Prologue

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Sherlock had pursued every possible avenue.

Anything.

He didn't want to drag her down with him as he fell.

He closed his eyes.

He felt her hand tentatively touch his shoulder, small and warm.

She handed him a cup of tea, and sat across from him, hands cupped around her own mug, chocolate eyes melting into his.

He couldn't.

But, yet, it was the only way out.

The only way to escape.

"If you're wondering whether you can ask me for anything, don't hesitate," she said, softly, as if reading his mind. "I'll do anything for you."

He met her gaze coldly, flatly.

This wasn't how he imagined he'd do it, if ever.

He felt a feeling of cold dread spread over him as he uttered the fateful words.

"Molly, I want you to marry me."

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