All Sherlock remembers of the past sixty minutes was her strangled influx of air, running, heart pounding, adrenaline, his cheeks wet and tear stung, his throat burning as he screamed. As if that weren't all a blur on its own, his mind can't even seem to recall anything after arriving in the Emergency Department; only a muffled echo of himself howling hoarsely and people, lots of people, ones in scrubs and sub-par doctor's coats that somehow pried her small body from his vice grip as his feet carried his dazed body after them. He recognized the feeling of being thrust into a chair near her bedside as his body ached all over, coming down from the epinephrine high. An oxygen mask was thrust upon his face as he tried to tell them what happened, tried to articulate why he was in this state, but couldn't. Looking over, he had seen a smaller, but matching mask over Molly Hooper's own delicate yet gaunt face. She appeared to have slipped back into the realm of the unconscious, and himself into some catatonic state between reality and his completely fogged mind.

Without any sense of how much time has passed or how long he has been sitting stone still just staring at her, Sherlock slowly becomes aware of the methodical beeps of the machines and the forced pumps of oxygen into her lungs. He immediately snaps his gaze to the heart monitor, watching the steady yet not yet normal rhythm of her heartbeat colorfully dancing before him. Heartbeat...her heartbeat. Beating. It was beating, again. Sherlock takes a long drag of oxygen into his lungs as if it's a drug. Molly looks so small, so weak, so...so un-Molly-like. Hell, this woman is stronger than Sherlock Holmes; always has been, no question. She's the real hero of his story, and if he has a memorable one, he wants that small fact to become known, not forgotten in the thrill of the chase.

His eyes scan her snow-white form, a chill sending an involuntary shudder down his spine. He is overcome with the desire to reach out and touch her again, to wrap her in his arms the way she had wrapped him in hers on his worst days; the days he shook and vomited and very nearly died himself. For just a moment it crosses his mind that if he touches her, she just may break. In the past he has single-handedly broken her, hurt her lovely spirit. He would do anything in the world to stop that from happening, from ruining another life by his proximity to it. Heart aching and heavy, the realization comes upon him that despite all his effort, all of his corrections, all of his emotional context, he will never be the man that could give Molly Hooper peace. The very last thing this new, emotional Sherlock Holmes would do, is waste this glorious woman's honour. Everything in her life to deserve a chance with him, a man who will render her broken without fault, who would die for her in secret, yet who would fight the devil on a daily basis, involuntarily entwining her within the devious details. Not on his watch, not for Molly Hooper. Never that for Molly Hooper. Not anymore. It ends now.

Greg sighs heavily and makes his way back to his office. Visiting the prison where Thomas Weston was being kept, he had tried as much as possible to keep his cool. The man was devastated however to hear that his ex has passed due to his late confession. He had, however, told Lestrade of a possibly second burial ground where the "guinea pigs" had been dumped by Moran. Although not a strong lead, it was the only one he had, and so he sent the recovery team to the area. Arriving on the scene, he had walked up just as three of the five bodies were being removed from shallow graves, pieces of cheap wooden coffins strewn about, two others still unopened. It's no different from any other time he had seen a recovered corpse of a victim; he had seen many in various states, but something about this day, about the knowledge that Molly Hooper was cast aside as a revenge plot, and that her body could have been recovered in a much different state got to him. Suffice to say, the vomit all over the pavement told a much different story of the usually cool and collected Detective Inspector. As the boss on scene he had recovered as quickly as he could, unfortunately well enough to go and make the death notifications to the families. He can feel his heart taking hit after hit seeing the families of the victims unable to keep it together, sometimes screaming, collapsing, sobbing, cussing at him.

Ignoring everyone and anyone on the one track to his office, he finally gets there and quickly closes and locks the door. Leaning against it for a moment, his body feels as if it's on the verge of giving out from exhaustion and anguish. Then Gregory Lestrade, the amiable and ever charming Inspector, stumbles into his large office chair and tugs at his thick silver hair in emotional agony, finally dropping his now shaky resolve and breaks down, covering his worn face with both hands as quiet sobs wrack his being.

The demons of the world never cease, and the fight against them is long, arduous, and worst of all, endless. For without demons, there would be no angels. There will be a Jim to every Sherlock, a Moran to every Molly, and the senseless death of an innocent for every miracle evil steals away.

"As Sherlock says", he thinks, "The game is never over". God help them.

