"My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

xxx

"Wrong again!" Sherlock chirped delightedly as he looked away from the group of magpies and continued to sketch the creatures in his notepad, a beanie hiding his curls in the chilly Scottish breeze.

Sherlock in a beanie. This is unexpected.

Molly flushed and sat up, pressing her back further into the trunk of the gorgeous tree she sat under. She couldn't decide if she was more enamored with Sherlock sketching a bird, or the fact that his disguise included a bloody beanie!

"Well, aren't you going to ask?" Sherlock piped in, glancing between the bird and the notepad.

Molly couldn't help but giggle. "Alright. What was Rosie's first word if it wasn't dada, baby, or hi?"

Sherlock smirked and gazed up from his drawing. "Hat."

She couldn't help but burst into another fit of giggles. "It's a shame you aren't wearing it now."

"Well, I'd be rather recognizable in it, wouldn't you say?"

Molly snorted and gave him an amused grin. "Someone is letting fame get to their head."

Sherlock made a noise of agreement before sitting up. He turned his pad around, allowing Molly to see the intricately sketched magpie. She gasped.

"Sherlock… That's incredible! I had no idea you could do that."

He smiled and began to put his supplies away. "It was one of my favorite hobbies as a child. Especially when I felt trapped in that house, in the middle of nowhere, nothing to challenge me… Well, I could draw whatever I wanted."

Molly smiled and watched as he filled his bag. "I was the same with reading. There was nothing a good book couldn't fix," She leaned back and shut her eyes, seemingly enveloped in a pleasant memory.

Sherlock watched her, a smile ghosting his lips. "What was your favorite novel?"

Molly opened one eye, peering at Sherlock. She couldn't prevent the blush on her cheeks from darkening. "I wish I could say it was something super insightful and political like 1984 or Animal Farm or War and Peace but…" She laughed and bit her lip, "I quite enjoyed anything by Jane Austen."

Sherlock nodded and rose to his feet. He held his hand out, lifting Molly up. He brushed off his backside and began to walk.

"I'm not surprised," he announced over his shoulder, "Especially after you name dropped Mr. Bingley and Mr. Knightley."

Molly followed, desperately trying to keep up with Sherlock. "Hold on! You've read Pride and Prejudice? And Emma? You?"

He looked over his shoulder to give her a pointed look. "Of course, I have. I've read every classic there is. Not to mention, I attended school. Half her novels were on the reading list."

Molly swallowed and nodded, following Sherlock as they neared their cabin. She cleared her throat. "Right. Noted."

He snorted. "Besides, what poor characters to name drop. While Charles Bingley may have been a nice bloke with good intentions, he lacked a brain of his own and was easily manipulated by both his sister and Mr. Darcy. And as far as Mr. Knightley goes… Who's to say Emma wasn't groomed as a child for that relationship?"

Molly gasped and hit his back, causing Sherlock to stop and scowl. "Don't say something so despicable about someone as wonderful as Mr. Knightley!"

Sherlock laughed and entered their cabin. He dropped his bag and peered at Molly. "You're right. The intolerable character in that novel was Emma."

Molly groaned again. "Stop pointing out flaws in my childhood favorites!"

"We could suggest the plot holes in Peter Rabbit if you'd like to equalize the novel criticisms. The tales are about an anthropomorphic rabbit."

Molly groaned and went to change, leaving Sherlock to laugh and stoke their fire.

Xxx

The day had come and gone, and Molly and Sherlock had not wasted a moment. From their big breakfast, to their wonderful hike, to a glorious castle visit, to touring a whiskey distillery, to reading by the fire… It had been wonderful. In fact, Sherlock had only disappeared for about thirty minutes to conduct some investigating for their case, but he assured Molly that every one of their activities was helping put pieces of the puzzle together.

Molly didn't ask any questions. She was too busy enjoying herself. From the gorgeous green landscape, to the crisp air, to the thousand-year old castle, to the delicious whiskey… She was having the time of her life.

Now, with the moonlight shining through the window, she and Sherlock sat in a back booth of the dining room, eating a beautiful roast next to the roaring fire.

As Molly ate another piece of potato, Sherlock held up his mobile, showing Molly a photo of Rosie, John, and his sister at the beach. Unfortunately for John, he was a tad red, clearly from an unprotected day in the sun.

"What a moron," Sherlock announced delightedly, "I guarantee he spent hours coating her in sun lotion, and the idiot couldn't even put some on himself." He groaned and ate a piece of meat, "Of course now I'll have to deal with his complaining for the next week."

