Sherlock ventures down their winding staircase, his knees cracking and his eyes weary. The lines around his eyes and mouth from all these years of emotion, especially good times and smiles, proof of past happiness on his aging face.
He sees his wife curled up on the sofa yet again, her body battling against her strength in a silent war, and can hear the echoing sounds of the crickets outside as he makes his way to the kitchen to prepare tea. Chamomile. Her favorite, especially for an upset stomach.
As he passes by the mantle of their fireplace, he can't help but look at each and every photo that lies upon it. A total of eight. One of each of their beloved children, a family photo, and the one that has sat upon it the longest- their wedding photo. Taking a handkerchief out of his dressing gown pocket, he picks it up and tenderly wipes away the layer of dust that had settled, muddling the faces of the thrilled couple, frozen in time. Sherlock strokes young Molly's face with a look of nostalgia before his eyes begin to mist over and he sets it back in its rightful place.
Telling himself to be strong as she had for him so many times, he masks his sadness and returns to the kettle, preparing the tea in their favorite mugs. His, purple and skinny, and hers, wider and pink with little white hearts peppered among it. Taking a deep breath, he puts on his best facade in an attempt to hide the crushing hurt within his heart, hoping she'll miss it, just this once.
Unfortunately, since she owns that willful, impossible, tireless heart, he doubts she will overlook anything he is feeling.
Running a hand through his silver, yet still luscious curls, he grabs the mugs and moves over to set them on the coffee table in front of her, settling himself near her sock-clad feet.
Choking his emotions down, he gently strokes her faux silver locks away from her face, brushing his thumb upon what once was her cherry-tinged cheek.
"Molly my love, I've brought you some chamomile tea. I thought it may help settle your stomach", he says softly, wanting her to awaken fully, but not wanting to disturb her either.
Molly shifts from her position a bit and her eyes open to rest on him. They are tired and bleary, the sparkle that was once un-dimmable, now gone from her brown orbs.
"Thank you, love", she whispers gently, sitting upright with a bit of struggle.
Sherlock helps her carefully and can't stop himself from wrapping his arms around her frail and thin body. Molly hugs him back closely and loosely strokes his curls. Unable to stop them, tears flow over the rims of his eyes and down his cheeks silently.
Molly pulls back and tenderly strokes them away, looking over his face. "Please don't cry for me. Not now. Not when I'm still here. I'm not lost yet. I know I'm losing, but I promise you I'm trying my best still, even if it's frivolous."
He nods and kisses her forehead lovingly. "I'm sorry...I really try to be strong for you and I don't want to let you down after all the times in our lives where you were the strong one. So so many times. You are worlds stronger than I, Molly Holmes. You always have been."
Smiling weakly, she strokes over his wedding band. "Thank you. For giving me the most beautiful life I ever could've imagined."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he takes a shaky breath and kisses her hand. "No...thank /you/ for making this life worth living. I wouldn't be who I am without you. I wouldn't even be here without you. And I-...", he trails off, his voice shaking and his lip trembling. "I don't know how to live in a world without you. I can't imagine that and I don't want to." More tears spill down his face, as well as Molly's.
She cradles his jaw in her hands and kisses him gently, Sherlock returning it as best he can before continuing. "I always just thought I'd have you for a lifetime. When I said our vows, I always meant my lifetime. I'm supposed to go first", he whispers achingly. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to you. And I can't do anything. I feel so helpless. I've never sat around and done nothing and the worst thing is watching you have to do this alone and knowing I can't do a thing about it."
Molly sniffles and she strokes his lips. We have been strong for each other over the years. Forty years, Sherlock. That's a pretty good time. And neither of us are supposed to go first, the world just chooses...and...I think the world needs Sherlock Holmes just a bit more than it needs Molly Holmes."
"Forty years isn't enough time. It's supposed to be sixty years... sixty-five years. W-We are supposed to make it to our nineties together, never mind our eighties...we should have twenty more years. And that's crap about the world needing me. You say the world needs Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock Holmes needs his Molly. What am I supposed to do without you?" He chokes up again. "You're too young..."
