Molly's POV

Something had gone wrong and Sherlock was dead. When Sherlock had jumped off the building she was still inside so she didn't see what all had happened. What was meant to be a trick had turned into the real thing. She didn't know what or who's fault it had been. She didn't blame anyone in particular….anyone but herself.

It was SOP that an autopsy be done. She had volunteered for the assignment because she couldn't imagine anyone else cutting on Sherlock, even if he was….dead.

Now here she was standing over HIS body. She didn't enjoy looking at him now. It hurt too much. This could be the one that made her crack.

"Hello, Sherlock." She managed to choke out.

She could just imagine what he would say if he were here now and this body was someone else…

"Do your job, Molly." She could hear him speaking it in her mind. "Don't let sentiment get in the way of your observations."

She tried to refocus; tried to imagine that this was someone else. It was easier if she didn't look at his face.

First, she checked the surface of the skin for abnormalities then it was time to cut. This was the part she was dreading.

She slowly took up her scalpel and went to make an incision in Sherlock's abdomen and three times she pulled away unable to do it. Finally, she gave up and angrily set the scalpel back down on the tray. She leaned on her hands on the edge of the table and concentrated on her breathing.

"I can't do it, Sherlock."

Again, she could hear his voice talking to her in her imagination.

"You have to, Molly. It's your job."

"I can't." She repeated aloud, sounding even more defeated. She stroked the back of her hand along Sherlock's once colorful, strong jaw. "I can't because it's you." She admitted. It really was getting to her….she was talking to a corpse now.

"You don't have a choice." His voice said. "Do what you are supposed to do. Do what you know how to do."

Molly once again took up the scalpel and her trembling hand began to make the incision…

And that is when she woke up screaming from her nightmare. Molly bolted upright in her bed, her covers all in a tangle around her.

There was light coming in her bedroom window from a nearby streetlamp that gave her some light to make out her surroundings. It took a few moments before Molly got her bearings. She wasn't in the lab. She was at home, in bed. She had been dreaming.

Molly sat there in the darkness trying to calm her nerves and her breathing before she rolled out of bed. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins. She knew she wasn't going to sleep anymore tonight.

She decided to dress and take a walk. It was a bit dangerous, it was one o'clock in the morning after all, but maybe the fresh air would help clear her head. She knew if she tried closing her eyes again what she would be seeing.

Molly dressed hastily and started off. She knew just where to go. There was a prettish sort of park down by the Thames. She would often walk the trail along the river, but there was a particular spot that had a bench facing the river with the cityscape beyond on the other side. She would go there when she needed to think. This is where she headed to now. It wasn't too far from her flat. As she walked briskly, Molly thought about all the times she had visited this spot. She had gone there when she had a bad day, she had gone there a lot after her dad died, she had gone there when Sherlock was being an ass….that last thought made her smile, but it also made her sad. Sherlock.

The nightmares weren't as frequent now after three years but they were just as disturbing.

Molly arrived at the park and quickly found her favorite bench. She was glad it was so late at night and there were so few people around. That meant that she could cry in peace.

Molly stood by the metal barrier by the river watching the moonlight on the water, but soon that just reminded her of long, dark locks of hair. She turned away with a sigh and went and sat down on her bench.

"Why do I have to care so much?" She thought. It wasn't the first time she had asked herself that.

Sherlock. Somehow, it seemed, he had become like the sun in her world; everything revolving around him. His ego would love that...if he knew...or cared.

Molly didn't try to hide the tears anymore. Here she could cry freely.

It made her angry and sad all at once when she thought about how it was with Sherlock. She was good to have around, handy even, when he wanted something around the lab; otherwise, she was just another insignificant human being that was totally uninteresting to his great mind.

"Damn it," she inwardly swore at herself. "Why did it have to be him I irrevocably fell for?"

She didn't know how long she may have been sitting there trying to reason out her feelings; honestly, she hadn't been paying much attention to anything else.

Suddenly, a voice a few feet to her left startled her back to reality.

"Molly?" It was a beautiful baritone voice that she would recognize anytime, anywhere and under any circumstances. "Is everything alright?"

