"I… I love you."
Sherlock saw the smile flit across Molly's face.
"I love you"
This one was for him, for all the years he had been so awful to Molly, the one who mattered most.
"Molly?"
The clock was counting down. They were running out of time.
"Molly, please!"
Panic rose in him. She had to say it.
"Goodbye, Sherlock."
Molly's voice was barely a whisper. She'd had enough of his games. She was done.
"No, Molly… please don't do this."
Sherlock didn't yell. He pleaded quietly. He begged for mercy.
Their time ran out.
The screen went dark.
"Uh oh!" Eurus sang. "What a shame."
"Molly." Sherlock dropped to his knees. "No."
"Right then, moving on!"
The door to the next room slid open.
"Off you go, Sherlock!"
Mycroft made his way to the exit but stopped in the doorway and looked back at his little brother. "Sherlock, however hard this is…"
John shook his head, cutting Mycroft off. He picked the gun up from where his friend had let it fall beside him. John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Soldiers today."
Sherlock exhaled and looked up towards his friend. Silent tears rolled down his face. Sherlock composed himself, clenched his jaw, and stood up. He walked over to where the lid leaned against the wall. Steeling himself, Sherlock picked up the lid and carried it over to Molly's coffin. He could practically see her lying there. He wasn't naive about death. He imagined her body, her skin tight, her muscles rigid, her flesh cold, her blood pooling at the bottom of her body. He envisioned the burns she'd be covered in, how her limbs would be mangled from the explosion. He shuddered at the thought of Molly Hooper so… damaged.
Sherlock decided he would not let Eurus steal his memory of Molly. He positioned the lid on the coffin, forever burying the broken images of Molly Hooper, and rested his hand atop the wooden box.
"Sherlock?" John's echoed from the door.
Sherlock just kept standing there, looking at Molly's coffin.
"Why didn't you let me save you?" he murmured. "I did what you asked: I said it, I meant it."
"Sherlock," Mycroft this time, more firmly.
"I did what you asked," Sherlock growled through his gritted teeth.
"Sherlock," John called sharply.
"I did what you asked." Sherlock snapped. He smashed his fists into the coffin over and over. He lifted shards of wood and beat them against the trestles. He screamed, a long, anguished, inhuman scream, and collapsed against the cold, stone wall, holding his head in his hands.
"Look, I know this is difficult and I know you're being tortured, but you have got to keep it together." John was now standing above him.
"This isn't torture; this is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats." Sherlock spat. He let out a pained sigh and looked up at his best friend.
"Soldiers," they agreed.