Molly sips some tea as her nausea settles, and blinks her tears away. "Sherlock you've given me the best life. I've lived longer than all of the people who were ever on my slab at Bart's. Most of them were barely in their prime of life, but I had that privilege. I had that and I had you, and then we got to have our beautiful children and then were graced with grandchildren. I've lived my very best days, which is something I've realized not a lot of people get to do. If I had the choice, you know I'd never leave your side, ever. But I believe you can go on, because I don't want your life to end just because mine does...", she wipes her eyes and cuddles close to him. Sherlock holds her protectively.
"You are my life, Molly. You need to know that. I was such a fool back then and I wasted so much time that we could've..."
Molly cuts him off gently, placing a finger to his lips. "No...our timing was perfect. We both needed to go through what we went through to make it here right now. I wouldn't change anything." She lies her head on his chest and breathes deeply, trying to catch her breath. Sherlock strokes her arm soothingly.
"I love you so much."
Once she catches her breath she replies. "I love you so much too. Promise me you won't slip into old habits or become a hermit. Please please promise me you'll surround yourself with our kids and our grandbabies and that you won't stop living. For me. That's what I want. Promise me."
Sherlock looks into her eyes, a tear making a damp trail down his cheek. "I-I promise. I'll try my hardest."
"That's all I want." Molly begins to have a coughing fit and Sherlock rubs her back, knowing the end is near by her appearance, her weight, lack of appetite, and her weakness. The nausea had come and gone, as to be expected with her chemotherapy, which had still been tried a while, despite the doctor telling them it stopped helping months ago.
The estimated mark from her oncologist has already passed and she has truly been fighting this cancer with every ounce of strength and willpower within her. Sadly, he knows it isn't going to be enough to save his precious Molly, and just a week ago she made the heartbreaking decision to stop the chemo.
Knowing that it was hurting her more to keep trying when it wasn't helping, he supported her decision, however much that killed him, knowing it would cut her life shorter. He saw how his lively, active wife became trapped in a shell of a body that was failing her every day that passed. He watched her vomit more times than he can count, watched her heart break as she lost her own beloved hair and replace it with a similar-looking wig, and watched her cry for days after she knew she had to retire from Bart's due to her body not cooperating with the sights, smells, and physical demand. The one thing Molly prided herself on her entire life was her dependence, which has been ripped away from her in the harshest of ways.
Molly looks up at him lovingly, no words needing to be said as they lock gazes for many moments. One thing they learned through the last forty years was how to communicate with just a look.
After the tea is significantly depleted from their mugs and Molly's eyes begin to droop again, Sherlock scoops her into his arms the way he had on their joyous wedding night, carrying her up the twirled staircase to their bedroom. Remembering the time he had the stairs replaced as a surprise for Molly (who had always wanted a winding staircase for some reason) and her ecstatic reaction, brings a well-needed happy memory into his mind.
But there is no happy, laughing, healthy framed young thirty-four-year-old woman in his arms, exuberant and giddy about what adventures their lives would take them on. Instead, it is his exhausted, bone-thin, ailing, seventy-four-year-old wife, being tucked into their bed for what unbeknownst to him would be the last night they had in each other's arms.
Forcing her eyes open once Sherlock slips under the blankets, she holds his hand and strokes his cheek with her other.
"Promise me you'll be okay", she tears up, worry on her face.
Tears pool in his eyes and he kisses her. Leave it to Molly to worry about him when she's the one who needs to be worried about. "I promise. For you, anything."
She nods weakly and looks at him. "I loved my life because of you. I loved it so much. Thank you."
He smiles through a sob and kisses her palm. "I loved my life because of you too. Thank you, my love. For everything."
"My pleasure", she smiles at him weakly. He chuckles through another sob and cuddles her close.
"I love you more than I could ever articulate, Molly."
"I know that, Sherlock. You've shown me and I've seen and been here for it. Believe me, I do know. And I love you always and forever, my love."
"Forever and always, darling."
Molly kisses him goodnight with all the strength she can muster, holding tightly as possible to him. Moments later she settles her head onto his chest and quickly falls asleep. Sherlock watches her breathing and her small body slowly rising and falling until the emotional toll takes him into his own deep slumber.
Hours later Sherlock Holmes would wake up a widower, sobbing in ways he had never thought possible for himself in his lifetime. Holding her lifeless form in his arms, he rocks her closely and breaks down as the reality of her loss hits him full force.
The one person who mattered the most to him had slipped away peacefully in the night right where she belonged and always would remain. Right upon his heart, until they could be together again.