Molly jumped off the bench and whirled around to face him, temporarily frightened out of her wits. She opened her mouth to say something but she was speechless. Her eyes were wide and she could once again feel the immediate rush of adrenaline in her veins. It brought the dream back to the forefront of her mind.

"Molly?" He repeated, concerned. He had been holding his hands behind his back (he does that when he is walking and thinking), but as he got a good look at Molly he dropped them to his side. Her haggard appearance and tear stained face registered in his mind and he clenched his right hand into a fist. "What is the matter? Are you alright?" He asked more urgently. He looked her over again. She didn't seem to be hurt.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Molly cried, letting out the breath she had been holding. She practically ran to him, wrapped her arms tightly around him, buried her face into his chest and sobbed on his shirt.

Sherlock was momentarily shocked by her reaction and his whole body went rigid but he recovered and relaxed, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders.

He let her cry for a minute but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Molly, you have to tell me what's the matter." It was halfway between a plea and a demand. "Here, come sit down over here and tell me what is going on."

Molly didn't want to let go of him yet but Sherlock managed to gently extricate himself from her and guided her back to the bench.

"I'm not one of your stupid clients, Sherlock." Molly said bitterly when she had sat back down and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Sherlock reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"No, you are not." He said so seriously that Molly had to look at him to read his expression. Like always his eyes bored right through her and left her senseless and yet they were incredibly tender. "You are much more than that." He continued after a pause. "You're a true friend to me."

That was quite a concession from him and she treasured the words, and yet…..yet, they weren't enough….but she was glad for them for now.

"Now, please…." he began.

Molly dropped her head back down to look at her shoes and sighed. "I sometimes have nightmares that you really did die when you….well, you remember." she admitted. She was speaking quickly now so she wouldn't have time to talk herself out of it. "Tonight was one where I was having to do your autopsy."

A heavy silence fell between them. Sherlock had to look away and swallow the emotions that had risen in his throat. It was a few minutes before he could even speak.

"You've had nightmares about my death?"

"Yes." Molly said quietly.

Sherlock suddenly felt like he had to get up and move around. He paced back and forth in front of the bench for a minute then went over to stand by the railing and looked out over the water. He wanted the earth to open and swallow him up, or a sea beast to make a meal of him, or something ...anything to make him pay for his sins.

"You said, 'sometimes.' How often?" He wondered without looking at her. He just stared out over the water.

Molly's voice was calmer now. Apparently admitting it helped.

"Not as much as in the beginning. It's gotten less and less with time."

Sherlock slammed his hand down on the railing. "Will the ramifications of my life never end?" He asked through his teeth to no one in particular.

Molly, filled with compassion, stood and went to his side and put her hand on his arm.

"The bad doesn't last forever." She tried consoling him.

He didn't look away from staring off in the distance. "How much have I hurt you and John?" He asked bitingly. He turned around and faced Molly, looking deep into her eyes, searching for his answers. "I wouldn't be what I am without you and John and what has it cost you both being associated with me?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Molly breathed.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow catching the significance of her words. Molly, realizing her mistake, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"We..." She corrected quickly. "We wouldn't have it any other way."

"Why?" He genuinely asked.

Molly smiled at him. Sherlock very seldom let down his guard like this. "Because you are special to us…..to everyone, the whole country."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to shake his head and looked up at the stars. "John and his fanciful writing." He stated.

Molly smiled. "No." She disagreed. "It wasn't John's writing that caught everyone's attention," She paused then added, "even though he is a good writer."

Sherlock looked back at her, confusion in his eyes again, his brow furrowing. "Then what?"

Molly laughed softly. To be the great Sherlock Holmes he sure didn't understand some things. "It was you. It was always you." It was like explaining something so obvious to a child.

His expression turned from confusion to disbelief.

"The whole city….the whole country rests easier knowing you are out there catching the bad guys." She continued. "If nobody else can help, they know that you can. You're a hero to them."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He wished he was good enough to be somebody's hero, but he knew what he was.

Sherlock lowered his head in shame and spoke barely above a whisper. "Molly, I'm just a sociopath junkie with a morbid fixation, not anyone's hero. I can barely keep friends."

