After the death of her father, Molly became even more withdrawn. The last straw had been the disastrous Christmas party at Sherlock and John's flat. She didn't know why she had agreed to go when John mentioned it. She had been so excited; it was the first thing she had gotten excited about since the death of her father. Like an idiot, she bought a new dress and makeup, thinking surely Sherlock would notice. She was giddy as the cab dropped her off. Carrying her presents carefully, she walked up the stairs to Sherlock's flat. It didn't take long for her to decide she should have stayed home with some wine and watched movies on TV. At the party, Sherlock had completely humiliated her with his cutting deductions about her outfit and body. Once he realized how awful he had been, he did apologize nicely. But the whole affair had made Molly really want to avoid all human contact. Sherlock disappearing with his phone after receiving a breathy text alert didn't help either. Molly stayed long enough to be polite and pretended her heart hadn't been shattered. As soon as she could, she fled for the comfort of home, alcohol and Die Hard.
Things did not improve in the next few days. It was her first Christmas without her dad, and she was grieving. She volunteered to cover in the morgue, rather than be alone and sad. So of course, she was there at the morgue the next day when Sherlock and his terrifying brother Mycroft came to identify a woman's body. The dead woman's face had been heavily damaged. After Sherlock had identified the woman with a glance at her naked body, Molly knew it was truly hopeless. Clearly Sherlock did have some sort of a relationship with the woman. The dead woman had ample breasts and luscious curves. Molly's body wasn't anywhere near as attractive as that woman's had been. Sherlock had pointed out Molly's flaws to her more than once. His taste in women obviously did not include pathetic little stammering girls like Molly. Still, Molly remained determined to be his friend. She had heard him share his views that friends and sentiment were weaknesses he avoided. But Molly was always watching. She could see there was more to Sherlock than the cold façade he presented. He clearly valued John, as well as a few others. Molly supposed she could count herself among the lucky few.
John's blog had made Sherlock famous. He was always busy now. The times he came to the morgue were even more erratic. He'd fly in right before the end of Molly's shift and order her to fetch something. And Molly's resolve to stand up for herself would always crumble and she'd end up helping him and hating herself. Things became even more desperate when their mutual acquaintance Jim Moriarty started acting up again. Molly had been about to go meet a colleague for lunch. Joseph was quite nice and Molly almost let herself believe that she was ready to try dating again. Sherlock had other plans though, and they included Molly helping him once more. He needed help analyzing evidence from a kidnapping that had clearly been orchestrated by her former boyfriend. So for hours Molly fetched things, ran tests and generally tried to help without being a nuisance. During a brief quiet moment, she noticed that Sherlock actually looked sad. It worried her. He typically kept his emotions deeply hidden. Against her better judgment, she tried to talk to him about it, but he mostly brushed her off. She left the lab rather than start to cry in front of him. When she came back Sherlock and John were gone.
Later that night, Molly finished cleaning up for the day. Her shift was long over. It was late and she was exhausted. She had spent far too much time helping Sherlock and neglected her own work. She stayed later to try and catch up. The lab was a mess and she spent a long time putting things back in their proper places. She was tired and desperate for a hot shower. Molly was leaving when Sherlock appeared before her like a ghost. Molly was startled, not just by how suddenly he appeared, but by how overwhelmingly strong his death was. Ever since her brief relationship with Jim, Molly had noticed her death sense getting stronger. She also noticed that she was losing control over it. It was impossible to always suppress it now, so she ignored it as much as she could. As Sherlock stood in front of her his fear was overpowering. The black smoke of his death was swirling in an agitated fashion that Molly had never seen before, on anyone. Worst of all, it was obvious that Sherlock was truly desperate and afraid. His tears were the most troubling thing she had ever seen. When he asked for her help, Molly was glad to give it.
