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It took Molly a bit longer to realise where she was, she was ashamed to admit, considering her profession.
So when the cotton that was swimming in her brain finally lifted, she came to the startling realisation that yes, she was indeed buried in a coffin. And when that thought entered her mind, a second almost immediately followed.
Sherlock bloody Holmes.
He would be the only reason she found herself six feet under.
Although that wasn't exactly fair to the beautifully idiotic man, she wasn't dead yet, and no matter who was threatening her life at the moment, he wasn't to blame. No matter that he attracted the insane like bee's to honey.
Although she couldn't for the life of her slowly fading life figure out why she should matter to those who are insane. She had a perfectly confident view of herself. She was a successful career woman, she had made a makeshift family that she absolutely adored, even if it had been struck by a devastating loss as of late.
Molly took in a shuddering breath as the grief that was never far from her these day slowly swam in her veins, just thinking about Mary. The woman who was one of the strongest people Molly had ever come across who had, had her life extinguished in a matter of seconds.
Something that maybe she was about to have in common with the brave woman.
Which led her back to the why of it all. Sure her and Sherlock were friends, she helped him with work in the lab, they were even Godparents to darling little Rosie, but that didn't put her on the list of people that was needed to send the consulting detective into a mad race against time. To lead him onto a building and throw himself over.
Molly for all that she loved the man, knew her importance in his life, he wouldn't be devastated by her loss. Sure he would be upset but he'd move on. On to the next case, the next thrill of adventure, wiping out the unjust of the world.
And really Molly, she thought quite irritatedly, maybe now is the time to stop thinking of knights on horse's coming to slay the dragon. Maybe now's the time to figure out a way to get out of this mess yourself.
But no matter how hard she forcefully slammed her hands against the lid it didn't budge and adventully, the last bit of strength left her after a particularly violent coughing fit. Honestly,why did she have to be sick now of all days, surely the universe could give the mad-insane-people less of an advantage.
With nothing left to do but conserve her air, Molly slumped down into the surprising nice padding. It was so soft that she was on the verge of falling asleep. But she valiantly fought of the urge and waited for something, anything to happen.
It was a bit boring actually.
The silence was what was mostly killing her. The eeiriness of it all and she tried to stop her fear from climbing by figuring out how she eneded up in this absurd situation. But nothing was coming to her, she had come home from work with a cold, one she still had by the coughing she was still doing.
She flopped down into bed face first, exhausted. And now she was in a coffin. Bored out of her mind, she figured these things we're more exciting when she read the adventures on John's blog. Typical that she'd be let down on her own story of demise.
Molly, tried and failed to stiffle the hysterical giggle fighting it's way out of her mouth.
The sound of a door opening quickly had that laugh getting stuck in her throat and a familiar baritone, the loveliest sound she had ever heard left her in silent tears. As she now only got how terrified she actually was in this wooden death trap.
"Problem, " a voice that had such a musical quality to it, floated to Molly's ears. "Someone is about to die, it will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days unlived, so many words unsaid."
Molly stiffled a sob at those cruel and true words and tried to get herself under control. She would be useless if she couldn't even try to tell them who was inside the box.
"The lid Sherlock." Mycroft said and she wondered what The British Government was doing here in this twisted game. And she wondered what was written on the lid of her own coffin, morbid curiosity, something she definitely had in spades kept her mouth shut.
" It's somebody who loves Sherlock, so who loves you? I'm assuming it's not a long list."
Even if she wasn't a genius like the two men outside, she knew in her bones what was sketched onto her box, it was so obvious it might as well be stamped on her forehead.
I LOVE YOU.
The humiliation and pain that flooded her system was absolute and unkind. Wasn't it enough that she was trapped like a rat she had to be open and flayed as well?
Who could be so cruel.
"Molly, Molly can you hear me?" The deep voice she had always been in love with had a gentleness she had only heard three times directed towards her, over their long history.
And it didn't matter in the least, she was hurt, she was in pain and she knew that this was just the beginning of her ordeal. So in the complete blackness of her surroundings, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for it to be over.
