Ugh...too many Easter eggs. Feel sick now. I'd say I couldn't manage another mouthful but I hear there is a chocolate Cumberbatch and I'm sure I could manage a morsel of that. But I digress, on with the story.

Chapter 18

John left soon after but when Molly made to get up to show him out Sherlock pouted and stopped her, 'you can see yourself out can't you John,' he said dismissively.

John raised his eyebrows before smiling sympathetically at Molly, 'yes, I suppose I can. Let me know if anything happens with the case.'

He closed the door to the flat behind him and as they heard his footsteps walking away Molly looked at Sherlock quizzically.

He looked back defiantly, 'what? I'm ill. I need you looking after me.'

Molly smiled, 'you mean you're enjoying me pampering you and massaging your legs and feet.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and leant his head back; the bruise on the side of his face was still an angry black and purple. 'Yes, carry on, it's relaxing. Don't feel the need to stop at my knees, the tops of my legs need a massage too.'

Molly slapped him lightly on his thigh, 'you are too ill to get horny. You'll just have to wait til your well enough.'

He smiled without opening his eyes but didn't complain. They sat together in comfortable silence until Sherlock drifted back off too sleep.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

It was just after ten in the evening and Molly was just about to help Sherlock into bed when there was a furious knocking on the front door. Molly started to go downstairs when she heard Mrs Hudson answer and send Lestrade running up the stairs.

He saw Molly at the curve of the staircase and asked her whether Sherlock was still awake. She nodded leading the way into the flat.

Sherlock was sitting up on the settee leaning forwards, 'what is it? What's happened?'

'Just as you said Sherlock. We found a body, he committed suicide earlier this evening, hung himself not far from St Mary Le Bow Church.'

Sherlock murmured to himself the last lines of the song, 'I do not know says the great bell of Bow, here comes the candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop of your head.'

He looked up at Greg and Molly, 'well, I suppose it would have been difficult to chop off his own head. But why are you here! Ah...There's something more...'

'Yes, yes there is.' Greg put his hand in his pocket drawing out an envelope, 'he left a note, addressed to you. We haven't opened it.' He held it out to Sherlock who took it, looking over the envelope and studying the writing before he opened it.

He took out the letter and read it to Greg and Molly who had sat on the chair and the coffee table, respectively, to listen.

Dear Mr Holmes,

Before I start I wanted to apologise for hitting you yesterday. I only recognised you as you fell to the ground. I've long been an admirer of your work, after all who hasn't read Dr Watson's blog or heard about you.

As soon as I realised it was you I knew the game was up and it was just a matter of time before you and the police found me. I can't go to prison and so the only option for me is to go out on my own terms, after all what is the sin of suicide compared to what I've already done.

I'm sure you've already worked out why I did what I did but thought you might want me to fill in the blanks. Plus I find now I'm at the end I want people to know I didn't just kill for no reason. I was set on this path because of what was done to me and it was wrong.

It was all just a terrible coincidence you see. I'd pushed the abuse out if my mind, buried it so I didn't have to think about it. I hadn't even been in a church for over twenty years but it played on my mind. I wanted my faith back, wanted to believe so I popped into the church not far from where I get the tube to work.

It seemed only natural when I got there to go for confession. It was what we were always taught to do as children. For the first time I talked about the abuse but when the priest...when he replied it was to blame me, tell me it was my fault and then I knew, I recognised his voice and I realised it was him.

I can't even remember what happened next, not clearly, it was like a rage descended and when I came round he was lying there, dead. Well you know what happened next.

It was like a gate had opened in my head though and all the fear and the horror and the memories came flooding out, taking over my every thought and I knew that what had been done to me was wrong and to make it worse they'd never been punished, none of them. Not the nuns who ran the home, not the priests who knew what was happening, not the lawyers or the police, none of them did anything. So I did.

I tracked down the priest, the one person who I'd confided in back then, calls himself a Bishop now but he was nothing but a coward. I told him and he didn't do a thing to help me, just told me I was mistaken, stupid, even nasty for making such an accusation.

It was when I saw where he was living that that song came back to me. We all used to sing it in the children's home and I thought why not tie the two together. Avenge all those kids who had innocently sung that song until they ruined us. You see they say in the bible 'vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord' but it's crap. It's just not true. He didn't protect us and neither would he avenge us, so I had to.

I do regret hurting you though Mr Holmes, you hadn't done anything against me and I hope you recover quickly.

My only regret is that there wasn't someone clever like you back then, someone who would have seen what was happening and been strong enough to stop it.

As for me, I suppose now there is nothing left but to see what judgment will befall me wherever I end up.

Yours sincerely,

Michael Royston

A hush fell over them when Sherlock had finished readingeach of them lost for a moment in their own thoughts.

Greg broke the silence, slapping his hands on his knees, 'right, well it looks like that wraps everything up. Better get back and sort out the paperwork. Do you mind?' He held out his hand for the letter which Sherlock dutifully handed over.

When Greg had left Sherlock made his way to the bedroom whilst Molly tidied up a few bits and pieces. She felt strangely unsettled, surely the solving of a case should be more euphoric but she was just left with a sense of great sorrow, sorrow for the people killed, well most of them anyway, but most of all sorrow for that child all those years ago that no one had helped or listened too.

She was stood leaning over the sink, her eyes closed, when she felt Sherlock wrap his arms around her waist and lean his head against hers.

'You can't let it bother you too much or you'll drown under the weight of it. My brother once told me that caring is not an advantage and it's at times like these when he is proved right.'

Molly turned in his arms and looked up at him, 'and what about you, do you think he's right...your brother I mean?'

Sherlock gave her a small smile, 'I used to, for a long time I believed that. Sometimes, like now, when a case has been difficult I still believe it. But when it comes to you and me... no, I don't believe it anymore. You have proved to me that caring is an advantage. You help me rest and step away when I need to which means my mind is better able to make connections than it could before.'

Molly knew she was being unfair and fishing but she couldn't help it, 'is that all I am to you then? An advantage in a case.'

She felt Sherlock chuckle, his chest pressed up against hers. 'You know that's not true. You mean more to me than any case, Molly Hooper.' He kissed the top of her head and held her close.

Next chapter is the last one! Question is do you want smut or SMUT. I've drafted it out and I'm worried it might be too much...decisions, decisions.