Molly was not afraid that Sherlock would die, for though his death was unusual, there was no indication he would die soon. She thought about trying to tell him this, but knew he would never believe something so ridiculous. So Molly listened closely to Sherlock's plans. He was certain that Jim Moriarty would try to kill him after completely ruining his reputation. As they worked through the night, Molly was a little relieved to see some of Sherlock's characteristic arrogance returning. He was confident he could outwit Jim. Molly wasn't so sure. In the months that had passed since dating Jim, she had begun forming a theory. Something stood out in her memory. She didn't know why, but Jim's death had always struck her as strange, yet somehow familiar. Upon further reflection, she realized that it reminded her of her own. Apparently Deathseer's deaths looked differently from other people's deaths. Molly had purposefully avoided spending too much time studying her own death. The Marquis had warned her that was one way that Deathseers went mad. She paused and looked at her reflection. Her own death was there, just like everyone else's. When she looked closer, she noticed that small lights seemed to dart and flutter in the mist that made up her death. She was shocked when she remembered seeing something similar in Jim's death. Perhaps her old boyfriend was not just a psychopath but a Deathseer as well.
This was a terrifying notion. The Marquis had mentioned to Molly once that most Deathseers were female. She had asked if he knew why, and he admitted to her that he didn't. He did tell her that female Deathseers seemed to have a connection with death as a natural part of life. While the females often lost their minds, they were generally benign and occasionally were able to heal in addition to their other death sensing skills. Male Deathseers were another matter. They were rare, the Marquis explained, which was a very good thing. Male Deathseers sought out violent, unnatural death. They were vicious and capricious, killing at the merest whim. Crazy as it was, it made some sense that Jim Moriarty was a Deathseer. However, that could make Sherlock's plans to fake his death even less likely to work. Molly had no idea how to explain this all to Sherlock. He would never believe that there was another London, a realm of magic and mystery just below his feet.
For now, Molly hoped she was wrong and she would never have to try and explain London Below to Sherlock. She thought of her silly pink jewelry box and the secret it held. After her father's death, she had looked for the coin the Marquis had given her. For years, it had laid undisturbed in her girlhood jewelry box. The day after her father's funeral, she had taken it out and carried it in her pocket. She found herself putting the coin in her pocket more often. It was a reminder that she always had another option. Now, if worse came to worse, she could use the coin to summon the Marquis and then keep Sherlock safe. The notion of Sherlock in London Below was oddly amusing and horrifying. What could he deduce about a place of lost time, forgotten people and misplaced magic?
Molly though Sherlock's plan was too outlandish to work. He seemed to think he could still outwit Moriarty, thus not needing the elaborate plan to fake his death. Molly wished she shared his confidence. Finally, it was time. After a few last minute checks, Sherlock left the lab and headed for the rooftop. Molly was hidden far below, waiting for whatever would happen. She bit her lips nervously and tried to think positive thoughts. She didn't know what the strange changes to Sherlock's death meant. She didn't think he was due to die, but she was having a complete crisis of confidence in her abilities. Far above her on the rooftop, Jim Moriarty and Sherlock began their latest duel.
Sitting in the sunshine, Jim smiled, predatory and confident. He knew Sherlock would come to meet him face to face. Honestly, he was so predictable sometimes. It ruined some of Jim's fun. Jim had taken precautions of his own, of course. He brought his dear companion, Sebastian Moran with him. Sebastian was another escapee from the lunatic asylum that was the underworld of Dublin. With Jim's death sense and Sebastian's ability to make people see what he wanted them to see by producing glamours, the two Irish lads had been nearly unstoppable. Together they had built a criminal empire that far surpassed anything the world had ever seen. Of course Sherlock had to come along and spoil things. But he had also added a new element of fun to the game, for a while at least. Now was the time for the last round, and Jim was certain that it would be a splendid amusement. Sebastian was there in case Sherlock got boring. Suddenly, the rooftop door opened and Jim eagerly went to join the dance.
Jim had waited so long for this confrontation. All his hard work, clawing his way from the filth and misery of his previous life had led to this brilliant moment. He was desperate for a true challenge and it seemed only Sherlock could provide that. This was to be their greatest battle. Like so many things in life, the anticipation was better than the thing itself. Jim's hopes came crashing down as soon as stupid Sherlock opened his stupid mouth. Sherlock began by trying to convince Jim that he knew about the computer code that would break all security systems wide open. Jim was disappointed and angry. He thought that Sherlock would be too intelligent to fall for such a pathetic ruse. Obviously Sherlock wasn't the challenge that Jim thought he would be. It was a crushing blow. Jim sighed; he'd have to go through with the other plan then. He signaled to Moran, who had carefully hidden himself with his gift of misdirection.
