Hello, it's been a while. Lot's of stuff going on right now, exams notwithstanding. And Sherlock's been giving me trouble. Can all of you please tell me if they are in character?

It was shocking, how surprised he was when she told him she didn't count. She didn't know what he was expecting, but clearly, he didn't think of that.

To Molly, it didn't matter. She shrugged it off, as another one of those Sherlock things. He was more worried than ever right now, and while she didn't count, she could still see it. Oddly enough, she sent out the little prayers that she used to when she was a girl.

Anybody listening? Sherlock really needs help.

"Hello universe," said Molly. "It's me, Molly Hooper."

There was silence from outside. The crickets chirped.

"I'm in Ireland right now. Father wanted to see it one last time, I suppose. When you know you're dying, things come to the forefront. Well, the things that you had missed out on for a while."

The wind blew across her window, ghosting on.

"I'm fine, I don't really need any help. Meena might need some help with math, so can someone please help her? I think God doesn't really care about Principal Amount and Simple Interest – so um. If you know, someone like Robby Graves is listening – please help her out. She doesn't understand math. And, um, can everybody please help Billy's parents? They're not well at all. He's passed away finally, and it sucks, but we need to help whoever is left, right?"

Molly didn't know why she did this. It helped her tap into the world, she supposed.

"And can anybody listening just tell Mycroft I'm sorry? I didn't mean that, and I'm truly sorry. Can everybody take care of Sherlock? Make sure he's eating enough? Not running away from Mrs Holmes? Because Mrs Holmes can only do so much."

Molly's eyes pricked with tears.

"Everybody around me is sad. They think I'm not because I don't understand what is happening, but they don't know – someone has to be strong. You can't just – can't just – fall apart."

Her tears began to fall in earnest.

"And I need all of you to concentrate a little, because I'm asking for help for my grandparents. I thought my Mum was bad, but she's relatively okay. My grandparents have to see their son die, and I have a feeling there's something vaguely unsettling about it. Mum is strong these days, she's really helping me a lot. I think whatever all of you did really helped. But right now – right now – please can I have a little more help? Because I can't do this for longer."

"There's so much silence, all the time. Sherlock's not there, so the silence doesn't go away. It's never leaving, it's so conspicuous, and it's so there. It's driving me crazy. Can everybody lend me a little strength? I'm not very courageous, or very strong. I really need it. I don't know if there is a God, but something has been broadcasting my messages, and I think it may be him."

"I don't know if anyone's listening anymore," she whispered. "It's so lonely in my mind."

It had been cold when Molly saw her father sad.

October had come, and as usual, the rains had come with it. And with it, cold, moisture clung onto everything. She had been laughing with her father as he joked with her about something else. Her Mum had called her, wanting her to take a mug of chocolate for her father. Molly had complied obediently.

It was when she was returning that she saw him, looking out of the window.

He looked like he was missing something essential. Like an arm, or a leg. Only Molly couldn't give it to him, just like she had gotten him this mug of hot Chocolate.

When Christmas came, he was beyond recognition. The disease had eaten away at him, taking away his life. He was frail, thin, coughing, vomiting, peeing incessantly. Molly stuck with him, until he whispered it to her – "Molly. Convince your mother."

Molly didn't need to ask him about what. She went ahead, deciding that it really was time. Christmas had come and gone, and Molly was sure her father didn't want her memories of New Years' tainted.

When Molly was dropped home, given dinner, Molly spoke slowly, softly. Her mother listened.

"Molly..." she said.

"Mum. Please don't make him drag it out. He deserves better. He enjoyed life. Life shouldn't bring him down to his knees, without dignity, without any sense. Please. He wants it."

Molly's mother agreed, but after a heavy fight. Molly watched from behind the glass doors as her Mum raged against her father, screaming, shouting, begging him to stay for the New Year. Molly only stared at her very pink shoes.

When the fighting finally died down, her Mum was crying on her father's shoulder. She glanced at her father. He nodded briefly.

