Chapter 2: Lying
When she entered the room down the hall that had been set aside for John and Greg, she was surprised to see Mycroft leaning against the wall. She only gave herself a second to register her emotions before she was consumed by John's. His misery hung in the air like fog and shock rolled off him in waves. It hurt to look at him. His devastation was written in the lines of his face, the slump of his shoulders, and shaking legs. Her heart broke for him. Suddenly, a stab of anger went through her again. This time, she wasn't angry with Sherlock for the strain he was putting on her, but the way he had just completely dismantled John's life.
As suddenly as the anger appeared, it was gone and Molly was left feeling hollow and sad. It was only at that moment that she realized that the three men were staring at her. They had looked up when she entered the room, but she had been too caught up in her own thoughts to register their questioning looks. Taking a deep breath, Molly fought to calm her racing heart. At the notion of what she was about to do, her shoulders suddenly seemed much heavier.
"John," she took a step forward, only to be evaded. He stood up and stepped back, as if distance would make her words hurt less. "I…I'm so sorry."
Her voice broke then and she couldn't go on, couldn't say the words that were there, but she didn't need to. Looking at her face, John saw sorrow and regret. The only reason for her to look that upset was because Sherlock was gone. Molly watched John's breath catch and tears pool in his eyes. Greg looked like he wanted to comfort him but was too upset to do anything helpful. Mycroft simply straightened his suit and walked out of the room. Molly knew he would never allow anyone to see his weakness, how much he cared for his little brother. A few seconds later, Greg followed him out, leaving Molly alone with john.
He hadn't moved, frozen by grief. Or maybe he was just trying to keep himself held together and any movement would shake him apart, releasing the flood of emotion Molly could see in his eyes. After five minutes, Molly couldn't handle the sight of the man in front of her breaking. She strode forward and touched his shoulder. At her touch, he finally moved, blinking for the first time in several minutes. The small movement freed a single tear that had been clinging to his lashes desperately. When it dropped, so did John.
Molly sank down next to him where he was kneeling on the cold tile floor, her arms going around his shaking shoulders. For a moment, she thought he was going to push her away, but then his head found her shoulder and his arms went to her waist. He clung to her like she was the only anchor during a storm. His tears quickly soaked the ends of her hair, her lab coat and dampened the shirt underneath. She felt the hot sting of tears behind her own eyes and tried to stop them, tried to stay strong for John. At that exact moment though, she heard a whispered, broken sob of a word slip out of John.
"Why?"
That was always the question, wasn't it?
Molly opened her mouth to answer him with a small and unimpressive "I don't know", but all that came out was a sob of her own. Molly let her tears fall, and hung on to John even harder than before, so that they became support for each other. But while John was crying for Sherlock, she was crying for John and his poor, broken heart.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She repeated the whispered words over and over again for hours until they had no meaning. And even then she kept saying them, not knowing if she could stop.