Author's Note: Thanks to librarianmum for being an amazing beta, and thanks for the feedback! If you have the time, please review!

ALSO: Special thanks to CowMow for letting me use The King's Arms as the name of a pub I mention here. Originally she placed her story "The Violin Man" there, in that same pub. So, don't hesitate, and give it a chance because it's amazing fic and you won't regret it.


CHAPTER VII:

MOLLY

The blonde man takes a look around the place. It's all white, and everything is so pristine, so clean. Just like hospitals always are, aren't they? And who is he to change that?

The man lying on the bed is sleeping. His dark curls, still free from any white hairs, are damp; the nurses washed him a few minutes ago. He's still pale, even after the blood transfusions. There are several duvets over him. He's cold.

The facial features reveal how tired that man is. His porcelain skin is so soft.

John sits next to Sherlock and takes his hand, softly caressing the wounded wrist. Sherlock has bandages covering most of the soft skin of his wrist and he also has special cuffs that keep his hands secure to the edge of the bed. He is still wearing their wedding ring, though it's loose on his finger. It shines, and John knows Sherlock has been cleaning it regularly, like someone who cares.

John knows Sherlock cares; he also knows Sherlock is literally dying to change the past and his actions by changing his future and hurting himself. God, how badly John wishes to tell him - to explain to him how these things work. But he know very little as well. John knew very little about what life had in store for him. He had a destiny and he accepted it without knowing. Now Sherlock must do the same, just as all human beings do.

Sherlock looks so peaceful in his sleep. His eyelids are perfectly glued together; John can't see those stormy and tired eyes. He's thankful for that.

How can someone live a life full of nothing? There is a moment in your life in which you realise your entire existence is full of meaningless things, empty spaces, lost and also valuable memories. In that moment you also realise the weight your words and actions had, and now you feel how heavy they are against your body, over your shoulders.

The meaningless issues are those banal and stupid empty material things you gave an importance they didn't deserve; a lover, two lovers, who knows how many you once cared about but not like that, you only cared when you needed them.

The empty spaces are those that you find yourself trying to fill with things you had broken. The same day you lost the only love of your life, because John Watson only appears once in people's life - that same day you ripped the photographs; the only ones he left to you, because before dying he burned them all. You didn't care at all, and now you don't have a single picture to look at and remember.

Lost and valuable memories are those you can't remember, you have a little idea of what they are about, but you can't remember them completely. You can only hear laughs, sometimes crying and gasps for air, and then you remember a breathless man and two blue eyes begging for mercy. If you once explained to him that you deleted the rubbish to give more room to the useful information, now you want to find a way to recover the deleted data. But you can't.

And the weight your actions and words had are now on your shoulders. If everything started one morning in which you had a bad dream and woke up and looked at him, peacefully sleeping, maybe dreaming about you, now you find yourself looking for a way to go back in time and change it. If maybe that cold glare you gave to him could be a warm and caring hug. If only your cold silence could be soft and warm kisses. If only your adventures in cheap hotels could be adventures of you and John chasing criminals. If only that last good night you whispered to him could be a sincere and honest I'm sorry.

Nevertheless, the pain that your wrist, your body, your soul and your heart are experiencing is nothing compared to the pain John felt. So, if you're trying to be the martyr, the one who wants to feel the pain just because you feel like you deserve it, just be. Be the one suffering, be the one dying, be the one begging. Maybe John Watson never told you this, but you can't just bend your destiny, you can't cross to the other side. Sherlock Holmes is looking for a way, he needs to find a way to see John again, and he thinks he knows how to. What Sherlock doesn't know, is that they are decades apart. No matter how many times he pulls the trigger, the bullet will never leave the barrel. No matter how many times he stabs himself, the knife will never hurt him as he wants it to. No matter how many pills he takes, they will never be enough. And no matter what Sherlock does, he won't see John again.

"Sherlock, my love."

When Sherlock opens his eyes, he feels his left hand hanging off the bed and his wedding ring is on the floor.


Molly is standing outside the room and she's struggling, she doesn't know if whether she should see him or not.

It was the day of John's anniversary when she saw the ambulance arriving at Bart's and then several doctors running next to stretcher carrying Sherlock Holmes' almost lifeless body.

Molly had visited John's grave before going to work. She had bought him those lovely flowers he sometimes got for her and left them on that stone with his name engraved on it. She told John about her cat, about that new Bond film on at the cinema, and a few new things about her. She had met a very nice man named David, who was very kind - a very lovely person. One thing Molly told John was that she felt like David was the one. He accepted her as she was, she liked cats as well and he seemed very interested and looking forward to something else than a simple relationship. That comment made Molly smile after crying for a while.

