"Ten!"

The entire crowd began yelling. She was running among the people, looking around for the tall, dark haired figure.

"Nine!"

Oh god what if something happened? The thought hadn't occurred to her until now, he always survived! He can't just disappear. How would that feel? She suddenly understood John.

"Eight!"

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. What will I do? What if I find him dead? What if I find him bleeding to death! I can't send him to a hospital, they'll need identification! I can't watch him die!

"Seven!"

I'll have to go back home all by myself. She imagined her flight back, on the plane, all alone. What would she do with his body? Can she take it back with her? How will she bury him? Will she just bury him in the middle of nowhere? Somewhere in rural part of the states, ditching him there like nothing? Who'd come to visit his grave?

"Six!"

Tears formed in her eyes. She never had the chance to prove herself to him. She was always so clumsy around him, she thought being with him while they were tracking down Moran will allow her to change his perspective. She'd be able to show him that she is smart. That she is clever. Now he'll just die, and she'll be all alone.

"Five!"

Why? Why? WHY!? Why didn't I tell him I love him earlier?! Now it's too late! Now he'll die and I'll always be the mousy, useless little woman that couldn't be bold enough to just admit it. So what if he denied her? So what if she confessed and he'd just rudely turn his back to her, insult her naïve little mind and waltz out of the room. He would have known, and she'd move on. But now it's all lost, now there is no hope.

"Four!"

Tears were flowing down her cheeks, hope slipping away from her in the form of small, salty drops of water. A few people stared, a cop asked if she was looking for someone, maybe a child. She waved him away and kept looking, losing confidence while losing sight to the tears in her eyes.

"Three!"

She spotted a tall man with dark curly hair. "Sherlock!" she yelled, even though instructed not to do so, for his safety. Screw safety. It black and white; dead or alive. That's all that matters. She grabbed his shoulder and turned the man around, only to find some brown eyed man with glasses. She apologized, turned, and kept sobbing.

"Two!"

She walked away from the crowd, holding her arms and crying into her scarf. She'd never find him, he's gone, all is lost. Sherlock Holmes is probably dead somewhere in a dark room inside one of the buildings at Times Square. What the hell can she do now?

"One! Happy New Year!"

Music began playing, couples began kissing, and confetti was thrown in the air.

Molly Hooper stood in a dirty sidewalk next to some cheap, stinky kiosk, and wept