"Oh dear. It seems that she's shy. Sherlock. Sherlock! She's not going anywhere, no need to glare at me like that. You do have a chance to save the damsel. But you only have three minutes in which to do so. She's rapidly losing air, and if that's not enough incentive, then the gas that's slowly filling her coffin, that only needs a spark to ignite, might be. A phrase word must be said in order to release Dear Miss Hooper. Go on then brother, deduce it." Brother? Among the hopleness she was feeling she was a bit (a lot) confused.
Sherlock had a sister, that was threatening him? His family is mad, clearly.
"Molly can you hear us, are you alright?" John, of course he was there.
And using the bit of strength she was saving she awnsered. "I'm here John, I'm okay."
"Good girl, we'll get you out yeah?"
Yeah of course they would. Of course he would, of the many things that she was sure of, even after this horrible day, she believed in Sherlock Holmes.
What she was dreading was what the world would look like once she escaped this.
"Molly I need you to say something for me. I know it will be hard, but you have to say them." Sherlock said and she heard the slight bump on the lid where more than likely his hand was resting.
She knew exactly what he was going to say, and she rushed to say his name anything to stop this "Sherlock" her voice cracked and her heart bleed.
"Say I love you." he demanded like demon asking for her soul, and maybe in this moment he was, "Say it Molly, so we can get you out of there. So you can be safe."
"I-I don't-"
"You will die Molly!" He cut her stuttering off with his own violent voice, sounding a touch more desperate and she wanted to, oh how she wanted to say the words but not like this. Not with it being forced out of her. She had kept it close to her all these years, knowing that she had him in her life in the way that not most people got a chance to be. She was his friend. She refused to burden him with something he never wanted or asked for. To have him was enough.
And if she said those words everything would be different, would be worse, they would never be able to go back. And even the threat of death couldn't make her say the words that would drive him out of her life forever. That would be a kind of death anyway.
"Sherlock don't make me do this, don't- Find another way." she pleaded once more only he was more worked up than she was, by the sound of a growl that left his throat.
"There is no other way. They're just words Molly, compared to your life what do that matter, they're just simple, foolish words."
"They're not foolish, Sherlock, they're true!" She gasped out a sob as the words were torn from her at his simple reasoning, she beat the lid in frustration as she heard the tick-tock of the timer.
"They've always been true, always." She felt faint and she didn't know if it was this conversation or the air that was becoming less and less by tell tale sign of her rapidly rising chest, trying in vein to get the oxygen she very much needed.
His voice when it came next sounded cold and monotone, a few words to her blatant confession, that left her already bleeding heart torn to shreds. "If they're true then just say it anyway."
The bitter laugh escaped her, she was tired and sick, just sick of this. These emotions. No wondered he avoided them. It hurt too damn much loving this man.
"Fine, fine you bastard-I-" she dragged in air but it only left her dizzy and Molly knew she was suffocating.
Well if these were the last words she could muster out at least he would know, she supposed.
" I love you, Sherlock Holmes." She whispered and waited for this scary new world she found herself in, waited for the lid to be removed and for her to face him and the growing distance that would replace the trust they used to share.
But there was nothing. No opening, no light to see.
"You're not playing fair sis, she said the words. Now, Get. Her.Out."
A slam that sounded like a gunshot shook the coffin and Molly opened her eyes, when they closed we're beyond her. All she knew was that she was most likely dying. At least she was already in the coffin, that should make things easier.
Loss of oxygen leads to more of her morbid humor, good to know.
"Oh Sherlock," the woman's voice was gentle and soft and Molly kind of despised her for it, " who ever said that she was the one who needed to say it?" There was a stunned silence at her words.
"Best hurry now, Sleeping beauty only has thirty seconds left and I'm afraid even a kiss from her Prince won't be able to wake her up then."
A beat past then a voice floated to her so gently and filled with awe."I-love you. I love you Molly."
The words she always wanted to hear real or fake would be the last ones she would ever hear. And Molly smiled as she succumbed to the darkness.
****
She woke with a lot less grace then she would have preferred, shooting up right so fast that she had to lay back down immediately or throw up the contents of her stomach.
What? Where was she?
Hospital. Okay.
But why?
Oh, that.
She graoned and tried to muffle the sound with a pillow.
She really, really hoped that was all a dream. The coffin, the almost dying, but especially her forced confession and more importantly Sherlock's devestaing lie.
