Molly's heart had begun pounding as soon as she glimpsed the I.D. John had been the one to check on her after- it. The phone call. He'd explained everything; Eurus, Mycroft, the Island, Moriarty, the tests, the Governor, his wife, the non-explosives, the cameras, Sherlock's choice, the darts, the house, the song, the fire, the well- Redbeard.

Molly felt physically ill.

"What can I do?"

All but numb.

John hesitated: torn. Nothing, not her. Molly understood. It hurt, like hell: her heart broke farther, somehow. Not for herself, not entirely: for Sherlock, and John, even Mycroft. Still, she nodded, however stiffly, then managed to assure him it was alright. Told him to just ring her if she was needed. To please, not worry, she would be fine- was fine: just glad they were alive.

He didn't seem to believe her, and she didn't blame him. She wasn't sure she believed her either, but she had to be fine: so, she would be. John nodded tiredly. Molly forced a smile, hugged him, then showed him to the door. Once he was gone, she collapsed and cried in earnest.

Heartbroken. Helpless. Frightened. Sad. Angry. Broken. Hopeless. Guilty: So frickin' weak.

So many pieces fell into place, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, and Molly stayed there till the sun peaked on the horizon.

It all came back in a rush. Her hands shook as she lifted her phone. She didn't want to answer it: afraid and a little angry. It caused her a flood of guilt. Helpless. Hopeless. Molly hesitated. Weak: self-loathing mingled with it all.

She steeled herself, pressed the button, her thumb still quivering, "John?"

It was all she had.

"Honestly!" Mrs. Hudson's voice seemed far away, but clearly chastising. "Sherlock! Not the…! Come now John! That's enough! Stop that! Sherlock!"

"Mrs. Hudson?" panic flooded her, though, Mrs. Hudson's tone threw her off slightly. "Mrs. Hudson!"

There was scuffling and cursing. The odd thump while Mrs. Hudson continued to shout. Molly was half way to her keys, one arms in her jacket, the other pressing the phone to her ear, trying to determine what in the bloody hell was happening. Hesitating, unsure.

The panic hadn't ebbed, not really, but she didn't want to- not be needed.

"Mrs. Hudson!" – nothing, well nothing definitive. "Mrs. Hudson!"

Molly's shout startled a Pidgeon who took off from the fire escape, but she couldn't find it in her to care.

"It's answered! It's answered, Sherlock! It already answered!"

John's voice was muffled, then distant. There was another thump and a grunt, then closer.

"No!" that had been Sherlock, followed by a louder thud.

What in the world… but at least it was something, better than nothing, yet was it?

"Hello!" Molly shouted into the receiver, panic beginning to ebb, but irritation mounting. "Mrs. Hudson! John! Sherlock!"

"Stop it, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson's voice was very near, and the thudding had stopped.

"No!" Sherlock, breathless, a bit distant and indiscernible. "Been…enough! … don't!"

Molly heart sank along with her stomach. Her cheeks and eyes burned. It was stupid, but she couldn't help it. She bit into her bottom lip, wanting to hang up, forget about it all, but she couldn't. What if…

"Molly, Dear," Mrs. Hudson was speaking into the receiver now, loud and clear, then shouting, dismayed. "Sherlock, you said you wouldn't dirty the kitchen!"

She heard rather loud accusations, both men blaming the other, and Molly relaxed, if only a little, even as her anger spiked. Mrs. Hudson shouted back at them.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"Don't shout, Molly, Dear," Mrs. Hudson's voice faded a bit, then rang clear. "I'm right here."

"What's happened, then?" Molly asked unable to completely dispel the anger and irritation from her tone.

"Oh, nothing much, Dear," and Molly didn't believe her. "How would you like to have dinner?"

"Dinner?" Molly's incredulous tone was echoed in the background.

"Yes, dinner," Mrs. Hudson's tone was suddenly firm, then it softened. "How about, say, seven?"

"Seven?"

"Seven, it is," Mrs. Hudson, triumphant. "See you then, Molly, Dear."

"But…" click. "Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson!"

Then nothing, silence. Molly sighed, frustrated, as her jacket landed in a heap on the tile of the kitchen floor. The urge to launch her phone at the nearest wall seized her, but she resisted: irrational. She would just call back. Tell them she couldn't make it, at least ask why.

Why, now?

Molly had an idea, but it didn't mean she wanted to- if she could. A heaviness settled in her chest. No answer, of course.

5:13- Molly groaned.

It was selfish. She was being selfish. Would she be willing to do anything less for any of her other friends: John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, or anyone, really? No, she wouldn't, not Molly Hooper.

She shook her head with another sigh, or perhaps releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she got John's voice mail, again. Defeated, another sigh, she dragged herself to the Washroom, sure she smelled like formaldehyde, regardless of her own inability to detect the scent with any real accuracy. It would still be impolite.

Molly adjusted the shower nobs, the temperature much hotter than was usual, in the hopes of working out some of the sudden tension she felt all over. Yet, she managed to straighten her spine, determined to be strong. Carefully, she climbed in; pretending her heart wasn't racing, or that she wasn't picking apart every outfit she owned as Sherlock would, even that her decision hadn't been made by a technique she'd picked up from the devil himself.

Even then, she was all too aware, that despite the cascading water, regardless of how hard she tried, no amount of pretending or noise would ever drown out those three little words. Eight stupid letters strung together, spoken without so much as a hint of untruth. Breathless and earnest. The very ones that caused her whole world to stop spinning before it all came crashing down around her- in that voice she loved so fuckin' much…

"I love you."


A/N: Hi, again! All of the Chapters won't be this short, or this quick prolly. (or have notes this long- promise) I have school and work, and I wanna do this right lol. So bear with me. Also, and most importantly, you guys are flippin' amazing! Seriously, I was so nervous, and I never expected so much support. It's overwhelming. Super motivating too. Eeeek!

So, a few reasons, I guess, for what we got here lols. I feel like Mycroft, despite being Mycroft, and based on his reactions during and after the phone call would allow Sherlock to bring Molly into the know. I also think Sherlock would think it would be easier on her and him, maybe an excuse not to deal with it, as well as tell Mycroft to fuck off even if he said no. He trusts and loves Molly.

John would be the one to deliver the news. I don't think Sherlock would be ready to handle her or that.

As for the beautiful Molly Hooper. For the record, I do not think she's weak in any respect. Love is love and they are friends, also love is forever, whatever kind it is, and yes it transforms, but shipper goggles. (also canon lol) As much as it hurts, she manages, because Sherlock needed her to. Molly is a selfless person naturally, and not just when it pertains to Sherlock. She is strong enough to be in his life, to still be a good friend, to all of them, even if it would be much easier to say fuck it.

That being said, especially considering the backlash, (which what?) and sort of sometimes backwards feminism (I am a feminist to the core, btw, but think sometimes we forget were allowed to feel, to be human, as if that's strictly a girly thing?) I think Molly would feel like she's weak. I probably would, and that's what feeling as if you can't do anything about something feels like, a weakness. I try to illustrate her strength through her thoughts and her actions- using Sherlock's technique of using others to gauge his moral compass the same way she gauges her decisions. Don't kill me- she'll get better, and u better believe Sherlock will point it out for her at some point. - it's a journey for both of them.

Again, you guys are amazing, next we visit John's head, because the look on his face when Sherlock started smashing the coffin was like, finally seeing the light, which he hasn't told Molly about- I think we'll leave that for Sherlock? 333