Molly searched for a nurse – she was called Whitney, that was it. She told her, as calmly as possible, what she wanted.

"Dear, you don't know what you're talking about," said the nurse with a nervous laugh.

Molly watched the woman. She bit her lip, and came with her. Molly's Mum went out of Molly's father's room. Molly watched at midnight – she was twelve years old when she saw her father pass away, and she never let death have power over her after that.

Meena gave her a tight hug that morning. That was when Molly finally started crying.

She couldn't be weak in front of her mother – her mother needed her. But Meena allowed it. She smiled at the girl gently. "There now," she said. "It's alright Molly Hooper. You'll be fine."

The funeral was small, by some standards. Their neighbours and friends came, their family members. Molly's Mum held her hand throughout the service. Meena was sitting beside Molly, occasionally saying things that made Molly feel better, like, "Molly, your uncle is a bit of a nut," or "Molly, you know, you have a scar shaped like a star. Maybe you're on your way to change the destiny of the planet."

Molly entered her teen years that Winter, and her Mum and Dad had insisted on taking her shopping – well, her Mum had taken her. Dad had been at the hospital when Molly's birthday had come. That had been before Dad passed away, though. Funny how things which should be exciting just became bland. Molly was given new bras for her birthday, and her first ones, at that. They were a little loose for her, but her Mum assured her she would grow into them. Meena could only be envious of the idea.

Her Mum was heartbroken, and Molly noticed the sleeping pills she was taking. Molly never said anything.

Occasionally, Molly would think of Sherlock. She'd stopped praying now, but she sent her telepathic messages to Sherlock through her day sometimes. Hi Sherlock. It's a little boring without you. The Oak tree by the bridge fell down, did you know? It feels a little empty there.

Molly liked to think he was sending messages back. It's dull without you too, Molly. There's an idiot in school, and his mother is having an affair with the PE teacher. If you'd have been there you would have stopped me from giving out this fact in front of the class, as apparently, saying these things is 'wrong.'

That sounded like him.

Meena didn't contact too much during the winter. Meena seemed to understand that Molly needed a breather. She needed to mourn for sometime. She called over New Year though.

"It's going to be awful in school, Molls," groaned Meena. "Oh, god – it's gonna suck."

Meena was developing a tendency to use bad words, Molly noted amusedly.

When school started, they found themselves in sixth grade, with a lot more homework and a lot more work in general. Meena and Molly tackled their school life together, laughing uproariously at all the girls who tried make-up at the age of thirteen. They boycotted everyone else, and had an amazing time by themselves. Meena managed to convince Molly to continue with ice-skating and Piano, and that was a plus point.

It was then that Molly took a supreme interest in the sciences.

Meena enjoyed teasing Molly about it, and Molly took it in goodnaturedly. Meena wasn't particularly good at studies, no matter how good she was at hobnobbing people on the Football field.

"What do you want to do when you grow up?" asked Molly one day. They were staring at the summer sky, lying in the field.

"I don't know Molls. I think I'd like to do art, or something similar. Maybe psychology."

"That sounds interesting," said Molly, looking at the clouds.

"So, how's your mum?" asked Meena.

"Still crying at nighttimes. But it's become a little lesser," sighed Molly. "She's been wearing nicer clothes, finally. I thought she'd never stop mourning in her smock."

Meena gave a short laugh.

"People should mourn while wearing nice clothes," decided Molly. "Wearing nice clothes gives the dead person the feeling that you're really putting effort into the mourning, you know. Being fashionable."

"Molly, I'm asking you to wear suede boots and the most expensive coat you can buy when you come for my funeral," said Meena. "I'm daring you."

Molly's eyes glittered. "Absolutely. And I'll wear large sunglasses, with painted nails. And red lipstick."

Meena laughed. "Thank God I became friends with you."

