Molly's form freezes in the doorway to 221B. She can't believe what she's seeing. Sherlock is laying on the brown leather sofa, shirt-sleeves rolled up past the elbow, with a fucking syringe sticking out of his arm.
It was bad enough that he had told her he was working on a case at the flat and that it was the reason he hadn't been home in two nights; but the fact that she had known he was acting weird and had confronted him about it, leading his to deny anything was bothering him when asked, is what really drove her anger to new heights.
Just as she turns on her heel to leave, Sherlock spots her through his weary blue eyes. He immediately pulls the needle out and tosses the kit onto the floor, dizzily chasing after her as she runs down the staircase.
"Molly wait! Please, just wait!", Sherlock pleaded, his gait unsteady and sweat beading on his forehead.
"No! No. I can't. I won't. I told you; I WARNED you that I wouldn't stand for this!", she screams back at him, standing outside the front door to Baker Street as thunder rumbles threateningly above.
Tears pool in her deep brown eyes as she looks at him with betrayal and pain. "I can't do this. Two great years, and you fucking throw it away! I thought we were past this, YOU were past this. That you would communicate with me if anything was bothering you or tempting you. You SWORE to me!", she yells, bursting into a broken sob.
Sherlock can feel the lump in his throat grow bigger with every word, knowing her words rang true. He had promised. He had sworn. Yet somewhere along the line, his old habits and his tragic past had come back to bite him; to haunt him into doing what he had thought for two years would be unimaginable ever again since enjoying the love of Molly Hooper. The only woman he'd ever truly loved, the one person he had ever trusted his inner heart and soul to in every way.
"I-I can explain, please let me explain", he chokes out, his head whirling in confusion as unconsciousness threatens to take him away without a choice.
"I don't want your explanations even if you could come up with them. I don't know why I ever thought we could really work. I wanted this so badly that I threw away all my reservations and I let you love me the way I wanted you to, only to end up in second place again. This time to fucking drugs. Drugs you SWORE you'd never go back to. SWORE I was better than. SWORE you'd hold me closer than, if you ever had the urge. I knew you had the capacity to be an asshole. But a liar? Sherlock, you were never a liar", her voice cracks through her sobs. "And I won't do it, I wont go through that bullshit again. I cannot handle liars and you know that. I'm done. I'll call you an ambulance, but I'm not staying", she states, her expression revealing a shattered heart.
Molly pulls out her phone as the rain begins pouring down on top of her. She had rushed over to the flat unprepared for the weather once she had seen Wiggins being wheeled into the E.R as an overdose as she left her shift.
The last time he was around London, it was due to Sherlock, and Molly had the sneaking suspicion for a few days now that he had been hiding something.
She clicks the dial button and presses the phone to her left ear as she walls over and frustratingly pulls on the handle of her car, which remained locked even after her incessant pressing of the unlock button on her fob, clutched her right hand.
Sherlock stumbles over to her quickly and grabs her wrist, pleading with her desperately. His eyes are bloodshot and the rain had begun to mix with the sweat trailing down his slender face. He looks the part of a drug addict perfectly, which only makes her angrier.
Just before she can yank her arm away, a gigantic crack of thunder hits Molly's car, sending the high voltage through her hand and across her entire body, secondarily pulsing into Sherlock. Time seems to slow to a near standstill as pain radiates through Molly's form at such a fast but harsh rate that she is seemingly frozen in time, forced to bear the brunt of it, even though she wishes she could scream in agony.
It just barely registers in her brain during those passing seconds that Sherlock was touching her and he must have gotten a jolt as well.
In real time, only two seconds fly by and before either of them have any time to react, either in motion or vocally, their bodies drop like lead and become splayed out next to one another on the sidewalk.
Their argument hangs in the air, lost on their unmoving lips as both Sherlock and Molly lie unconscious, being drenched with the downpour as the 999 operator yells through the quickly failing mobile phone for a response that isn't coming.