Mycroft stares at his computer screen with a copy of the confirmation email stating that Matthew Hooper will be notified of his sister's unexpected passing within the next twenty-four hours, and that the army has been directly notified. He shakes his head and shuts the laptop, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes, remembering researching Margaret Hooper when Sherlock had first met her. He had a habit of looking into everyone his little brother had contact with back then, just in case they were drug dealers. All that reading about of the "troubled" Hooper Family and all of the bad surrounding the mother, how the NSPCC had been involved when the father wanted custody, a court case, and of course, the hospitalization of the mother after she attempted suicide while sloshed was interesting but not harmful to Sherlock in any way. The only beacon of light in that family was the father, Mark, who had been through enough battle during the war, but his moral principle for his children was victorious. "In this case, it was a lucky thing that he had gotten shot. Molly Hooper could've been a very different influence on Sherlock if not redeemed by her father" he thinks to himself. Of course he had died only five years after being awarded custody, leaving an eighteen-year-old Molly with an eight-year-old brother, now a soldier himself. Yet, despite sentiment, he saw her as a very strong and determined woman to put herself through Uni and raising a child as a teen, making what she wanted of her life. She wouldn't be such a terrible addition to the family if it was unavoidable, she worked very well with Sherlock, assisted him, aided him, helped save his life, consoled him and more in the years they have known one another. Mycroft inwardly praises himself for averting a crisis or two years ago that certainly would have changed the course of their working relationship, and otherwise.

Keeping secrets from Sherlock never usually holds, especially now that he knows all about Eurus, but Molly and Sherlock MUST remain in the dark about some things Mycroft was, possibly a bit illegally, involved in. It is justified only by the fact that knowing this would have impacted Sherlock's work and whatever personal life he has if either Molly or him ever knew. Not only that, but their entire dynamic. A spiraling Molly Hooper back into deep depression would not be useful to his brother, nor to the ever-evolving status of his heart towards the small yet fierce pathologist. Plus, dragging her backwards into misery and dredged up memories would not serve any good purpose.

Lady Smallwood comes into the room, pulling Mycroft out of his mind villa. His eyes open and he becomes aware.

"Remembering anything important?"

He draws in a breath. "Just...the Hoopers."

"Ah, I see. Feeling guilty now that Sherlock knows about Eurus?"

"Guilty? No. I have no reason to. I did what was best for my brother and Miss Hooper."

"Maybe the first time. I'd agree with you there, but the second? I think you keep too many secrets Mycroft. Also, you really are terrible with sibling relationships. Ordinary people are different."

"Yes, well I'm not going to be the one to throw a fly in the ointment, Elizabeth."

"I think they deserved to know. Regardless of Sherlock. This involved only Margaret and Matthew, and when he gets home I think at the very least he deserves to know, especially now that he's lacking any type of family."

"Not lacking..."

"Oh please, the boy pretty much is. I understand sheltering them because of Molly's relationship with your brother, but she's gone now. He does not need to know about Rebecca, we will save him that at least. But he does need to know about the others."

"Rebecca Hooper...world class daughter abuser, alcoholic, addict, and psychotic. I did a good thing by not telling them that her mother was released from the mental facility five years ago. I stand by that; my brother needed Miss Hooper at peak performance when he needed her assistance. I wasn't about to let her show up in Molly's life and destroy the so called "flow" they had when he needed the lab and morgue."

She smiles sweetly at him. "Well yes, that. Or maybe you have a soft spot for the woman who made your brother realize he was still, in fact your little brother. The one who feels and loves and protects those around him."

"I am not given to outburst of br-"

"Of brotherly compassion, yes you've mentioned. But I also know that actions speak louder than words sometimes, and strategically relocating Rebecca Hooper to Sherrinford all those years ago just so that he wouldn't lose the woman he was "slow burning" with speaks volumes. I must say, that is as compassionate as Mycroft Holmes gets. Not wanting your brother's love to get hurt for fear it will hurt him to see her that way. Wow."

Mycroft swallows a bit and shrugs. "More to do with how efficient he could be when I needed him for international cases."

"Bollocks and you know it. But as I said, you must tell her brother that he still has family. I doubt he remembers much from when he was six, seven, eight, but he's going through enough being involved in war. He's going to need a support system now that Molly's gone. You must tell him, Mycroft."

"Sherlock will be...absolutely furious. In the mental state he's in, I don't think that it's wise."

