Sherlock was finally able to uncover the identity of the mysterious letter writer. It was Tom Molly's ex-fiancé. In his years of absence, Sherlock had arranged for a certain Robert Harrison to be imprisoned. As it turned out, he was Tom's biological father and died in prison. Tom blamed him for it and was now out for revenge. He wanted to take from Sherlock what he loved most. And in this case, he meant Molly.
After Sherlock had learned from Tom that he had poisoned Molly with ricin, he made his way to Molly's room with quick steps. But when he got there, all he could see was that he was too late.
Sherlock stared at the now lifeless body before him. The devices that had previously signalled Molly's heartbeat were off. She lay still and motionless. No sign that there was any life left in her.
A lump formed in his throat big enough to take his breath away. He felt his legs gradually threatening to give way under his weight. He could not breathe or move. He was paralysed.
Everything around him began to blur. The sounds that could be heard behind the door were muffled. Sherlock just stood there staring at Molly's lifeless body.
Slowly, with wobbly legs, he finally moved towards her. Still he could not think clearly.
He had come too late. Tom had won. He had taken away the person he loved the most. And Molly herself didn't even know about his feelings for her.
He wanted to tell her, but then events came thick and fast. Bile rose up his throat.
Carefully, he pulled up a chair and took a seat. He just stared at her beautiful face for a while. Her soft skin, her hazel eyes that always seemed so warm and kind and her wonderfully soft lips. Her mouth that always sent a soothing warmth through Sherlock's body when she smiled. He had once thought he was too small but that was a lie. He was almost perfect. Then at some point, with shaky hands, he reached for her now cold hand and squeezed it gently.
A single tear flowed down his cheek and he let it.
"Molly," he whispered softly.
Silence filled the room. Sherlock didn't know what to say. He knew, however, that no matter what he said or did, it would not bring his Molly back.
"I was late. I'm sorry. Forgive me for not being able to protect you" he then said eventually, lowering his head and resting his forehead against her hand.
The tears were now flowing intermittently down his face. Sherlock felt the grief slowly eating him up from the inside. He had to give it vent or he was in danger of choking on it.
"Molly, I don't know how this happened." he finally began to say, taking a deep breath.
"There were still so many things I wanted to tell you. Starting with how I wanted to apologise to you for all those years of humiliation and rejection. I'm ashamed of the way I've treated you. But no matter what an ass I had been, you were always by my side. You've always supported me. You always counted and I always trusted you. I regretted not saying goodbye to you then. I didn't know if I would return and see your beautiful face and smile again. But the thought of you made me stronger and has stayed with me through all these years. I don't know much about feelings but what I do know is that I feel something for you. Damn it Molly, I love you. I've probably always loved you, just been too blind or stubborn to realise it. The day after the wedding, I was going to tell you. I was going to ask you to be with me. I wanted to build a life together with you and call you my wife.
He paused for a moment and gently stroked her hair.
"But it's too late. I couldn't protect you and now I've lost you forever." he sobbed now.
He looked around the empty room for a moment. Then Sherlock slowly lay down in the bed beside her body and embraced her with his strong arms. His head rested on her shoulders as he did so. He felt the tension slowly fall away and his eyes grew heavy.
"Forgive me for not realising it sooner. I love you, Molly, and I always will," he whispered softly before falling into a deep sleep.