"Don't forget 'being an incredible bastard sometimes' either."

Sherlock's breath caught at her words. He knew it was true but he didn't like hearing it from her. He quickly looked at her but saw the playful expression on her face and sighed in relief.

"It's true." He admitted.

"I never said it wasn't true….just that we like you anyway."

Just then a breeze blew off the water and Molly shivered. It wasn't particularly cold but the adrenaline wearing off in the night air had left her feeling chilled.

Sherlock walked with her back to the bench and offered his overcoat to her. She used it as a blanket and curled up against his side and laid her head on his chest. It was warm and inviting and she was, in a sense, surrounded by Sherlock. She closed her eyes to enjoy the smell of his cologne, the feeling of his chest rising and falling with every breath, listening to his heartbeat, He was real and alive. He was here with her.

Molly had closed her eyes so she didn't know when she had actually fallen sleep. It all seemed dreamlike.

Again, Sherlock was unaccustomed to the closeness and froze. He didn't know what else to do or say. He let the silence between them lengthen, assuming she was just as lost in her thoughts as he was in his. He was still puzzled over all that Molly had told him. His ego had always told him that he was that good but he never actually believed it. After a little while he was still pondering when he felt Molly's body go limp as she fell asleep. He looked down at her face. He didn't have the heart to wake her up, he just hoped that she didn't have another nightmare….about him.

He swallowed hard. He wasn't used to this kind of emotion either and didn't know what to make of it. Ever so gently, he brushed the hair that fallen back out of Molly's face.

He studied her. What was he supposed to do now?

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone started ringing in his pocket. He tried fumbling for it the best he could without waking Molly. He looked at the caller ID and closed his eyes and sighed….of course it was him.

"Evening, Mycroft." He said in a harsh tone. "Or should I say morning."

Mycroft didn't bother with any sort of banter but came right to the point. "It's a bit late for you to be out wandering around isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Sherlock said in a mocking tone. "You never know who you might run into." Sherlock stole a quick glance at Molly.

"Yes, I can see that. But you didn't exactly expect to find her now did you?"

Sherlock looked around to find the camera that Mycroft was obviously employing at the moment. He spotted one on the top corner of the building opposite them on the other side of the street. He gave it a dirty look wishing that his glare could burn it to a crisp.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" He didn't give Mycroft a chance to answer before he shot another question at him. "Don't you have anything better to do at this hour instead of spying on me?"

"Not really."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked through his teeth.

"It looks like you are on the verge on an emotion."

"Your point?"

"Oh, no point; just an observation."

Sherlock looked down at the ground and the phone was silent for a minute.

"Ummm…." He began, unsure. "There's a question I need to ask you."

"I'm sorry." Mycroft said. "What was that again? I had a momentary lapse in reality."

"You heard me, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled into the phone. "You mean there actually exists a question that you cannot answer?" He was enjoying this far more than he should be.

"Apparently so." Sherlock grimaced at the thought.

"And what would that be?"

Sherlock hesitated but he swallowed his pride and continued. "Tell me….about consequences."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Well," he began with a sigh like the whole conversation was a bore. "Every decision a person makes has a ripple effect of a mixture good or bad and big or small outcomes which affect anyone and everyone around them. Sometimes those repercussions are far reaching beyond what we can anticipate."

Sherlock frowned. "Do they last forever?"

Mycroft held up his free hand and inspected his fingernails. "Sometimes." He answered finally. "I'm assuming there's a reason for your asking."

"What do I do?"

Mycroft looked back to the security camera screen he had been watching Sherlock in. He saw the pair on the park bench; Sherlock on the phone with one arm on the back of the bench and Molly curled up asleep on Sherlock's chest.

"At the moment, it looks like you are doing all you can do."

Sherlock hung up the phone without another word.

Every decision of every minute of everyday was a rock. The ripples they caused was determined by the size of the rock and the force that it hit the water with. Sometimes the ripples could be displaced. That would be his mission….to displace his previous bad ripples to John and Molly.

He turned slightly towards the camera on the nearby building, nodded and smiled, knowing his brother would see.