Molly was a lot better after that. The first summer of Sherlock not living across the yard was a little weird, as she wasn't used to that much free time by herself. Meena went on vacation, calling her occasionally. Molly was left to her devices, by herself in the field.

She spent most of her days waking a little too early for anybody's liking, going biking across the field, and taking walks into the woods again and again. She began to study her seventh grade course outside, in the summer heat. The weather worked for her solitude. Her Mum would come outside many times, spend some time with her. Molly even got her first period during the summer, and grimly reflected on the fact that it was a good thing Sherlock wasn't there anyway.

Then again, Sherlock would have probably mapped out her menstruation cycle in a few minutes. That would have been convenient.

Molly noticed how her father's death was putting a strain on her Mum. She finally got rid of her father's car, and no longer had to pay for the maintenance. Molly's Mum got an endless supply of casseroles, after her husband's death, and a lot of her friends would drop by from time to time.

Molly knew her Mum was grateful, but Molly wished they would leave her alone from time to time. The only friend she genuinely liked of Mum's was Sarah, and Sarah never bothered dropping in from time to time to see how she was doing. She'd call ahead, tell her Mum that she needed a place for some dinner. Or that it was time to go out for some drinking.

And Molly spent her time making friends with the outside, and rereading her books. She dragged her Mum far too often to buy more and more books – her appetite had become quite literally insatiable. She finished books in days.

They reminded her of something – like something she was missing, but something she had never had anyway.

When seventh grade came, she was asked out for the first time by a boy. A small miracle, because Molly was going through her lots-of-acne stage. Molly blushed, stammered, stuttered, gave a mental prayer to anyone listening, and said no.

"But why?" whined Meena. As predicted, they were having a sleepover.

Molly went red. "I don't know – I didn't like him. We're thirteen, Meena. I don't particularly want a kiss which is you know – flat."

"Mollyyyyyy," whined Meena again.

Meena had no reason to whine, Molly reflected – she was perfectly fine with as many boys as could be counted asking her out. Meena even told her what kissing was like.

"It's like – well, I can't really describe it. It feels a bit like a slug in your mouth," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Ew," said Molly.

"It's kind of awful, yeah," said Meena. "I wonder why people like it."

"Haven't the slightest."

Molly's Mum taught her about sex, and Meena and Molly giggled at the magazine they found while they tried to figure out exactly what the whole thing meant. It was kind of odd, but they accepted on faith that sex was amazing.

Molly used her first swearword during this time, in a way. She dropped something, and spilled water everywhere while Meena was sitting with her, and Molly went – "Fu-frick."

Meena burst into peals of laughter. "Go on, complete it!" she egged.

Molly blushed completely red. "Fuck," she said, and buried her face into her hands.

The anniversary of her father's death finally came. Molly and her Mum went to visit the grave together, and they lay some flowers on it. Tulips had a wonderful quality of being just there.

When the summer came again, Molly was fourteen, and going onto her eighth grade. For the first time, exam pressures were going to be real, but she was not particularly fussed about it at the moment.

Meena did not go anywhere that summer, so they spent weeks on end at each other's houses. They learned how to wax for the first time (Molly's Mum was helpfully obliging). And Molly finally agreed on going on one date with one of Meena's friends. It was delightfully horrible, as the only thing the boy did was show exactly how fourteen year old he was. And Molly wasn't impressed at all.

Meena only laughed at Molly's expressive face when she exploded about the boy and his antics. Molly had a curious tendency to be shy all by herself, and then explode when needed.

That Christmas, when she became fifteen years old, she confronted her Mum on her inability to date someone. In a very typically Molly fashion, she stuttered her way through all the harder bits of confrontation.

"Mum – um. Do you have any plans?"

"Hmm? Plans? Why, do you want to go shopping?" asked her Mother.

Molly bit her lip and shook her head. "No – you should be, you know – going out."

Her mother raised her eyes. "Molly –"

"It's just that – it's been two years, Mamma," said Molly, exasperated. "You need to go out now. I mean, we've mourned enough."