So when she saw Sherlock for the first time in a very long time, she couldn't believe it. The circumstances weren't particularly appropriate, Sherlock was lying on a stretcher naked, only covered by some towels and he was extremely pale. His wrists were tied with several bandages and they were already red stained.

And Greg Lestrade was there with him. They exchanged a nod and then he told her everything; about the knife, the bath tub and the cold water. About Sherlock's possible reasons.

Molly knew Sherlock was not doing this for a case.

And when Molly opens the door, softly, she's greeted by a pair of greyish eyes. She can't articulate a word just yet. Molly stays away from his bed for a few seconds and then, shyly and very slowly, she walks over until she's standing next to him. Molly looks at Sherlock; his eyes are not defiant anymore. They don't have that gleam, that special something she once loved, she once craved, she once wanted to earn.

His cheeks, those cheeks that John fattened up in their first years together are now sharp and they don't have that healthy pink shadow they once had – that Molly can remember. Sherlock's pink and full lips are now fallen, whitish.

Sherlock is not the man she used to remember. Sherlock was big, defiant, always eager, brilliant, amazing, incredible. Now Sherlock is small, he's shy, he looks pathetic. He looks like nothing.

"Hello, Sherlock," says Molly firmly, offering a very small smile.

Sherlock blinks twice, still looking at her for long seconds before replying. "Hello, Molly."

She sits next to him and looks everywhere but at Sherlock. She can't look at him, and only God knows why. Molly used to look out for him, she used to look at herself at the mirror and try different lipsticks, she even rehearsed different ways to talk to him, phrases, looks. Now Molly really doesn't care how she looks when she's with him.

She thought she was going to slap him, that she was going to cry and shout all the things she thought about him. That he should have cared for John, that he didn't deserve him. That he should be dead, not John. But when she sees him so fragile, so pathetic, so ill, Molly can't really say a word.

"Could you... could you help me, please? My ring is on the floor," murmurs Sherlock and Molly frowns, confused.

Sherlock never, but never, ever said please. She never heard a 'please' coming from him, only once and it was when he jumped off Bart's roof to save people's lives.

The blonde woman nods and looks at the floor. On the opposite side of the bed, Molly sees a golden ring lying on the floor, just below Sherlock's left hand. She takes it and looks at it, very quickly, seeing John's name engraved inside. When she goes to hand it to him, she sees he has cuffs on his wrists to keep his hands secured to the edge of the bed.

Molly looks at Sherlock and she understands. She takes his left hand and puts the ring on his ring finger. It takes mere seconds, and when she finishes, Sherlock takes her hand and caresses it.

"Thank you," murmurs Sherlock and Molly sighs, sadly.

She can't stand it anymore. She turns and looks at the door; she wants to leave, and she's about to do it when she hears him calling her name. Sherlock always said her name with that hint of fake need. He always commented on her features or her hair to get what he wanted. Today Sherlock called her name sincerely.

"Please, stay."

Molly nods and sits next to him again. She looks at the floor, at her bare hands and then she hears him talking again.

"Can you talk about him?"

Molly senses the desperation in his voice. Sherlock looks desperate but eager to know. There's something Molly can't lay her finger on, something is just not as it is supposed to be. There's something wrong going on but she can't tell what it is.

She just nods and starts speaking. Molly tells him about the time John appeared on her lab with flowers for the first time. Most of the people who knew John thought he was cheating on Sherlock with her. Some others thought he was doing it because she was a lonely spinster. But John and Molly knew they were only friends. Very good friends.

"He gets- he used to get me violet flowers," she explains, and Sherlock nods.

Then she tells him about those Bond films they watched, the nice dinners together and some visits to the pub across from Bart's. Molly laughs a bit when she remembers the karaoke nights and John singing 'Oh! Darling', unsuccessfully trying to be John Lennon for one night.

...

They were well known in that pub, The King's Arms. It's not that John was a drinker, but he liked the karaoke afternoons - they were always cheerful and most of the doctors from Bart's and the clinic where he was working used to go there as well. The food was good, and the bartender, a man named Bertie, was a good-natured, very funny bloke. He knew all the doctors and nurses and he was always there when they needed to talk or have a good drink after work.

It was a Friday night when John invited Molly. That same night she accepted a beer and both raised their drinks in the air to toast Queen and country.

