A/N: Yet again, another prompt from 30 Day Challenge on tumblr. This one is sad. Depressing. Angst out the wazoo.

AND SPOILERS FOR THE FALL. I WARNED YOU.


Look -

You look sad when you think he can't see you.

Molly knew. When you pay such close attention to someone, you figure things out. She watched, and saw, and understood. She knew, and she knew that John didn't. It might have made her happy at one point – she knew something about Sherlock that no one else did, that not even his friend knew.

But this... this did not make her happy. It broke her walls down, twisted a rusted blade through the bones of her chest so that it tore through her recently bandaged heart. It hurt her that he was hurting. She knew he was, because of that look. The way his eyebrows pulled upwards slightly, how the corner of his lip was redder than usual because he was probably chewing on it, how his eyes had the cold, hard look of one who is beginning to realize there is nothing he can do, the facts all point to one thing – he's starting to think that maybe, maybe he might die. But there must be something, because for God's sake he's The Sherlock Holmes. There's never been a case he couldn't solve (so far Molly knew). He was Sherlock, the one and only consultant detective in the entire world.

She knew he thought of it all as a game, and he was terribly stubborn with the fact that he would not lose, no matter what it took. But going by that look in his darkened eyes, the haunted look he hid from everyone, and especially from John, she suspected that he thought he might have gone too far. He might have been stretched to thin. He'd opened up his ''sociopath'' heart and let too many people in. John was his biggest worry, she knew. There was something between the two that was stronger than anything else she had ever seen. Maybe they were just best friends, as John stressed, or perhaps it was as everyone else said. Either way, Molly had given up on Sherlock just as much as he had given up on beating Moriarty.

She would love him, and be his, forever, but that look told her he may not bring his presence around her for much longer.

Are you okay? And don't just say, you are, 'cause I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you.

You can see me.

I don't count.

Molly could always see. She could always look, and do as Sherlock stressed so often – observe. She saw a lot more than anyone gave her credit for. She saw a lot more than Sherlock gave her credit for. Didn't mean she counted.

I think I'm going to die.

Molly can only swallow and blink and attempt to hide the fear that races through her. His look already told her, but having him say it – having the lips she so adored admit their fear – it stunned her.

I need you.

She know she's his to use. From the first time he turned his ice-blue eyes and gave her a quick glance as he swept in through the door of the morgue, she had fallen for him and taken it upon herself to do whatever he asked.