Once Upon A Crime (Completed)

You

Heading out after a late-night, emergency post-mortem, Molly Hooper's nerves were anything but at ease. She had been worrying about Sherlock, busied herself with being jealous of Elanor and thought about Jim, and how quickly that realtionship had been over. Sad, angry feelings began brimming inside her, so she quickly changed the topic to her cat, Toby. No one wanted a sad person working in a morgue. Toby had done the most adorable thing the other day. Chased his own tail. Molly had thought only dogs do that. Apparently not. But it was the cutest thing nonetheless. Maybe she was destined to be a crazy, lonely cat lady. Oh well. At least Toby loved her.

She cut through the lab, making for the door. It was eerily quiet in the hospital at night. As her hand closed around the handle, a voice shattered the unnerving silence, causing her to start so badly her hand jerked away from the knob and a gasp tore from her mouth.

"You're wrong, you know." Sherlock said softly. Molly whirled from the door, seeing him standing just behind her, eyes locked on something she couldn't see. "You do count." With just those three words, Molly knew exactly what he was talking about. Agony seared her heart, driving all lingering thoughts of Toby or of why Sherlock was here from her mind.

"You've always counted and I've always trusted you." Sherlock went on. Though his voice was steady, she could swear that by the light filtering in through the window, tears glinted in his keen eyes.

"But you were right." He turned his head to face her. His voice faltered. "I'm not okay." Fear coursed through Molly as she said, "Tell me what's wrong." She was desperate to help him. She had to. He was everything to her.

"Molly," he murmured, "I think I'm going to die."

Tears stung at her eyes as her stomach wrenched with fear and knowledge. She tried not to let it show, but it had obviously already registered on her face.

"What do you need?" Molly asked, completely ready to surrender anything she had to his aid. This was serious. This was life or death. For both of them.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?" He asked, moving steadily closer. The tears were more than prevalent now, pooling on her lower eyelids. By way of answering, she whispered, "What do you need?"

Sherlock's eyes were desperate and sincere as he took another step forward. His voice was more than unfeigned as he replied, "You."