Molly fumed as she slammed down two test tubes, both filled with a yellowish murky water. It had been two days since...since that call, and Sherlock hadn't said a word.

"Arrogant arsehole." Molly grumbled. The pain of it was still fresh in her mind, as if it had just happened.

"I love you"

Without a word, the line had went dead. Molly, still processing what had just happened, dropped her phone into the sink with a clatter, and had fallen to the ground, crying.

She had always had a schoolgirl crush on Sherlock. He was handsome, intelligent, and his piercing blue-eyes seemed to see through everything. Molly had even kidded herself into thinking she could be good enough for him, but was proven wrong at that disastrous Christmas party. However, after Sherlock's Fall, he had asked her out for a day of crime-solving. But she was already engaged to Tom! And then when they broke it off, Sherlock was back on drugs. She learned a long time ago not to get her hopes up again, that they would just get crushed because she and Sherlock were evidently not meant to be.

So the call, as hard as it was for Sherlock, seemed even worse to Molly, because it gave her hope. Hope was a delicate and cruel thing, enticing the desperate, tantalizing the broken.

She hadn't gone to work that day. Hadn't even bothered to call in sick. Hadn't answered any of her calls, for that matter. For some strange reason, her boss hadn't even complained, just gave her a sympathetic look when she walked in this morning.

I love you

Startled, Molly whipped around, but the room was empty and silent. For a moment, she could've sworn she saw a dark shadow outside her window, but then chided herself. She had imagined his voice, of course. That was the only possible explanation.

Goodbye

This time she knew it was real. Molly turned back around to face the window again, and saw the familiar outline of a familiar coat, the collar flipped up.

"Sherlock?" Molly ran to the windowsill. What was he doing here? She threw the window open, and suddenly jumped back as the figure plummeted, falling four stories down.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed, peeking her head out of the window. There was a balcony that was blocking her view. "No, no, no no." Molly moaned as she slammed it shut and ran out.

The elevator dinged and opened as she zipped out, panting, her footfalls beating lightly on the floor. She pushed the doors open and ran to the pavement, but collided with John Watson.

"John!" Molly exclaimed. "It's Sherlock! He—he..." She faltered. Peeking over John's shoulder, she saw that there was nothing on the street. No body, no blood. She was sure she had seen him, but it was as if he had just vanished.

Molly looked back towards John, whose face had gone white.

"You know already?" John asked.

"Know what?" Molly frowned. "He hasn't said anything since, you know, yesterday."

John began to tremble and Molly started to worry that he would fall over. She knew instantly something was wrong.

"What happened?" Molly said. There was a sinking sensation in her stomach, like the feeling you get before something bad happens.

"Sherlock...Sherlock..." John swallowed hard. "Molly, he's dead."

So that explained why he hadn't contacted her. And the ominous farewell from his ghost. And yet Molly still couldn't believe it.

"What?" Molly gaped. "How?"

"He has a sister. A secret sister, apparently. Her name is Eurus." Molly's jaw dropped. "She trapped us in her dungeon and forced us to play...games." John blinked hard. "They were hard, but especially torture for Sherlock. She told him that if he couldn't make you say 'I Love You' in two minutes, she would blow you up with bombs she had placed around your flat."

"Bombs!" Molly frantically looked around. "In my flat?"

John shook his head. "They weren't actually there, she just told us that, as an incentive." He continued on quietly. "You should've seen him afterwards, Molly...he was screaming things and smashing up the room, I was so terrified he was going to fall apart. It was vivisection, as he put it."

Molly hadn't realized she was crying until her sweater was wet with salty tears. John's eyes were red as well, and they both embraced each other, her head resting on his shoulder. The last thing they had said to each other, I love you...it was something straight out of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Why? Molly thought, anguished. Why does my life have to be like this? It's not fair. It's not FAIR!

The last three words came out as an angry scream. Nearby pedestrians gave her weird looks, but she didn't care. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't have cared. He would've ignored them.

But of course, there was no telling what he would or wouldn't do anymore, because he was dead.

After a moment they regained their composure a bit, enough for Molly to be able to form coherent words.

"How did he die?" Molly whispered.

John looked at her, pain on his face. "Eurus told him to shoot either myself or Mycroft. Mycroft told him to shoot me, in hopes it would make it easier for Sherlock to kill him instead. But at the last second, Sherlock...dumb, noble, brave Sherlock...he put the gun to his own head and..." John swallowed hard. "He died a hero, Molly. He died for his friend and his brother all I did..." he couldn't finish.

"Don't make people into heroes, John." Molly quoted, repeating the words of the sleuth. "Heroes don't exist, and even if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." She shook her head. "He was wrong, you know. Heroes do exist, and he was—is one of them."

John blew his nose. "It's just, first Mary and now Sherlock. My life is so fucked up." He remarked bitterly. After a moment, he took a deep breath. "There's all his stuff to go through, and of course the matter of Baker Street itself. We don't know if he had a will or not, it's not like last time. I'm just a bit overwhelmed, you know?"

Molly took his arm. "I know. After my dad died, my mum and I had to sort out all the legal matters. And then there was the preparations for the funeral, as well. John, if you ever need anything, I'm here."

"Thank you, Molly." John was grateful. His heart still hurt, but it was a little more bearable after talking with Molly. Pain shared was pain divided, and it was time to pick himself up and start living again. If there was one thing he had learned from Sherlock's previous death, it was that it was important not to let Sherlock's loss stop his own life.

"I have some things I need to do." John mumbled, more to himself than to Molly.

"Well then," Mary was back, this time wearing her red coat. "Get the hell on with it."

Author Note:

I realized yesterday that the flat had technically been blown up in TFP, but since I already published the chapters I decided not to fix it. Because it's an AU, I'm taking the bomb out of the timeline, to alleviate complications and future headaches. I'm also planning to write up Mycroft's chapter(s) next, maybe Lestrade. Thanks again for all the reviews and follows!

-Irene xx.