"Got any plans, Molls?"

Molly shook her head and smiled "Not really. I rented some movies, I'll probably spend the weekend at my flat doing nothing."

"Karaoke night, ladies and gentlemen! The first one who comes to the stage gets a dinner for two for free, courtesy of the house! Well, if she or he does it well and the punters agree!" announced Bertie, enthusiastically, holding a microphone in one hand and raising his own glass.

The little stage was small, just a step over the floor. It was placed in a nice corner of the pub, with some nice lights, a microphone and a screen where the lyrics were at the disposal of the singer. There was a chair too and a guitar. It was lovely.

Most of the clients started to wolf whistle and soon people started to chat up others occupying the busy tables. Fun times were guaranteed in The King's Arms.

John placed his pint over the wooden table and grinned "Fancy a nice dinner, Molly?"

Molly smiled and then frowned, he was really going to do it?

"Can you sing?" she asked, mockingly.

Without replying, John approached the stage and Bertie announced him.

"OK, we have our man here! Dr. Watson!"

Most of the clientele knew him and started clapping, and even those who didn't know him joined in. Several started whistling, raising their glasses and clapping. John took the microphone and told Bertie the song he wanted to sing. Bertie nodded and looked for the music and prepared the screen with the lyrics.

"I don't need them, Bertie," said John, confidently. The King Arm's bartender made a face at the public and more whistles could be heard.

From her place at a little table a few feet away, Molly clapped and smiled. John looked so happy, so cheerful and so different. That was the problem; there were days in which he looked like a ghost, like a man without soul, walking without any place to go after work, like a homeless man. His eyes were dark and tired, his entire self looked sad and defeated. And there were days in which he would walk by her side, making jokes, both clean and dirty ones that she couldn't help laughing at. On those days his blue eyes had a special gleam, a special something Molly loved to see in him. Those days John was happy. Later, Molly knew those days were the same ones on which Sherlock had disappeared with a case or maybe a lover.

Bertie left the little stage and John took the guitar. It was clear he didn't know how to play, but he took it and caressed the instrument as if he did. His mock playing was so funny most of the men who were already drunk started laughing. Then he took the microphone and started singing, looking at no one in particular.

"Oh! Darling, please believe me
I'll never do you no harm
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm,

Bertie was smiling and the waitresses stopped pouring pints and serving food to watch John singing. Molly laughed when more whistles could be heard, and the new clientele coming in smiled warmly at the singing doctor.

"Oh! Darling, if you leave me
I'll never make it alone
Believe me when I beg you
Don't ever leave me alone, Molls!

John added her name and pointed at her. All the people in the pub turned to look her, and her cheeks burned red. She smiled and bit her lip; John was still singing and awfully but mockingly playing the guitar while he tried to make his voice sound like Paul McCartney and John Lennon's.

"When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and cried
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly fell down and died!"

John sang that stanza with special emphasis. His eyes were shining, there were some tears no one looked at or at least no one paid attention to. John continued singing the song until it was over, and as soon as he finished it, Bertie took his hand and raised it on the air, and all the people in the pub clapped, whistled and congratulated John. He had performed amazingly and it had been more than a little amusing.

John won the free dinner, naturally,and shared it with Molly that same night; a wonderful recipe specially created by Bertie. The young bartender insisted on taking a photo of them, saying they were their special clients, the special clients of the pub.

...

"They took a photo of us, and it's still hanging on one of the walls of the pub. Bertie and the bargirls miss him lots," says Molly, wiping the tears that were falling freely from her eyes while she told Sherlock about that night. She told him everything, every action John did, every word he pronounced. Molly remembers that night as if it has been just yesterday.

Molly also tells Sherlock about the lollipops, their breakfasts and the times they had tea and scones while both working a long shift; about John's laughs, John's smiles, John's wishes, John's dreams and hopes.

"He was helping a little boy named Hamish. Well, John helped all the children, but Hamish was like his little one. He once- John once told me he loved Hamish as if he were his real son," explained Molly, speaking very softly and slowly, being careful with her choice of words. "John told me Hamish was the son he would never have."

...

They were sharing a coffee in the clinic's cafeteria. Molly had just finished her shift and she'd gone to collect John - they were going to have dinner that day - when John apologized. He was not going to be able to go since one of the children needed him that night.

"Will he be OK? Do you need me to get you something?"

John shook his head "Hamish will be fine, he's my strong little one. I will just stay with him tonight, to check how his body reacts to the new medication."

