It was instinct, Molly knew, that led her back to Sherlock. Opening the door to the cold storage again felt like coming home, but because a family loss had brought her back; not for a warm, happy visit. For a very long moment, she stood in the doorway, examining him from his position sitting on the floor, hugging his knees like a child clings to their favorite stuffed toy. He had to know she was there, but he refused to turn his eyes in her direction. So Molly cautiously approached him, squatting on his left and using the wall for back support. Licking her lips, she opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.
"You have to do it, Molly." His voice had settled just above a whispered.
"Do what, Sherlock?" She wasn't sure what to make of his expression as they finally met eyes, he was certainly serious.
"Your job." He said flatly.
"Oh, Sherlock -"
"I can't - stay like this, Molly." Shaking his head, she could hear small cracks in his dry voice. "What would you propose we do? Keep me frozen here forever? Working through you to solve crimes?"
"No, of course not." Her body was betraying her, threatening to simply burst forth tears. "But, you can't just do this to me. You can't just leave me after all this. All my friends think I'm mad and are certain to commit me. Dead or alive, Sherlock, you are a storm and I refuse to let you just pass over like this, after ages of bearing down on me and tearing things apart."
"Molly,-"
"No, I matter, too. You can't go doing this people, it's not fair."
"Molly,-" His voice was soft and, as his hand shifted over to hers, she would have sworn on any holy book that she could feel its cold weight on hers. "Please understand…. I know I have done nothing but hurt you for ages. I know I don't deserve any of the affection and understanding you've given me. I thank you profusely for that. But-" Squeezing his eyes shut, he tilted his head down to open them and refocus on their hands where they rested on her knee.
"Please, don't make me do this." She pleaded through tears, hoping the primitive instinct of survival would overcome this momentary desire of self destruction.
"Molly, if I've ever needed you to do anything before, I need you to do this." Sherlock struggled to maintain his steady tone, but his twitching face and the little cracks in his voice gave him away. He didn't want to die. He couldn't want to die. Molly knew of his struggle with depression and the times he'd attempted to end his life. From ODs, to butchering himself, to jumping off buildings, she'd been there. Unable to help herself, she reached out, hoping to just touch his cheek and offer some comfort to him. All she found was icy cold air, chilling her extremity to its bones.
"You can't really want this, Sherlock." She sniffled, wishing that they could at least hold each other at that moment, but that wasn't to be. They existed on different planes now and it was simply a blessing to see each others' faces. Molly couldn't take that gift for granted in a moment like this, no matter how much her heart cried out for his embrace and a warm shoulder to cry on. By the look on his face, Molly knew Sherlock was desperate to feel her arms fastened around him as much as she did his. "Please, anything but this. We can think of something, anything…. just… please… you can't leave me like this."
"With all of me, I wish that wasn't the case, but I can't exist like this. There's no life in this limbo, Molly. If there were any other choice, I would have thought of it already." Their eyes meeting again, that intensity returned. The feeling of looking at a piece of someone that was so private, so personal and deeply ingrained in their true self flowed over her like before. Providing her with all those strange emotions; like you invaded someone's deepest thoughts and state of being, the only difference this time was, she felt welcome. As if he'd laid out the mat for her, bidding her to see him as he truly was.
"What if you don't die?" There was silence for a moment, but soon, he tried to argue.
"Molly -" Sherlock shook his head.
"No, I'm serious." There was always hope, she knew. "You want to pass on. You don't want to exist like this… but, what if it doesn't work like you hope?"
"You know it will." Much like in life, he spoke with such certainty that Molly took offense; albeit only a slight amount.
"No, neither of us do, Sherlock." The pathologist stood up, as if to reinforce her point, as well as stretch her legs. "I could cut you open and take all your organs out and you could still be standing there…. watching and waiting for the bright light or a blanket of darkness to show or wrap you up in it."
"Fine." He relented. "You're right. I have no idea what will happen when you - do your job."
"See, you can't even say what you're asking me do, can you?" Molly hadn't meant to shout, but she did. "How sure can you be that you want something if you can't even voice it?"
"I don't want it, but it's what's best. It's the proper thing to do."
"Fuck proper!" The reverberation of her scream startled them both, she was certain. "You're not a show horse with a broken leg."
"It hurts, Molly!" Finally, he met her intensity, though he quickly curbed his tone and volume. "It hurts. It all hurts. I see what I'm doing to you, I can't speak to anyone else, I'm tethered to your side or my own corpse like some sort of willful puppy. I'm already dead. You won't, by any definition of the word, be killing me, Molly. You'll be liberating me." A bit unsteadily, he rose to his feet and approached her, hands outstretched, reaching for hers. The cold weight was all she could feel, nothing solid wrapped her fingers and pressed her palms together. Molly held them there, though, in a prayer position between the chill of his. "Please, Molly, free me." The request was more than she could bear. Her knees buckled and sent her down to the floor and more cold.
"It's the only way?" She asked, regaining her breath and holding back her tears.
"It's the only way I believe could possibly work." Mournfully, she nodded and stood herself back up.
"This is really, truly what you want?" Before him now, was the Molly he had known but rarely saw, stoic and standing firmly with the sort of wisdom and strength he'd only seen in the ancient pine trees his parents had shown him in California when he was little.
"Yes, Molly. This is what I want." Sherlock nodded, comforted by her assertiveness.
"And you can think of no other course of action?"
"No."
"Ok, then." Giving him a nod, she turned to leave. "I'll be right back."
The long walk to the locker room was the longest trek she'd ever been on, but she urged herself on. Wearing her certainty and love for Sherlock like armor, she changed into a pair of scrubs and pulled her lab coat with a sort of dull, numbing aching throbbing beneath the surface with every beat of her heart.
If this was only way she could love Sherlock, then this is how she would love Sherlock.
One last deep breath after tying back her hair and checking her worn reflection in the mirror and she was as ready as she would ever be. He didn't have a choice, but he was waiting for her as she took the long journey back, literally standing beside himself. It was a fight to keep her mind clear and focused, given the circumstance, but it was necessary. The only comfort she felt was the knowledge that she knew, after their adventure across town, that she could move him and was grateful for the morgue's aids.
Molly had no fear of anyone sneaking in and asking questions; she wasn't going to rush this. Taking her time to move the body was all part of the process for her in this case. As she adjusted his body on the table, she looked back up at the other Sherlock.
"What are you going to do?" Swallowing hard, she stumbled with her words. "What I mean is, are you going to watch or…"
"I'm hoping not to have to wait around too awfully long." Taking a moment to worry at her bottom lip, she pulled the recording microphone up to meet it and took a deep breath, but thought better of it.
A bit shakily, she looked down at the Sherlock on the table and allowed herself her hurt. Bending over and placing their faces nose to nose, she let it out. Releasing a single tear onto his face and planting a kiss on his lips.
The world came to a stop as she felt him inhale and saw his eyes flutter open.