"This isn't about Sherlock, Mycroft. It's about a lonely young soldier who needs a family."

"Yes, but seeing as he was related to Molly, and was close to her, Sherlock will find out."

"It doesn't matter. It's what's best for the boy, and also for that eighteen-year-old girl and her mother, who has probably wondered about Mark's other children since."

"What exactly am I supposed to do? Bring Matthew here, tell him that I am the brother of his sister's sort-of boyfriend and that I know he has another sister that nobody knew about except me, the meddling government? Sherlock would find out that I not only hid his own sister from him, but Molly's from her, and what then?"

"You have many cover stories Mycroft, I don't know. But it's your responsibility. Give him a little bit of light, where there seems to be none. His father died after just finding out he was going to be a father again. I'm sure he would have told them if he had the chance, he would have given them a happy family, but he didn't get that chance."

"Claire could have found them and told them about her involvement with their father, about Carly. But she didn't."

"What was she going to tell them? She had only met them once and then Mark died, and she found out she was pregnant. She couldn't take custody of Molly and Matthew because they were not her biological children, plus, Molly was eighteen. I don't think she would have been one to give her little brother to a woman she didn't know to raise just because she claimed she was pregnant with their father's baby."

Mycroft rubs his face. "I'll...figure out a way to tell him. After the funeral, after making sure Sherlock is on the 1A radar..."

"Two secret sisters...life really is a wonder sometimes. Just another thing Molly and your brother had in common, I suppose."

"I try to do what's best..."

"I know, but that doesn't mean it always is. You're right, Sherlock will be furious, but it'll be for her, because I think she would have loved to know that there were other people she could have turned to at her lowest. I think Miss Hooper would have loved to know that she had a little sister, or even an almost stepmother who cares. We both know her father wouldn't have kept that from them, and it's time the truth is revealed to Matthew, so at least he will have the support that Molly never did from Claire and Carly."

"Alright, alright. I will tell him when he comes back to London, but after the funeral."

"Good."

"What!? Sherlock...Sherlock! Okay! Alright! I'll be there as soon as I can! Yes! Okay, yes. I..I believe you. I'll be right there." John hangs up his phone and stares at it in disbelief for a moment. "Oh God.."

"Come on sweet pea, let's go and visit Hudders hm? He miles a bit and scoops up Rosie, kissing her cheek.

"Ha-da!"

John laughs through teary eyes. "Yeah cutie, Hudders. Come on." He sends a quick text to let her know that they are going to stop by again, then brings Rosie to the car.

Back at Baker Street John drops Rosie off with Martha, who is confused.

"Yes uhh...Sherlock called. Like, actually called. He dialed instead of texted, so I knew it was something very important. When I picked up he was rambling and I- I don't know if he's in his right mind but he said he's still at Bart's and that Molly er...well, Sherlock said she "came back to life". I'm gonna go and see if he's alright. It might just be a cry for help."

"Oh John, take care of him..." her face falls, assuming Sherlock is messed up with grief.

"I'll do my best. I'm sorry about dropping her off again, it was just...odd, y'know?"

"Of course. We have to take care of our favorite man child hm?" she smiles softly, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Uh, yeah." He turns his attention to Rosie and squats down. "Rosie, Daddy's going to be back real soon okay? I'll be home for dinner. I love you. Have fun playing okay?"

Rosie grins up at him adorably, only half of her teeth grown in. "Wuh!" She looks at Mrs. Hudson. "Ha-da!" she squeals happily and toddles over, hugging her leg.

John smiles and kisses her cheeks. "I love you lots sweet girl."

"I'll let you know what's going on."

"Please do. Thank you John." she leads him out and then picks up Rosie. "That's new cutie pie. What's hada?" she giggles. "Well...I suppose I'll figure it out."

John rushes into the emergency room almost immediately spotting Sherlock, who is now pacing around and bothering the nurses for information.

"Sherlock!? Hey. What's going on?"

"John!? John..John... John...they- they won't give me any information I NEED information. I need to know Molly is okay PLEASE! Make them tell me!"

"Sherlock, calm down! Just..take a breath. Look at me. Tell me what is going on."

