Sorry for the short chapter, I had to take 'cry breaks' -.- Anyways, enjoy! And let me know what you think! :)
"What's wrong?" Molly asked as she sat down in the small plastic chair in her boss's office.
"I've just been given some, uh, unfortunate news to relay to you…"
Molly's heart tightened in her chest, "Which is?" She squeaked.
"Greg Lestrade has committed suicide Molly."
Molly gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth, "What?!" She yelped.
"I'm so sorry for your loss Molly", he hang his head.
"Oh no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. But, Sherlock-" She paused and her hand clutched her chest, "Oh my God! Sherlock! Oh no!" Her eyes stung with tears.
"I understand completely if you need to leave, spend a week or so at home…" he trailed on, but she wasn't listening. She silently lifted herself out of the chair and walked out the door, she hastily wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt before she walked through the lobby of Saint Bart's, she vaguely heard a few people ask what was wrong and where she was going. She couldn't remember leaving the hospital or how she got home, she did remember opening the front door of her apartment building and getting half way up the stairs before she bumped into someone, she managed a muffled "Sorry", and went to continue walking, but the person grabbed her arm. She turned around to yell at them to let go, but she ended up being face to face with Sherlock.
"Molly? Molls? What's wrong? What is it?" He pulled her into his arms and started stroking her hair.
Her body instantly melted into his and he could feel her entire frame being racked with heaving sobs, they collapsed onto the steps and held each onto each other, for what seemed like dear life.
Molly cried for at least ten minutes before she could even begin to speak legibly, "Sherlock, he's gone", she whispered, "He's properly gone."
"Molly, who? Who's gone?" He began to panic.
"Lestrade", she pushed away from Sherlock's chest, his eyes brushed over her tear streaked face and her clenched fists. He knew that she was telling him the Greg Lestrade was dead.
"What? How? When?" His emotion began to leak into his voice.
"He killed himself Sherlock, he did it. I don't know why! I don't know!" Her voice became muffled again as she buried her face in his coat.
He rested his head on hers, the few tears that he'd let fall had dampened a spot on her hair. They must have sat there for hours, neither of them wanting to move. They'd ignored phone calls; people walking up and down the stairs around them, the rest of the world had just melted away while they sat there in each other's arms.
Someone came running up the stairs, Sherlock and Molly didn't know, or care, who it was until the person sat down in front of them, "Room for one more?" A familiar voice whispered hoarsely.
They both looked up to see John crouched down on the steps below them, his head resting in his hands.
"John-" Molly choked, and she unhooked her arms from around Sherlock's body and wrapped them around Johns. His body tensed at her presence, but eventually relaxed and it too was heaving with silent sobs. Sherlock shuffled down a step and sat with his body pressed against Molly's, he rested his head on the shoulder that John wasn't occupying and they all sat there, quietly crying at the loss of their friend.
"The funeral is this Friday", John said stiffly after about an hour, "Also, Molly, I believe they were planning on sending his body to your morgue, I think he mentioned that he wasn't to be sent anywhere else in his note".
"His note?" Sherlock asked.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, he wrote a note when-", he paused, "Well, there's a note that he left."
"I need to read it", Sherlock stated.
"What?" Molly and John said simultaneously.
"I need to know why…"
"Sherlock, I…" John stoped, looking for the right words, "I don't think you should."
"John. Please stop, I know why he did it, I think… I just need to be sure".
"Well I don't!" Molly protested, "Sherlock, why-"
"Sherlock please don-" John started, but Sherlock stopped him.
"Molly. How about we go upstairs?" Sherlock suggested.
"When you tell me", she unwrapped her arms from around John and moved to him, "Sherlock? Please", she slipped her arms under his coat and hooked her fingers behind his back.
"Upstairs, Molls, now. Please."
"If you tell me when we get up there."
"You're so stubborn."
"Was that a yes?"
"That was a 'Do I really have a choice?'"
"Whoa!" John blurted.
"What?" Molly asked.
"You are the only person I've ever met who could comfortably hug and break the Great Sherlock Holmes at the same time", he smiled.
Sherlock and Molly smiled too, they all got to their feet and trudged up the stairs, Molly fished around in her pockets for her keys while Sherlock wrapped his arms around her neck and shoulders and rested there.
Molly poured three cups of tea and after a small, but intense argument with Sherlock, while John sat back in the chair and look astounded, she decided she was going to find out why Lestrade had died from his note that she was probably going to get in evidence anyways.
The argument had ended with Sherlock yelling, "Well you do that then!" And pouting as he stormed off into her bedroom.
"Sorry", she sighed to John, "He'll be back out in a minute", she pointed to his tea cup, "He can't have a good sulk without tea."
John just shook his head in amazement.
"What?" Molly puzzled.
"You", he chuckled, "You've got Sherlock wrapped around your little finger!"
"That a bad thing?"
"It's just an odd thing to see. I could barely even get him to pick up some bloody milk!"
"He offered to go shopping today, in fact last night, he tried to cook! But, we… got distracted…"
John just blinked and stared into his tea, "He loves you, you know."
"I know", she breathed.
"Don't", he scrunched up his face, "Don't let him hurt you Molly."
"I won't John", she whispered, "He needs me just as much as I need him."
"No doubt."
