walk away. John's soul was the first that Molly felt very uncomfortable with. She didn't want to reap him. She wanted him to go home to baker street, to be with Sherlock.

Molly bit her lip before speaking.

"John, wait," She said, sounding a little desperate. "Wait, I know why you're here."

He turns, slowly, almost fearful. But Molly knows better. John's not afraid of being dead. He's afraid for the same reason she is. Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, John. I really, really am," She says, walking towards him. He still has that confused look etched on his face. Oh, John. "But you're... probably dead... and I am so, so sorry."

He nods once, and licks his lips. There is no need to ask what killed him, or how he ended up here. He's not even asking why she of all people can see him. It's clear from the look on his face that that isn't the part that bothers him. Far from it.

Molly is very good at her job, but she is not prepared for this. She's not prepared to see John Watson's body on a slab. She's not prepared to preform an autopsy, or reap him so that he may move forward. Her gut instinct tells her that he belongs here, in his body. Sherlock needs him, and that's good enough for her.

"What now?" He asks her after a moment. "I can't just... I can't leave." The air in the room feels thick. Molly isn't sure how to console him.

"I know. I'm-"

"No, no, don't apologise. Don't. Take me back. That's something you can do, is it? You can see me. Others couldn't. You can do something about all this, right?" It doesn't sound so much like a question. More like a demand.

It's not something she hasn't heard before. Molly has heard all the reasons why a person couldn't leave this life behind. Love. Children. A war. A debt to settle. It was always something. But there was nothing she could do but prolong the journey across the bridge John would need to take.

"John," She says softly. "I can't. I wish I could, but I can't," She has held many hands. Has hugged strangers. She's stood next to someone and not said a word. Sometimes all someone needed was some company. John Watson was one of the tricky ones. She couldn't provide the comfort that he needed.

So why on earth would Death send John Watson's soul to her?

In her pocket, he phone buzzed. Normally, she would ignore her phone when she was tending to a recently departed soul, but again, there was that feeling. That feeling that something was just off. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out her phone.

'Upstairs. Now. -SH' It read.

Sherlock was at the hospital? Of course. They would have brought the body to the morgue. Was Sherlock looking for clues?

Oh, but wait, Molly thinks. No, upstairs is... It suddenly clicked in her head. She looked up to John, excitement pouring into her.

"John, listen to me. You might not be dead. Just almost dead!"

John didn't seem as excited as she was.

"What do you mean almost dead?" He asked through gritted teeth. Why was he upset? Molly just told him he wasn't quite dead yet. Well, maybe she didn't explain it just right.

"I mean that it's your choice John. I mean, that you're at a crossroads, and you don't have to cross over, if you don't want to. You're probably... in a coma, or something. Probably, anyway. Something that could send you either way." She explained.

This had never happened to her. She had spoken to other Reapers who have guided souls who were at a crossroads. It's not terribly uncommon, but still. It's exciting. She'll be able to do Sherlock (and John) some good. She can set this right. That is, if John still wants to go back.

"Yes, yes, I want to go back, isn't that what I just said?" he said, his tone biting. "So... if you don't mind."

Molly was struck again by the fact that she has never before encountered a soul at the crossroads of life and death. She would have thought that if someone wanted to live, they would have just gone back.

So what was preventing John from going back to his life? This may be a problem.

"Erm... Well, lets go go have a look-see at your body, shall we? That should fix things up."

It was time to make sure that the men she loved and admired were kept safe.

Not beta'd! Not Britpicked! If you would like to, please hit me up on my tumblr. Also, this should be about 3-4 chapters long. Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!