"I-" Sherlock stutters, realizing he can't remember the last time he'd let himself love anyone, much less admit it aloud. "I… love you," he finally manages unconvincingly. However, as soon as the words leave his lips, Sherlock feels as if an unspoken weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "I love you," he repeats, this time almost eager to expunge his feelings. However his relief is short-lived when he quickly becomes aware of the haunting silence on the other side of the line.
"Molly?"
Nothing. He can see the willpower in her eyes as she holds the phone away from her face. Four seconds on the clock.
"Molly, please," he pleads with desperate sincerity. Three seconds.
Sherlock can't help but hold his breath as his eyes shift back and forth from her to the countdown. "Molly!" Two seconds.
"I-"
The pathologist's voice is cut off as the feed suddenly dissolves into white noise.
"Christ," Watson expels, turning away from the screen as if to avert his eyes from the carnage of their failure.
"No. No!" Sherlock brings his hands to his head in horror and disbelief. "She," he pauses, taking a long breath. "She was going to say it…"
"Oh… certainly you don't believe that Sherlock," Euros remarks with contempt.
"What have you done?" her brother mutters quietly, his eyes rimmed with red. "Oh God, what have you done?!"
"Now, now Sherlock," his sister goads. "It isn't my fault Miss Hooper is dead. It's yours." Her voice rings with twisted delight. "Do you know why she wouldn't say those words to you?"
"Stop it," John orders Euros firmly, unsettled by the pain which was now evident in his best friend's expression.
"Because you've been killing her slowly for years… Every time you ignored her, dismissed her, insulted her-"
"I said stop it!" John insists, but to no avail.
"She resented you and your inability to feel. So she built a wall, Sherlock… she built a wall to block out the pain. And do you know what?" Euros asks with enthusiasm. "It worked. She isn't feeling a thing anymore. It's you who's left to deal with all the messy little emotions. You always were the vulnerable one…"
Sherlock cringes as his mind travels back to his various encounters with Molly Hooper over the years. Silent tears spill out of his red-rimmed eyes and tumble slowly down his long face.
"Sherlock, don't listen to her," John orders. "This is not your fault. Somehow we-" he swallows, as if first convincing himself of the words before uttering them. "We are going to get through this. We're going to soldier on."
"What are you feeling Sherlock?" Euros asks curiously. "Grief? Shame? Guilt?"
The detective swallows his emotions to the best of his ability, stealing a quick glance at his brother, who'd been standing silently in the corner throughout the whole ordeal. And for a brief moment, Sherlock wondered whether Mycroft "the smart one" Holmes could even comprehend the pain of what had just unfolded before them.
"Alright boys, onward we go," Euros coaxes, opening a door for them to pass through. "On your own time of course."
John and Mycroft slowly make their way to the door, unsure how else to continue. Sherlock stays put and leisurely reaches for the lid to the coffin. He places it tenderly upon the empty casket and stares at the words which would now haunt him for the rest of his life.
"I love you."
His fingers pass lightly over the etched letters, trembling uncontrollably.
"No," Sherlock utters simply, his heartache quickly devolving into to anger. "No, no, no!" He raises both fists in the air and brings them down on the coffin with such force that the wood splits. But he doesn't stop there. Like a child with irrepressible rage, Sherlock strikes the coffin repeatedly until it's smashed to bits on the floor before him. And when there's nothing left to hit, Sherlock collapses against the nearest wall, sinking to the floor and covering his face in frustration.
Euros grins at her brother's inability to suppress his emotions. The old Sherlock- the Sherlock she'd loved to torment as a child- was returning.
John couldn't stand seeing his comrade lose himself so completely, and it was quite a few minutes before the detective regained the illusion of composure.
"Sherlock," Watson finally interrupts. "I know this is-" he struggles to find an appropriate adjective. "Well, I don't know what this is anymore…"
"This is vivisection," Sherlock informs him matter-of-factly. "We are experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats."
"I know," John acknowledges. "And I know you're hurting. I am too. Molly was a dear friend. But she believed in you Sherlock-"
"She shouldn't have," Sherlock interrupts sharply, the self-loathing evident in his voice.
"Oh God no, that's not what I- What I meant was… she wouldn't want you to give up," John clarifies. "Today we're soldiers, remember? Now, let's see this through, eh? For Molly?"
Watson holds outs his hand, offering to help Sherlock up from where he was seated on the floor.
The detective meets his steady gaze with hesitation, but accepts the invitation.
"For Molly," Sherlock agrees.