So this doesn't really count as a true chapter. I just felt like I needed to update with something. Sorry, real life has been getting in the way!
The day Sherlock Holmes committed suicide, Molly Hooper didn't have a front row seat. In fact, she was still locked away in the morgue, business as usual until his "body" was brought in to her. Usually, if the pathologist present knew the victim, they shouldn't do the autopsy, but she knew that since she had broken most of the rules for Sherlock anyway, everyone would expect her to do so in his time of death. No one ever really paid attention to her. No one cared enough to know how she felt and most didn't know of her involvement. The truth was, she had been terrified. The only time she felt more terrified was when she had Kira, and the fear of motherhood, post-partum depression bore down her so hard that she couldn't even breathe.
Molly gasped, for breath, waking as Paul stirred next to her.
"What's wrong?" He asked, curling around her body with practiced ease.
She shook her head, "Nothing. It doesn't matter, Paul, go back to sleep."
"….have you thought any more about Rio?"
"Paul, it's the middle of the night."
"Seriously though." He turned on the lamp, and suddenly Molly felt like she couldn't hide from him nearly as well, "We could just jet off—be there by Monday. We wouldn't even have to come back."
There was something hidden in that, but Molly couldn't find it. She would have to pay more attention to the weight of his words in the future but in the meantime she was tired and had the intense desire to go back to sleep, "We can talk about Rio in the morning, Paul. I have work."
The moment Molly fell asleep from her usual nightmare, she entered the other one just as swiftly once more. She supposed there was no way to win.