But as she heard a voice, a loud, berating the doctors, achingly familiar voice. She knew it wasn't a fever induced dream, but her new cold, harsh, hateful reality.
And when Sherlock swept into the room like a dark angel, hair in disarray, lips staright in a determined scowl, he walked up to her like a man ready to conquer the war. To win a fight. Her heart that never knew when to quit, stopped and galloped as he thumped down the tiles making a bee line towards her. She sat up and braced for the impact of his words, the logic behind what he had done.
There was no talking, just he's hands in her loose hair, his soft lips slanted over her own as he took possession of her very soul. He kissed with the passion that was always bubbling just below the surface of his very being. And Molly melted into him, the confusion she felt evaporating as he bit her lip and licked his way into her mouth. His hand tightening around her, unwilling it seemed to let her go.
She was perfectly alright with that.
The intensity slowed as he gentled the kiss, pulling away even as she made a moan of protest, he caressed her jaw with the tips of his fingers and kissed her throat. Leaning into her and sighing into her ear in a way that left her with goosebumps.
"You're here." Sherlock's voice rumbled.
"Yes?" She squeked only to call herself ten different kinds of a fool, his lips quirked into a smile.
"Where else would I be?" His whole body became stiff and unyeilding at the question but gradually losened when he pulled back from her, only to cup her face in his hands.
She could only stare in fasination, as his normal indifferent kaleidoscope eyes, shone with the kind of emotion of a raging sea.
"Not on this mortal plain, I thought you were dead. I was led to believe that until the very end. I've spent the last few hours trying to track you down, and obviously my sister would send you to Bart's. Sometimes I don't see what's right in front of me." Molly had the strangest feeling he wasn't talking about the hospital.
"So that really was your sister then, she seems-" she stopped herself. What was the nice way of saying completely bat shit crazy?
"Insane. Hmmm. Yes she is. A genius certainly but not exactly a people person and coming from me that is saying a lot. But can't exactly blame her, she did lack an opportunity as she was in prison for most of her years." Sherlock drawled out stroking her cheek.
This was such a confusing day.
It only got less of one when he began to tell her the whole insane story. Or normal really, since his life had never been average.
"Okay," she finally sputterd out, "I get most of that, but why me? I mean surely she could have chosen somebody else."
"Molly," he sounded exasperated, and a touch fond of her. Her! Molly Hooper put that sort of affection in his eyes.
"I did just kiss you if you remember and I said some words that until very recently haven't left my lips for any other woman but you. You must be able to see why it had to be you, why my sister chose you to eradicate any sort of logic I still held at the time. She wanted to see what I looked like when my rational mind failed, and she succeeded with threatening your very important life. I was filled with a kind of rage and pain, I'm ashamed to admit, that led me to lose sight of the obvious. That you weren't in fact dead. But very much, wonderfully alive."He kissed the tip of her nose and she could only stare at him, she was stunned in a sort of shock after those many words and his actions.
The anguish he held as he spoke disappeared as he looked at her, stared right through her, and reached her heart that was slowly beginning to heal with his words.
"You have to see Molly why it had to be you, why it's always had to be you. You've always seen me." Sherlock let forward to kiss her once again, this time softly, reverently, like she was made of glass.
And it was like the world was now oh so colourful, the grey completely wiped out, this new world not as cold as she had feared, there was so much warmth from him, from them.
"You meant it." She whispered the realisation against his lips, a wave of pure joy overwhelming her to tears as he nodded.
"Yes," he confirmed the truth as he kissed away her tears. "I'm sorry it took your almost death for me to realise the obvious. That I do indeed love you, Molly Hooper."
"Well," she said almost breathlessly, giddy with the fact that Sherlock Bloody Holmes, the love her life, loved her back, "No body is perfect, not even you."
"I think there might be one exception to the rule." The smirk she had always adored appeared on his face as he then continued to snog her breathless, the both of them ignoring the groan of John as he squeaked to a stop outside of the doorway.
After this she was going to thank Sherlock's sister profusely, even if the way it came out that Sherlock was in love with her,(oh lord she was never going to get used to that) would probably leave her with nightmares for awhile.
Or maybe she would just send a fruit basket or something.