"Molly, I don't think it is your place –"

Needless to say that her advice was ignored until the coming New Year when Molly's mother said tentatively – "Molly, dear – there's a man from work –" to which Molly blushed, smiled sheepishly and said "Go!"

Molly's shy and awkward teenage years were only a lot shyer because of her innate personality. Meena was boisterous and explosive, but she couldn't cure Molly of what was her, and she never tried to. Molly's fashion sense was fairly decent, except for the hideous jumpers she wore at home. But it was forgivable, because she was cute in them.

When Molly rejoined school after the winter holidays, everybody was cooing over the new school edgy hot guy. He was sixteen already, apparently, and very good looking. Molly was invited to her first party by Meena, who was popular, despite having Molly for a best friend.

And that was the first time Molly fell for a bit of a dark prince. Because when Christopher Marlow offered a cigarette, Molly took it, and he smiled at her, saying simply, "Live a little, Hooper. You only get it once." Molly coughed her lungs out, was never able to handle cigarettes, but she was able to handle a first romance.

She really should have known what Meena was trying to do, but how on earth was she to guess the boy liked her back? It wasn't Molly's fault; it really wasn't as she vehemently kept repeating in his house, because she'd been helping him with his science experiment. It sort of – slipped out that he liked her.

"So – um – you have the prokaryotes and the eukaryotes, and they further divide themselves – you get – erm, fungi. And then you have – ah – the plant kingdom. And, well – the animal kingdom. The plant kingdom is fairly easy –"

She heard him mutter something about this being far too much effort.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"Nothing – please continue." Molly stared at him, and said, "If you don't want to study, why did you ask for help?"

"Oh, don't get upset," he said, a little flustered. "I'm not!" clarified Molly. "I'll just be on my way then?" she asked. "No – don't go – okay, um – so, no I didn't ask for your help, I think Meena made it up –"

"You didn't ask for my help?"

"No – Christ – look,"

"I'll go then?" Molly asked faintly. "Molly – would you like to go out sometime?" he asked desperately. Molly blinked, gathering up her books. "What?" she asked.

"Well – why not?" "Is this some sort of joke?" she asked.

The poor boy didn't understand, of course. And when Molly flounced off to get angry about him to Meena, she only said in a timid voice – "Molly – darling. He likes you. He asked me to help with asking you out."

And that's how Molly Hooper first dated, had her first kiss, and fell in love for the first time. Thankfully, thankfully, it reached Molly's expectations.

That was when they shifted in Molly's grandma's house.

Molly's Mum's Mum was a fearsome old lady, and a cause for all the self consciousness Molly later faced. "Sit straight, Molly!" "If you think I do not see the speck of dirt on your shirt, you need thicker glasses than me, dear!" her crisp voice was edgy, and Molly knew her mother did not enjoy meeting Grandma a lot. But Molly's mum was out of options – it was hard keeping their old house up. So, they rented the place out to some strangers, packed their bags, and left.

It was hard, after all, keeping their old home. Plus, letting the house out to rent allowed her Mum to keep the house and still generate an income which allowed her to keep paying the house off. That would be a fantastic good point, except Molly's Grandma...

Well, she had a tendency to make people uncomfortable.

"Molly, do not touch stuff there, okay?"

"Yeah Mum."

"And be polite."

"Alright."

"She's paying for your school fees, okay?"

"I know."

Molly could see where her Mum's commanding nature came from. Molly's Grandma met her in the living room, and surveyed Molly from up to down. Molly could forgive her Mum for being overprotective, especially after she had to live for years with a Lady who could not handle a spoon out of place.

"How old are you now?" she asked sharply.

"I'm fourteen, ma'am," she said politely.

"Your posture is terrible," barked her Grandma.

"I'm sorry?" said Molly meekly.

"You need lessons in etiquette, dear girl." Molly went red.