"He's the one with cancer, isn't he?" asked Molly.

John nodded "I don't like to watch him suffer, he's like the son I'll never have and I'm trying my best to make him feel better. Sometimes it's just not enough," he added, the pain clear in his voice.

"John, are you OK? You look tired. Do you want me to stay with you? I don't have anything -"

But John cut her off. "Thanks Molly, but a nurse is staying for the night shift, we'll be fine. Thanks,"

Molly made John promise that he would text her how Hamish was.

...

Sherlock cries, silently, and keeps looking at her, directly in her eyes, waiting for more. He's eager to know more, to hear more things about his John; he doesn't care how much those stories might hurt him.

"John was such a nice and funny person in his last days, always so cheerful. I still can't believe he died."

Sherlock, who has been listening and nodding only, allows himself to ask.

"Did he ever talk about me, did he ever mention me?"

Molly won't lie, but there's no need to be soft and subtle anymore "No, he didn't. He only asked me once if I still loved you."

...

"Do you still love Sherlock?"

Molly almost dropped the lab equipment she was carrying when John asked her that question. And she blushed. It was awkward to talk about that man. She hadn't seen him in a long time, it was something she really could not put a finger on, but she didn't miss him. After years and years of doing whatever he wanted her to, just to please him and nothing else, her mind stopped caring about him. So did her heart.

"No. I grew out of him long time ago, John. I guess I thought he liked me, but not like that. He only needed the lab and some body parts. And he always loved you," said Molly with a true and genuine smile and John just nodded.

John apologised for his question and Molly assured him it was OK, that he was his husband and he had the right to ask.

"Where is he by the way? Haven't seen him in months!"

The doctor smiled "He's been away on a case,"

"For so long?"

"Yep. It's a very important case, the most important of his career, I suppose. It's going to end soon, the results will surprise everyone."

Molly just nodded and continued talking about her cat and the bodies she was working on.

...

A silent tear falls from Sherlock's eye and Molly sees how it travels down his cheek, leaving a wet trace. Again, she describes to Sherlock every single one of John's words, every single one of John's movements.

"Was he sad?" asks Sherlock, almost choking on his own words.

And Molly nods.

"He was. He was very sad, Sherlock. His eyes were often red; he never talked about you. I knew he cried when he thought no one was watching, but I never asked him. I'm truly sorry and very angry with myself, because I never asked him - and yet I know that if I had asked him, he wouldn't have told me. I know I could have helped him, but he would never have let me."

Molly sees Sherlock's palm is up, seeking contact, and she allows herself to cry and take his hand.

Sherlock's hand is warm and as soon as she lays her head on his chest, he rests his chin over her blond hair. Sherlock can't hug her properly; he can only lean his head and cry with her.

"I regret so many things, I just can't... how can you live? How do you live, Sherlock?"

Molly cries and Sherlock remains silent. Her questions hurt him and he asks himself the same. How can he possibly live without John... how has he managed to drink his tea and eat takeaway without him? How has he managed to bath himself and dry his body? How has he managed to go and get a new shirt when he needed one? John was the one who cooked, and he remembers sometimes eating and having tea together, Sherlock would mock-complain and John would tell him to fuck off without really meaning it, and then they would laugh together and kiss each other. John was the one who joined him during his long baths, John would wash Sherlock's body using the soap and then he would gently dry Sherlock's body, always doing it as if Sherlock was the most precious and fragile thing in the world. And every time Sherlock needed a new shirt, John was the one who suggested the colour or sometimes he was the one buying it from the shop he knew Sherlock liked so much.

All those things Sherlock once took for granted are now all the things he craves for. They might be banal and stupid things, everyday things, but all of them hold memories of John.

"I regret things as well, Molly. And I don't even know how I've been living without him."

Molly shakes her head, and lets her hands caress Sherlock's wet cheeks. His skin is warm and he closes his eyes as soon as he feels her touch.

"I- Every time I visited John's grave, I always asked myself what I would do when I saw you and I regretted meeting John the way we did, because of you. But I can't hate you, Sherlock. That wouldn't be me, and despite the pain I feel for losing John, my only true friend, I can't hate you. Even when I want to."

Sherlock doesn't say anything, and he doesn't let go of Molly's hand. He just remains silent.