Sherlock looks at him, hands shaking and manic. "M-Molly...John, you're not going to believe it...Molly sh-she...John she's alive. She's alive! She's breathing! She woke up. I was in the morgue and she was on the slab dead and I remember crying and praying, and I don't even believe in God. A-and I was going to leave because I couldn't see her like that anymore and then she woke up. She just gasped like a zombie, John. Like a zombie! She's ALIVE!" Sherlock hugs him tightly.

John stands there stiff and so very confused, hoping Sherlock isn't high. He pats his back a bit. "Sherlock..that's..good. Look, why don't you show me where she is, alright?"

"Right, right." Sherlock sniffs and tries to compose himself. "I-I need to know if she's going to be okay, I can't wait any longer. Please make them tell me, John."

"I will mate, just, let me see Molly first. Come on, lead the way."

Sherlock rushes back over to one of the open rooms. John follows cautiously and his face turns to shock at the sight of a newly alive Molly Hooper on a breathing machine and several intravenous lines. He watches Sherlock go over to her bedside and go to touch her hand then hesitates and pulls back. John goes over to them.

"Dear God...she's actually alive..." he gapes. "You know it's alright for you to...hold her hand or something."

"I can't...I can't John..I've hurt her too much."

"Sherlock it won't hurt her. In fact, she could probably feel your hand. It would most likely help her."

"I need to find out if she's going to recover. Please..."

"Uh, yeah sure I'll go ask." John rubs the back of his neck and goes to ask the nurse about Molly's condition. Sherlock swallows hard and just barely allows his fingertips to caress Molly's hands and wrist, taking her pulse just to assure himself he isn't dreaming, that she really is alive. When he feels her soft pulse, he tears up and slowly cups her hand in his, stroking her fingers. "Molly...I'm sorry." Sherlock chokes up and takes a shaky breath.

"I do love you...but I can't be around you. Never again. I can't allow myself the happiness to be in your presence anymore. The more you're tied me, the more you'll get hurt. I hope that when you wake up, you'll never see me again..."

"I hope you're bloody well joking!" John barks at him, standing at the entrance to the room.

Sherlock goes to protest and John interrupts. "No! You're done speaking, you're going to listen now! Don't you fucking DARE leave her alone here William Sherlock Scott Holmes! She loves you, and you love her, and I swear to God if you smash her feelings after everything she has gone though, you will have NOBODY. I will make damn sure of that. You are NOT going to leave her behind anymore. You're not. You are going to stay and hold her hand and comfort her and take care of her the way a man that loves a woman DOES. No matter what you're feeling, SHE matters, not you. She's hurt, not you. She needs the man that she loves to be here and want to take care of her. That's you. You said you were going to try; well I'm not allowing you to quit. So get that through your thick skull and sit your ass down."

Sherlock swallows and slowly lowers into his seat again. "I-It's my fault that she almost died..." Tears form in his eyes. "People get hurt around me...people I never mean to hurt, die" he whispers and lowers his head, thinking of Mary.

John clenches his jaw a bit. "Sherlock, we are all adults and we are perfectly capable of making our own decisions and that's just it. It's OUR decision to be around you. We all know the risk, every single one of us. Me, Greg, Mrs. H, even Mary, and Molly. It's our choice. You have a dangerous job. A lot of people do, and you cannot control the world. The only person you can control is you. It's not your place to make decisions for us. You're our friend. As much of an utter cock as you can be, goddamn you're still our friend and we all care about you. We CHOOSE that risk. You love Molly...don't leave and take her decision away from her. It's her choice if she wants you. Frankly, I think you NEED her. So be fucking grateful that you got a second chance because that doesn't happen to anyone else!"

Sherlock fidgets with his hands and nods. "Okay...I'll-...I'll stay."

John nods sharply. "Good. They're going to bring her to the ICU soon. I have to go home and get dinner for Rosie, but I can come back tomorrow. Will you be alright? No more bugging the nurses."

"Yeah..I-I'll be fine. Thank You John..."

"Yeah, I'll let Mycroft and everyone know that she's alright."

"That's probably best, yeah."

John nods and leaves.

Hours later Molly is settled into her ICU room. Sherlock gently intertwines their fingers; those swift, steady, nimble fingers that work so effortlessly with a scalpel, those strong, gentle fingers that held back her sob during the phone call. He strokes them gently, listening to the whirr of her oxygen and beeps of her monitors. Sherlock keeps their hands intertwined and shifts to lay his head on the back of the chair, closing his eyes to doze. That's when he feels her fingers twitch, and his eyes shoot open again. He watches intently and they move again ever so slightly.

