It only took one choice. The choice to either save the lives of the three most dear to him, or end his own. And despite the informants who made the reasonable arguments that he didn't, he did infact have a heart. It wasn't a hard choice in his mind.
It had been a year. A year since Reichenbach, a year since the jump, a year since John Hamish Watson lost his best friend to an 8 story building. John had almost completely lost it when Sherlock jumped. The first tear was made after the phone call. Seeing his vibrant blue eyes cold and dead made the second. The deep chocolate curls, soaked a cherry wood red by the blood that was coloring the white pavement made the last tear. John's heart was completely ripped apart.
He was always watched. Mycroft had tightened the security at Baker street, Mrs. Hudson checked in constantly, and there was another presence, an unsure presence that John could not make out. The unknown presence watched him carefully, but not in a way that made him uncomfortable, a likeable presence.
"John? Are you awake? There's a woman here to see you," said Mrs. Hudson, peeking her head through the door.
"Who is she?" asked John, preparing to tell whoever this woman was to leave him alone.
"It's Molly, dear, she has important matters to speak with you about I believe." John motioned for Mrs. Hudson to let her in and in she came. It was as though in the three years that John had known Molly she hadn't aged. She looked just like she did when he met her. Her sandy hair was pulled into a low ponytail that hung down her back. She had normal English woman's attire and ballet flats accompanied by her unmistakable St. Bartholomew's Hospital lab coat. He couldn't look into her eyes, though. Her chocolate irises resembled Sherlock's hair greatly in color which, even though it was silly, drowned John in sorrow.
"Hello John! How are you?" Molly asked, smiling softly at him. John weakly smiled back before speaking to her, "I'm as good as I can be, which, strictly speaking, isn't very good at all." Molly sat down beside him without making a single sound as she moved. She closed her eyes and exhaled through her mouth, the mouth that Sherlock had described as "too small" when she removed her lipstick. She opened her eyes and, with a look of complete seriousness that John had never seen, began to tell him her important matters. "John, there is something that I need to tell you. It is very important to me and you and you are the only one who is to know of it until you are told otherwise." Molly sounded much older than she was now, more adult. John nodded in agreement to her terms and when she looked like she was going to speak again his pulse quickened. Before she could say anything her phone made the signal that told her she got a text. It must of been short because the phone was back in her pocket before John could even tell what kind of phone it was. She looked at him and spoke, "You know, forget all that. I'm, uh, really bad at practical jokes, huh? Okay. Goodbye." Molly looked normal again but she was overly nervous, she walked in short quick steps all the way out of Baker Street.
John was bothered, not by Molly's strange actions, but by his heart beat. It was still beating very fast, faster than it normally did when he was excited. He had only had that feeling once. It had been activated by a few words.
"Wanna see some more?"