Molly just giggled and sipped her wine. "Don't be too harsh on him. I imagine being a parent is incredibly difficult," she sighed and began to play with her food, "Especially when you're doing it alone."

Sherlock frowned and dropped his gaze to his own food. "Yes… I believe you are right."

The two ate in silence for a few moments as a waiter came over and refilled their glasses. Molly took another generous sip and looked back to Sherlock.

"So… How's everything… Coming along?" She asked, careful with her word choice.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin as he finished his plate. "Don't you worry about that, my dearest wife. I have it all under control."

Molly nodded and dropped her silverware, extremely pleased with their meal. "This was amazing. Thank you for bringing me along."

He waved his hand and watched as a server cleared their table. "I hope you're not too stuffed. I've ordered us something called 'The Choc Ness Monster'. I believe it's some sort of fudgy, chocolate cake."

Molly whimpered and sipped her wine. "Believe me, there's always room for that."

Sherlock laughed and gave her a soft smile. "Good. But don't eat too much. We'll be on our feet after this."

She nodded and opened her mouth to respond, until two ginormous pieces of fudgy chocolate cake landed in front of them. Deciding that words could wait, she immediately dug in.

Sherlock watched on, unable to hold his smile back.

Xxx

He was right. They were on their feet. Sherlock had insisted that they take a walk to a set of small hills a short distance from the cabins, and they had done just that. Now, standing in the breezy evening, the Scottish moonlight beaming down of them, they made their way to the final peak.

Sherlock stepped to the top of the small hill, looking behind him to make sure that Molly was close behind. Although her legs were considerably shorter, she managed to get to his level, holding onto him for balance. With a short thank you, she steadied herself, and looked around.

What she saw nearly brought her to tears. The full moon, so bright in the sky, projected down onto the water, only mere meters from them. This illuminated the entire landscape, causing the trees and the hills to positively glow at the late hour. And while the wind shook the trees, the animals croaked and growled, the only thing Molly could hear was the beating of her own heart.

Sherlock glanced over at her, his face unsure. "I read about this phenomenon when I was a child. About how illuminating this part of the country could be. I've always wanted to come here to see it. And, Molly, the truth is—"

Molly raised her hand, stopping his words. She turned to look at him, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "Sherlock… This… It's incredible. Thank you for sharing it with me."

He swallowed and nodded, his eyes gazing into hers. Blue on brown. Only the sound of their beating hearts filling their ears.

Despite what his brain warned him, he leaned in.

And despite what her brain warned her, she did as well.

As her lips just ghosted his, her mobile went off, blaring a ringtone she only assigned to Thomas into the quiet air.

Mum.

Molly swallowed and jumped away, racing to answer her mobile. Sherlock frowned and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, focusing his attention on the water.

"Thomas? What's wrong?" She gasped, forcing herself to take steady breaths.

The silence on the other end caused her heart to shatter. A masculine sigh filled her ears, before her older brother's voice broke the quiet.

"They've said no, Molls. She can't get the treatment done. They think it's too risky and refuse to let her leave. I got the denial earlier and…"

Molly hugged herself, tears pouring down her cheeks, feeling completely helpless. Sherlock watched on, unsure of what to do.

"She doesn't want chemo, Molly. The numbers aren't on her side and she doesn't want to spend the remainder of her time having the life sucked out of her."

Molly let out a sob and started to pace. "Who gives a fuck about the numbers? Since when have we let some statistics determine our livelihood?"

Thomas sighed, his voice sad and tired. "Molly, we can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do. She thinks this rejection is a sign."

"A sign of what?" She sobbed out, her body shaking in the cool air.

"A sign that her time has come," he whispered.

Molly hiccupped and wiped at her cheeks, smearing her makeup in the process. "So that's it then? We're giving up? Why can't we appeal?"

"Molly, the money and time that would be needed for an appeal would—"

"Who cares about money, Thomas? This is our mother we're talking about!" She practically screamed.

"Dammit Molly!" He yelled back, his angry voice shocking even Molly. "We don't have fucking time. Don't you understand? There's nothing we can do. If she wants to prolong her life, and maybe have a small chance at remission, she goes through chemo. But that's it. And she doesn't want to."

Molly continued to sob, clutching her mobile with shaking hands. "Thomas, please… We can't just give up!"

"Molly," he began, his voice breaking, "I need to go now. We can discuss this later. I love you."