What could he possibly say? 'I'm sorry'? This is the moment when Sherlock realises his actions have not only affected him but all the people around him. John was not only his, but Molly's, Mary's, Hamish's... John was not only his husband, his friend, his lover. John was Molly's best friend, the one who was there for her, to give her flowers and take her out to cheer her days and make them a little brighter. John was Mary's friend as well, and her love interest, he was the one who helped her when she first started working, teaching her everything she now knows, and he gave Mary all the support she needed to be the confident and caring paediatric nurse she is now. All the love and admiration that she has won from the children is because of John. And John was like a father to Hamish, he was the one who gave that little boy the love he never had and vice versa. John was the father Hamish never had, and Hamish was the son John never had, because of him, because of Sherlock bloody Holmes.

John had made people's life better, he made their days brighter and he made them the people they are now. All because of John. But John died alone, suffering a pain no one would have ever been able to make disappear. There was a heart aching inside his chest, and none of his friends were able to help him or fix him.

It was as if John had died giving them all the best of him, all his strength until there wasn't anything left in his own tired body.

"Please Molly, don't leave me," asks Sherlock.

Molly closes her eyes as she shakes her head. She knows John would have liked her to be close to Sherlock, he would have wanted her to help him. Somehow. She also knows John wouldn't like her to show that animosity she always thought she would have once she faced Sherlock again. Molly couldn't hate Sherlock, not even when she wants to.

She promises Sherlock they will see each other again.


Mary is facing John's grave once more. She kneels and leaves the white roses she's got for him. Those are the ones she used to put on his desk, to give John's office a new touch, a new scent. John loved them.

"Hello, John. I'm sorry I didn't come here sooner. You know I always come before or after work, but the children have needed me these past days," she says as she takes the old flowers off the grave to take away with her. John's grave is still pristine, full of flowers and notes from his old patients.

"How are you? I bet you're fine." She pauses for a moment, and then she continues. "We're fine, the girls at the clinic. Anne is moving to the countryside with her husband and Jane is dating Doctor Nicholls! Can you believe it? Remember when you told me they liked each other? You were right!"

Mary laughs and straightens her colorful jacket.

The sky is quite blue, the summer is coming soon. The spring has had an amazing effect on the trees and flowers. They are all blossoming, perfectly healthy.

Everything seems to be perfect there. Everything is quiet and peaceful, just as John would have liked it.

"John, please help Hamish. He's not getting doing all that well. The doctors keep telling me his body should be strong enough to take the chemotherapy treatment, but the cancer is taking him. Do something, please," Mary begs and she starts crying.

"Do something so he doesn't suffer anymore."

Mary gives John's grave one last look and turns around and leaves. She wipes away her tears. She has to help Hamish today with his chemotherapy and she doesn't want him to see she has been crying.


Molly left with the promise of visiting him soon. She didn't say when exactly, but Sherlock knows she keeps her promises.

And, several days after, Sherlock is allowed to leave hospital.

As soon as he gets his freedom, Sherlock walks with Molly and they visit The King's Arms. When they arrive, Molly takes Sherlock to the usual table they used to occupy, next to a wall where the picture of Molly and John is hanging on the wall. It's big, and it has a very happy John in it. He has an arm around Molly's thin shoulders and they are both smiling. They are sitting on that same table, and they have some food and two pints. Bertie, the happy bartender, is also in the picture, just next to John, holding a glass on the air. Just under the photographs, Sherlock reads a description.

"Molly Hooper and Dr. John Watson, special clients of The King's Arms - April 1st, 2012."

It was taken just a few days before John's death.

"Hello Molls! Long time no see!" A man in his middle thirties, maybe early forties approaches them. He smiles as soon as he sees Molly, and she stands up. He gives her a kiss and a shy hug. Sherlock deduces he likes Molly. He has liked her for a long time.

"Hi Bertie! How are you? How have things have been going?" asks Molly, still smiling at him.

Bertie makes a gesture with his hand "Well, you know, the usual. Oh, you came with your boyfriend," adds the man with an awkward smile and he extended his hand to Sherlock, who stands up and shakes it.

"No, this is Sherlock Holmes," then Molly turns to Sherlock "Sherlock, he's Bertie, the owner and bartender of this pub."

"Nice to meet you! Er, sorry for asking this, but you're Sherlock Holmes... the detective, right?"

Sherlock only nods and Bertie smiles "Whoa, welcome to my pub. Anything on me, please!"

"Thanks Bertie, but we will just have tea if you have some,"

"Yes we have some, Molls. I'll prepare it myself,"

"He likes you," says Sherlock as soon as Bertie disappears behind the wooden counter. "He's liked you for a long time, he won't tell you though."