"Oh Sherlock, you doofus. You really thought there was a code? You've fallen like a fool for all the other little tricks. No wonder you believed this lie. Don't you know, all of these detective games, all the funny little crimes, your friends, you've made them all up? You cooked your brain with all the nasty drugs and bad cocaine, or don't you remember? They called all the kings horses and all the kings men, but no one could put Sherlock back together again" sang Jim as he strolled in circles around Sherlock.
Sherlock was confused, but kept control as he moved toward Jim. "Stop it. I won't believe your stories. I know what is true" he stated firmly.
Jim was really grinning now. "Do you? Do yooou?" he sang once more. He giggled. "It's a really good trick isn't it? Of course, big brother was soooooo worried when the doctors told him just how messed up baby brother was. The doctors wanted to put poor baby boy in the nuthouse, but that would have just killed Mummy, right? She never was the same after they locked up dear old dad, eh? Oh but big brother, he's so smart, he thought of a lovely way to amuse the little broken one. Send him a loser police detective to bring clever puzzles for baby brother to solve. Keep the little one busy, too busy for the drugs and the creeping insanity" Jim hissed.
"But no, that wasn't enough, little baby was getting bored, danger! So big brother added the hero worship, what fun! Mycroft's been paying the good doctor Watson all this time. John tells baby brother what a smart, big strong boy he is, and little Sherlock goes on solving his clever crimes. I mean, you didn't really think that someone wanted to actually live with you, be your friend, did you?" he sneered. Jim leapt around, always moving, always smiling. Sherlock felt dizzy and disoriented. He tried to grab Jim, but he just danced faster and faster.
"It was all going so well, but lately you've really been mucking it up. The fake stuff wasn't good enough, you hurt those children Sherlock, you did and everyone knows it" Jim spat.
The world seemed to spin. Sherlock was getting nauseated, he tried to protest, "No, it was you…."
"No it was YOU! Big brother's pulling the plug, little Sherlock's gone too far off the rails now, good thing he's still got lots of money to clean up all your messes. So many ugly messes. He's coming now, he's found the loveliest place to put the baby boy, better than where Daddy ended up, must keep it out of the papers you know. He's hoping you'll come quietly, wouldn't want to have a scene now? For Mummy's sake, right?" asked Jim. He pointed behind Sherlock. As Sherlock turned, he couldn't believe what he saw. Mycroft was right there, damn umbrella and all. He was typing away on his Blackberry, but paused when he saw Sherlock looking at him.
Mycroft focused his gaze on Sherlock. "He's right Sherlock, it's all fake. I thought it would help you, keep you busy, Mummy was so worried you might harm yourself. She always did say you took after Father. Come along now, don't make this any more difficult" he ordered.
Sherlock stared at him, horrified. He no longer had any idea what was real. It couldn't possibly be Mycroft, and yet, all the tiny details where there, no one could create a disguise this perfect, not of his brother, whom he had once adored. It could only be Mycroft. He felt like his mind was separating from his body. The threat of insanity was real. He backed away from his brother. The edge of the roof was close now. He nearly stumbled, then climbed up on the ledge. "You're not real. None of this is real" Sherlock whispered.
Mycroft sighed and reached out his hand. "Just come down from there, we'll talk, Mummy's been so worried." Sherlock looked at his brother's beckoning hand. He looked down to the road, where he could see John Watson running toward the hospital. "Take my hand now; we'll let John come with you if it makes you feel better. Don't do this to Mummy, not after what Father put her through" Mycroft cautioned.
Sherlock looked over the edge again. Somehow he had ended up right where he told Molly he would be. He couldn't explain anything else, but he knew Molly would be where she said she was. Everything else was wrong, but Molly had always been reliable. Molly could fix things. Molly always helped. Sherlock glanced back at his brother, who was beginning to look impatient. Sirens began to sound in the distance. All it took was a small step forward. Hesitating, he slid his foot forward, then just a little further. One more glance back at Mycroft's outstretched hand. One more slide of his foot. Shouting coming from below now. He stepped off the edge. As Sherlock fell he thought he heard John Watson's scream and Jim Moriarty's laugh mixing in the rush of air.