"Take out the books in your bag. I'd like to see what you're reading." Well, at least she liked women who read. Molly's Mum didn't like her reading as much as she did.

"Goodness. What is all this? Why on earth are you reading this trash?"

Molly went red at the spines of all her romance novels. There really wasn't much in it – To Kill a Mockingbird, Bridge to Terebithia, The Great Gatsby, some Mary Shelley, a lot of romances (trashy ones), Robin Hood, Chocolat, The Source, Enid Blyton, and this new book called Harry Potter. Okay, there were some more in her boxes, but her Grandma didn't need to know that.

"Goodness, no. Go to that shelf and pick up the third book on the right."

Molly nervously picked up the book indicated, and read the cover. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.

"Now that's real romance, my girl."

For the first time in many years, Molly remembered Sherlock. He would have laughed. She could hear it right now.

It didn't take her Grandma a week into shoving Molly into etiquette lessons. Living with her Grandma was... difficult.

Molly's Mum and her Grandma had constant, never ceasing shouting matches. Ever present, about everything. Molly's Grandma usually got the better end of the stick, and her mother always reminded Molly's Grandma that they didn't technically need her assistance. Besides that, her Grandma, like Molly's Mum was harshly critical of Molly. At least Molly's mother gave hugs.

That sort of thing didn't happen around Grandma.

But her Grandma liked seeing Molly read. "Remember Molly, learning etiquette is useless if you are not a woman of thinking. A woman should rule the world and be graceful doing it."

The unease Molly felt in her Grandma's house was also because none of it – nothing in the house belonged to her. She felt out of place, out of the house. Her favourite place became a little bench hidden behind the weeping willows outside.

Molly took up a habit of wearing the most hideous jumper she could find, when she went for her etiquette lessons and particularly in front of her Grandma. It was her way to rebel, but it soon became her. And when she went for her first etiquette lesson – well, that was the second time she remembered Sherlock in many years again. He would have laughed.

It was dark, really dark. The lab glistened with Molly's expert cleaning – she never trusted the interns enough. It always got her overworked. The handwriting on the charts was like Molly herself – it was small, precise, and seemed to flourish on the page.

He did not see her switch the lights off, adjust the bag on her shoulder, or sigh plaintively. Her hideous jumper did not hide her frame – she had curves, and was pretty, whatever else may be said about her. He sensed it, just as he always had, as he had always been aware of Molly Hooper.

As she opened the door, he stopped her, without looking at her. Without thinking about it.

"You're wrong you know."

He had startled her. The door shut behind her, and she watched him. Her heart rate was still elevated, and did not calm down.

"You do count," he said, continuing to address a point in obscurity, refusing to look at her eyes, eyes which would be filled with concern.

"You've always counted and I've always trusted you," he went on. Heart rare still elevated, but pleasantly now. You win, Molly Hooper. I was an idiot to think that I had a chance in stopping you.

"But you were right," he went on. "I'm not okay."

I'm not okay, Molly. I wasn't okay when I was leaving. I'm not okay now, when he's going to kill all my friends. And it hurt him – he blocked it out all the time. He invested his sentiment away from himself and he kept it away because it didn't help his functioning. He needed Molly right now, so desperately, like he had never needed her before. He needed her to calm him down, to make him control a force which he had never tangled with, believing it to be beneath him. Because Molly knew how to work with emotions, far better than anyone else he knew.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said, in the exact same tone she had used all those years ago.

He saw her prepare herself, her heart rate calm – she was ready to go into battle, he realised.

"Molly – I think I'm going to die," he said, and he let her see it – the fear. Terror. Pain.

"What do you need?" she asked, unaware of her role in this. Stupid woman.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am," said Sherlock slowly. "Everything that I think I am – would you still want to help me?" Molly, you have the option. It's your choice to step away now.

"What do you need?" she asked softly. Well, he should have known.

What could I need, Molly Hooper?

He took another step forward. She didn't flinch. She never had.

"You."

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