The call ended, causing Molly to toss her mobile and break into another fit of sobs. Sherlock swallowed and walked over to the patch of grass, picking up the device. He tentatively approached her, unsure of whether this was something he should be comforting her with, or letting her cry it out on her own.

"Molly…" he began softly.

She looked up and met his concerned gaze, continuing to sob. With shaking limbs, she jumped forward, pulling him into a hug, her face buried in his chest. Sherlock frowned and pulled her closer, rubbing her back slowly.

So, this is why people hug. I finally understand.

Molly pressed her soaking wet cheek to his jacket and gazed up, meeting his worried eyes. "Oh, it's awful, Sherlock," she cried out, "There are experimental treatments in the States, the only real glimmer of hope, and they've…" she kept sobbing, grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket as she cried into his chest.

Sherlock frowned and pulled her closer, continuing to gaze down at her. "They've what, Molly?"

"They've said no!" She cried out, "They won't let her get the treatment! And now she refuses to go through chemo because the odds are so low!"

He sighed and kissed her head, holding her as she continued to cry. He was at a loss for words.

She could comfort me when Mary died and I have absolutely no idea what to say when the tables have turned.

"She's just going to let herself die!" She croaked out, finally starting to take deep breaths, "even though she knows that I need her. That Thomas needs her. That she's too young to die!"

Sherlock frowned and pulled away. He grabbed her hands and met her tearful eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head and began to walk back, her feet working on pure muscle memory since her brain was too jumbled to function. "No. I need to go. I need to see her. Convince her to go through chemo. Even if there's a bloody half a percent chance, she should do it!"

Sherlock frowned and ran after her. "Molly, it's so late. You should wait until the morning…"

"No!" She cried out, continuing her walk back to the cabin, the moonlight no longer warming her insides as it had before, "Every minute she isn't on chemo makes it the more likely that she's going to die! The experimental results were so incredible! Ninety percent!"

Sherlock frowned and ran after her. "Molly, please…"

"I need you to drive me to the train station." She demanded as she desperately wiped at the mascara marks on her cheeks.

He swallowed and whipped out his mobile, quickly sending off a message. He ran after Molly, who had made her way back into the cabin, and was furiously stuffing her belongings into her duffle bag. At the ping of his mobile and a glance at the message, Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Mycroft has sent a helicopter to take you to Leeds. It's being dispatched from Edinburgh so it should be here in about twenty minutes," He told her, watching with sad eyes as she slipped a new jumper over her head.

"Thank you, Sherlock," was all she managed. She dropped to the sofa and buried her face in her knees, too devastated to speak.

Sherlock frowned and sat beside her, knowing no words would help the situation. So instead he sat there, his hand on her back, promising himself that he would help her however he could.

I owe Molly Hooper my life.

Xxx

As she stared out the window of the hired car that Mycroft had sent to pick her up, at an air field only about ten minutes from the hospital in Leeds, her tears had dried, but her brain and heart continued to function on overdrive.

What was she to do? Her mother's best chance at survival had been ripped from underneath them, and now, instead of even taking a chance towards life, her mother was deciding to quit.

Was Molly allowed to be devastated by the decision? It wasn't her life. It wasn't her decision to make. Was she being selfish?

She's my mother! My only mum.

She pressed her head against the window and took a shaky breath, wondering how the evening had gone from such beauty and enjoyment to heart break. That view… The moonlight…

Sherlock.

As she wiped at her cheeks, desperately trying to think of anything but her mother for the next few moments, another thought crossed her mind.

It had just occurred to her that Sherlock Holmes had not taken her to accompany him on a case. He had taken her on a holiday.

Xxx

Meanwhile, now alone in a cabin in Scotland, Sherlock sat on the sofa, staring intently at the dying blaze in the fireplace. He clenched his mobile in his hand and took a breath.

"Are you aware of what you're asking?" the other voice asked, for once unsure of the request.

"Yes."

"So, then you must know how difficult and verging on impossible this will be?"

"Nothing is impossible for you," Sherlock replied, his voice tired. Sad. Worried.

"Oh, flattery will not aid you now."

"Please. Consider it an IOU."

"You have many of those. I'll do my best."

"Mycroft. Please. If this is the last thing in the world you do for me, I'll be eternally grateful. Just make this happen," he asked one final time, his voice desperate.

"Of course, brother mine. But it will take some time."

The call ended. Sherlock dropped his mobile and shut his eyes, wondering if Mycroft could truly work miracles.

I hope so.