Notes: Sorry has not been beta'd. First fanfic story, all mistakes are mine. Sorry.

IMPORTANT WARNING: I do *NOT* own Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, or the delightful Molly. The BBC's 'Sherlock' is fantastic. The wonderful actors who play them belong to themselves! Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffit are awesome! I own nothing! Except for a wild imagination!

Warning: deals with sensitive matters. Very emotional. This work of fiction is a bit dark yet with a light of hope.

Summary: Molly wants to die, can Sherlock help her? Meaning he tries to stop such foolishness and solve the mystery of why!

'What is the meaning of it, Watson?' Said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. 'What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable'…

~The Cardboard Box

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~Part 1~*~

Molly Hooper looked down at the body laid out before her.

"So, is the bruising what you expected?" She asked Sherlock Holmes, who stood across from her to study the bruising with a cold scientific eye. Sherlock had put the bruises on the body. A body who had given itself to science.

"Hmm…Yes. The bruises from the choke hold I had on the corpse turned out beautifully."

Molly studied the bruises closely before lifting her eyes to study Sherlock's face. He really was a handsome, beautiful man. His high intelligence was even more beautiful to her.

He ignored her study of him. Perhaps use to it or perhaps he simply didn't care. Maybe it was both.

"So…I hear you are going on a holiday, Molly? Starting tomorrow?"

Molly forced a smile. "Wow, is this the great Sherlock Holmes attempting to make conversation?"

Now, he looked at her with a little surprise before he gifted her with a small side smile, only then did he inform her, "John told me recently that I needed to seriously work on my conversation skills. I'm told I suck at it. Still not good?"

This time Molly's smile was real for a second anyway.

"No…I mean yes, you are really improving your conversational skills. John will be so proud of you. Really proud."

Sherlock nodded, before leaning over the body to look back at the bruises. He carefully touched them.

"So…Holiday?" Sherlock repeated the question, "Where are you going?"

Molly shrugged, "Nowhere really. I…I think I'll be surprised to be honest."

"A spontaneous holiday doesn't really sound like you but I do hope you get away and enjoy yourself. Perhaps you can bring me back an ashtray."

"I thought you'd gone cold turkey again." Molly questioned curiously.

"Most days I don't need a cigarette, other days I do. Sometimes right after eating a cold turkey sandwich…" Sherlock told her with a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

Molly put her hands into her white lab coat pockets. "Sherlock can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Molly, no matter how stupid it is, please feel free to ask it."

"Do you believe in life after death?" Molly asked softly.

He shot her a look. "No. What would be the point of living this life? What would make this life so damn special or make the lives of others so important? What would be the point to anything and everything that we do? Why bother to look for happiness? Why find cures for sickness? Why be curious? Why solve any problem? If all that happens is to live it all again in another life? Life is what happens in the middle of a book. Birth is the beginning and death is always the end. Sometimes the story in the book is big and other times it's much too small."

"No heaven or hell, then?" Molly questioned still speaking softly, almost thoughtfully.

"As I've stated before religion is for the family idiot." Sherlock stated dryly. "Well, it looks like I'm done here. Do enjoy your holiday."

Molly impulsively reached out and grabbed at a label of his familiar black coat. Sherlock looked startled as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Much like he had done to her many times before. It was quick and simple, yet held so much meaning. She released him and stepped back.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for being my friend…I, um, I treasure you. I really do." Molly stated this looking away. She quickly shoved the corpse back into its drawer. Shutting the metal door with a loud bang.

"I feel the same, Molly." Sherlock whispered, she had a feeling that he was leaning down to return her heartfelt kiss to the cheek. Before he could, however, she turned sharply away to pick up some files that she'd sat down earlier as he had entered to check on Mr. Stevin's bruises.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." She knew just how final those words sounded, yet they needed to be said.

"Molly…" There was something in his tone that made her look at him. He looked as if there was a puzzle he was desperately trying to solve. She didn't want him to solve her like a puzzle. In Sherlock's eyes there was confusion, wonder and…and concern. "What's wrong?"

She studied him as if she could burn the image forever into her brain. It took a long moment before she did her best to look happy and carefree.

"Nothing is wrong, Sherlock, absolutely nothing." Molly lied for once with ease. Desperately hoping to fool the great famous detective that she cared so much for.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed sharply. There was a cruel harshness now within those beautiful depths, before they cleared and became quite normal once more. Unexpectedly, he clapped his hands together loudly making her jump.

"When you come back from your holiday, we should do lunch or you know, dinner. Maybe even both! I do know some wonderful places where we can eat for free!" Sherlock told her with an overwhelming cheerfulness.

Molly nodded before lying once more. It was getting easier now. "Sure. I'll, um, call you."

Sherlock tilted his head. His eyes once more sharp upon her face. As if he saw something only he could see. His nose gave a sudden twitch before his face and eyes softened to give her a beautiful smile. She found herself, once again, thinking how remarkably handsome he looked.

"I'll be looking forward to your call then, Molly."

Sadness filled her. He'd have a long wait. She watched him turn away and leave. She waited a long moment as she studied the now closed door.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. So very sorry…" Molly whispered in the quietness and stillness of the morgue. Knowing that if Sherlock had heard, she wasn't sure he'd care. She closed her eyes wishing things could indeed be different. Wishing that she could be different.

She had already decided that today was the day. Already accepted what she felt she had to do.

She was going to find peace. Find rest. No more nightmares. No more living with fear that seemed to haunt her nearly every second of the day. Especially around Sherlock who could deduce anyone's secret. He always seemed to know everything with a simple, single look. She had always admired that amazing ability. Now she lived in terror of it.

Tonight she was going to end her own life.

Molly had known she couldn't end it without saying goodbye to Sherlock first. She wasn't sure why really; it was simply a strong need that wouldn't leave her as she made her final plans.

So, now that was out of the way and it was time to go home…

Tonight her book would be finished.

~End of part 1~