"Molly..? Molly, I am here. You're in hospital. Can you hear me? It's Sherlock. Please Molly..."

Her fingers twitch for a few moments, then he notices eye movement behind her lids. "I'm here Molly. You're safe now...come back to me Molly..."

Molly feels lightheaded and realizes there's noise. Among those is a familiar deep baritone voice; Sherlock. Her eyes flutter softly and open a crack, half-blinded by the bright lights. She whimpers softly and blinks, her vision blurry at first then clearing, seeing Sherlock looking over her with tears filling his beautiful eyes. Her mind can't remember what happened for a moment and she peers up at him. She goes to speak but can't; her throat is so dry, and the words won't come out. That's when she realizes there's an oxygen mask on her face. "I'm in the hospital" she thinks.

Sherlock cries in relief, seeing his beautiful Molly looking up at him with her warm cocoa eyes. He leans down and very gently hugs her to him. "I love you" he murmurs, unable to muster anything else. He pulls back to look at her and a couple tears slip out of her eyes. "I'm here, you're safe now. Do you...remember...anything?"

Molly let's her tears fall, relief and love filling her heart when he told her he loved her, first thing. She nods to his question, memories of her kidnapping and terror flooding back. She squeezes his hand, registering the feeling that he is holding it. Sherlock smiles comfortingly which makes her feel more at ease.

"Molly, you can't talk yet, you're on oxygen. May need it for a little while, but I'm not going anywhere...I guess you'll have to listen to my incessant speak."

She flashes him a small but weak smile under the transparent mask, gently playing with his fingers, and looking deep into his oceanic eyes.

Sherlock looks into her eyes, so filled with love and a bit of fear still. He strokes her hair back from her face and kisses her forehead. "I know, you love me too. I've always known, I've seen it for a few years now. I'm sorry I've been such a dick...you matter most, and I see you now."

Molly sniffles and tears stream down her temples from her lying down position. Sherlock props the bed up a bit for her.

"Do...um..should...er...?"

Molly looks at him and nods motioning him closer. He smiles shyly and slowly climbs onto the cot next to her, pulling her close into his arms comfortingly. "I will always adore the way you can read me, Molly Hooper. Always. I am so grateful for you..." he murmurs as he kisses her temple.

She settles into his arms and shyly cuddles against his chest, feeling completely safe for the first time in years.

Matthew grins cutely, his phone call with Mira leaving an ethereal feeling in his chest. He tries Molly's cell again, and again it goes right to voicemail. It's been over twenty-four hours and he wonders if maybe she had to get a new phone and forgot the number. It would be just like her to drop in in a vat of brain matter or a bowl of guts. Chuckling to himself, he sends her an email and waits for her response. Suddenly he can hear his stomach growl angrily. "Well, off to the canteen then" he says to himself.

After eating a meal big enough for a family of three, he is very full and heads back to his room. One of the Captains is waiting at his door and asks him to come with them. Matt can't think of a single thing he did wrong, and tries not to make any facial expressions. "Yessir."

When they get to the general office, they ask him to sit and he salutes, then complies. The Captain picks up an envelope and holds it between his hands. "Lieutenant Hooper, I have been asked to call you here in confidence to speak on behalf of the British Government and the UK Army in regard to a matter back home."

He swallows, trying to keep a straight face. He can feel all the euphoria from speaking with Mira melt away from his body, which now stands at attention as if ready for a hit.

"I regret to inform you that your sister has passed away unexpectedly." His Captain hands him the envelope. "This contains sensitive information regarding her passing. It also holds information about your bereavement leave. However, since you are scheduled to return home for a while, we have confirmed that your time may start now, and will officially begin after bereavement leave has taken effect. All your flight information is in there as well. We are truly sorry, Lieutenant. We're sorry..."

Matty's face stays frozen, his body feeling glued to his seat, but somehow, he gets up and walks back to his room as if on autopilot. Walking turns to jogging, and jogging to running. Tears threaten the dam of his eyes and sobs build in his chest. He feels as if he's been shot in the heart. "She can't be dead. Molly can't be dead." His mind yells how it is impossible, incomprehensible. "She's only thirty-three!" Reaching his room, he breaks down into sobs, the tears cascading over his eyelids and down his face like a waterfall. He is unable to move from against the door, stricken with an unimaginable emotional pain and the realization of being a true orphan.