Molly only smiled "John said the same. He even said he was going to talk to Bertie and arrange a date, but then he died."

Sherlock turns to look at Molly. She's calmly looking at the surroundings, not really thinking about what she's just said. And Sherlock is not angry, but he envies the way Molly says it, the way she can say 'John died' without crying anymore, without screaming and kicking the floor as he does when he's alone. It seems like everyone has gotten over it. Everyone but himself.

"Here you go, Earl Grey for you two. I hope that's OK?"

Molly nods gratefully.

"Molly, we were expecting you the other day, you know, two Fridays ago?... I played John's song, all the doctors were here," says Bertie with a sad expression and Sherlock immediately looks at him.

"I didn't feel well, I'm sorry Bertie, I know I promised you I was coming. Could you play it again? Sherlock is -"

"I'm John's husband," says Sherlock, with a serious but sad tone of voice and Bertie looks at Molly and then back at Sherlock. He said it using the present tense.

The pub is silent; they are practically the only ones there and Sherlock can feel Bertie's eyes on him.

"Sure, mate," Bertie agrees and goes to look for the DVD he had recorded. That night was one of those karaoke nights Bertie loved so much.

There's a TV screen hanging on the opposite wall. When the video starts, the only thing they can see is darkness and whistles, people clapping and then the camera is on John. The man holding the device was clearly standing to one side of the pub, most likely standing against a wall. Sherlock leaves his seat and walks until he's very, very close to the screen. He really needs to see it, to be close to it, to that John.

"I don't need them, Bertie," says John, confidently and Bertie, who is standing next to him makes a face at the public and they whistle and start clapping.

The camera then moves and is now on Molly. She is smiling and clapping. She looks happy.

Bertie looks at Molly and she keeps her eyes on Sherlock, who is standing just in front of the screen, looking at the video, only focusing on John.

The bartender leaves the little stage and John takes a guitar. Sherlock frowns; he remembers John knew how to play the clarinet, but not the guitar. But this John is playing, he's making funny movement with his hands while he mimics strumming the strings.

John takes the microphone and starts singing, looking at no one in particular.

"Oh! Darling, please believe me
I'll never do you no harm
Believe me when I tell you
I'll never do you no harm,

The camera moves away from John and does a panoramic sweep of the place. The people there are clapping and whistling, all of them are smiling and raising their drinks to John. Then the camera moves again and is now on Bertie, who is smiling and moving his arms on the air, encouraging people to cheer the singer.

"Oh! Darling, if you leave me
I'll never make it alone
Believe me when I beg you
Don't ever leave me alone, Molls!

John added Molly's name and is pointing at her, and the camera is on Molly again. She's gone red and she smiles at John, sincerely.

The camera goes back to John, who is still playing the guitar and forcing his vocal chords in order to change his tone of voice.

Sherlock really wishes he could have been Molly that day, and be part of John's world.

"When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly broke down and cried
When you told me you didn't need me anymore
Well you know I nearly fell down and died!"

Sherlock is aware of John's new tone of voice when he sang that stanza, those words. The camera is on him, not on his face, not as close as Sherlock wants now, but he can see sadness in him. John is not faking his voice, he's singing with his own now. The song continues and the people there continue cheering John and whistling, they are all happy.

When the song finishes, Sherlock sees Bertie taking John's hand and raising it on the air, and taking the microphone and declaring him the only winner of what looks like a free dinner for two. The camera moves from John and Bertie to the people in their seats and tables and they are all repeating John's name, saying how good singer he was and how funny his performance had been.

The video ends with John going back to his table and Molly giving him a warm and sincere hug.

Sherlock doesn't turn, but Molly knows there are tears in his eyes. He's still there, standing just in front of the screen even now the video is not on. She tells Bertie to leave them alone and he just nods and promises her he will get Sherlock a copy if he wants one.

"Sherlock... "

Molly takes Sherlock's hand and he hugs her, and buries his wet face in the curve of her neck, soaking her blonde hair. She hugs him back and the only thing Sherlock can think is why. Why she's there and not him. Why John sang to her and not to him. Why John took her out and not him. Why John hugged her and not him.

Maybe Sherlock shouldn't ask why Molly is there. Sherlock should ask what he had done to make John close to everyone but himself before dying. Why John chose Hamish, Mary, Molly, everyone but him.

But he already knows the answers, don't you, Sherlock?

John loved them, and he also loved Sherlock as well. And John loved Sherlock so much it hurt him, it hurt him to the point he needed to die to make Sherlock understand what he had lost.