The day of 'The World's Only Consulting Detective's' death Molly Hooper let silent tears streak her face at the sound of a gunshot, Molly cried at the screams from the hospital's windows and Molly sobbed at the thud to the ground followed by the unmistakable sound of a crash team with lost hope.
Although unexpected to Molly, Sherlock Holmes had known of the strong possibility that John Watson would be admitted to St Bart's A&E not long after his fall. Of course Sherlock would be right, he always is… was.
At the sight of a broken John, her tears spilled once again, pulling the unsuspecting doctor into a rushed tear stained embrace. She cried for John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, she cried for London, and finally she cried for herself, she'd lost a friend and a once unrequited love (she was not in the right mind to question whether she had really loved him, she had known it was certainly more of a crush for sometime).
Through strained, unmanly sobs John found a broken and distant voice.
"He said… told me he was a fraud, that I should tell you, Mrs Hudson and Greg, of course he called him Lestrade…" to which Molly and John shared a pained chuckle; "…Said he hired him, hired Moriarty…" John spat the name as if it were the vile disease he believed him to be, "… What if it was a lie Molly? I—I'm not even sure I lost a friend, what if I just lost a lie?... I know I've lost hope, Sh—Sher—he was my only constant, a constant truth, a constant source of disbelief and an utter git but always there to be one… now what?... Oh God, he's gone. And 221B, how am I meant to look at that mess and not think of him, and not crumble…"
John's grief began to show glimpses of anger as he thought of unpaid rent and poor, frail Mrs Hudson; "… Selfish arse could have tided up, paid rent, anything before he just upped and bloody left." Rubbing comforting circle's into the thin layers of shirt and summer jacket above John's heated yet shivering skin, Molly listened intently to his words, although lost in her own mind's loss for mere moments.
"Damn him!" John's voice was prepared to be a clear shout, filled with the rage he had once possessed for his psychosomatic limp, but as it left his body it was a soft whimper that was muffled by Molly's damp shoulder.
He inhaled deeply as both Molly and himself loosened their hold on one another in an attempt to make some form of eye contact. Through the red rings of puffy eyes and streaks of watery mascara, John saw someone as broken as he now felt, putting up a front that would have fooled most anyone, the strong exterior of someone in possession of more than enough loss to fill a lifetime, a practiced bluff.
"John, I am so sorry." Her voice would have wavered if it were one decibel higher, a few tears still spilled across the curve of her cheek and into the unpracticed downward curve of her thin lips; but her stance remained ridged even within the grasp of the softened army doctor.
"I'm sorry too, Molly, and here I am ranting and raving, being selfish with my feelings." Although he felt hollow, ripped apart, terrified and angry, control over his emotional state had been drilled into him during his youth and his army days and no matter how much he didn't want to care about the now colourless woman in front of him, logic dictated that she had lost someone of almost equal significance in her life, and if they could find comfort in one another, maybe the heart a genius had just ripped out would return and mend that little bit quicker.
"No you're not. We are all selfish when we loose someone, we're human. And you've lost someone that you loved and trusted, but John, you have to continue that trust in him, he must have had a reason, there must have been logic there. You were his only friend John... And even though he pretended that he didn't care, he would not have put you through any of this if there were another option, he wouldn't cause you pain or heartache without reason to; he's not a fake, you know that... I know that... Mrs Hudson and Greg know that." Molly's hands lay with a firm grip on John's shoulders, she'd made one final promise to Sherlock and being strong for John, not letting his trust waver, would keep the promise to a dead man. Molly was good at being strong, she was strong for her father when her mother had passed away, she was strong for herself when her father had followed him, and she would be strong now, for a man who'd lost his brother-in-arms.
"And as for the rent and the mess of 221b, I have a spare room that has plenty of, well, room. And before you even think of objecting you're staying with me, because even if you don't want my support, you're sure as hell getting it." Her voice had raised slightly as her tears had finally halted for at least a moment, Molly had gained the attention of A&E staff and patient alike, not that a pathologist and army doctor sobbing in the midst of the general public and their idiocy related injuries hadn't. "C'mon, this is a stupid place to stay, I'm taking you back to mine."
"And just when I'd seen it all, Molly Hopper is now complete with full sentences, strength beyond anyone I've yet to know and a bloody persuasive nature." John's face had brightened as the tirade of words had fallen from Molly's lips, it was for mere seconds but it had made him almost forget the hell that was breaking loose in his chest cavity, it fell again as the next words formed upon his tongue. "I'll have to get some stuff though, clothes, or something."
"Although you'll have to face it at some point, I don't think now is the best time to be at 221b, I mean look at us." She was near to pointing out how a visit to 221b would only feel cold, emphasising the lifelessness of a once vibrant flat, and it would be likely to cause some form of breakdown, if not in John then in herself, but thought better of it. "I have some clothes and bits from when Dad stayed in London, with me, to have his treatment, it's been a few years, but it's all clean. I didn't have the heart to get rid of any of it."
"Thank you." Was his faint reply, practically mouthing the words, she had just saved him from himself, from the war that raged inside of him, for the second time that day, and that thank you was for more than a promise of a bed and some old clothes. They fell into a silence that lasted the cab ride to Molly's second floor flat, it's modernity and clutter free surfaces a welcome contrast to the dark Victorian feel of 221b.
I hope you enjoy this, I will try my hardest to update regularly, but I apologise in advance for any late updates. If you've read any of this, I love you. :)