A/N: My heartbreaking contribution to all the Valentine's day fic out there. The HLV scene of Sherlock having to leave the country and saying goodbye before boarding the plane always gets me. Hence. x

Departure

"Your flight departs tomorrow."

"Hmm, yes."

"Everything in order?"

"I have one last favour."

"Yes?"

"Could you take this to Molly?"

Sherlock very solemnly handed a black box to his puzzled brother. Mycroft held the box in his hand and from the hollow sound the object inside seemed to make, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Why would you give her something like this?" Mycroft asked, holding it at arm's length.

"Just give it to her, Mycroft." said Sherlock, getting up from his seat and retiring to his room. The door clicked shut. Mycroft sighed and exited the flat, making calls to ensure the box made its way to Molly.

"It's for you, Ms Hooper," said the man at the door. He was dressed in a suit and seemed to be wearing an earpiece, like a bodyguard of some sort.
"Who is it from?" she asked, standing warily behind her door.
"My orders come from Mr Mycroft Holmes, Ms Hooper."
"Ah, Mycroft. I see. Thank you." she said, receiving the box and shutting the door.

Molly took the box and sat at her dining table. Carefully, she opened it and the first thing she saw was a skull. And in its eye socket, was a rolled up piece of paper. Taking the piece of paper, she unrolled it and when she read the contents, her heart began to beat so hard, it threatened to spill out of her chest.

Molly,

By the time you receive this, it will be the night before I have to leave the country. Yes, I am leaving again. This time, I am not likely to return. Or at least I have been ensured of its impossibility.

Seeing as I will not be returning to London, to Baker Street and to my detective work, I will have no need of my belongings. My brother has kindly sorted all of that for me but I wanted you to have this. As it happens, the world will be celebrating love and romance and all its fanciful trimmings tomorrow. I have been informed of the conventions of the infamous '14th of February.'

I am not a man who loves, Molly. I am certainly not one for romance. But I do know the concept of importance, of value and of worth. I have no heart to give you, Molly. But I want you to take this skull as a symbol of my mind. I want you to know, that it is this mind that knows your utmost importance, your unexchangeable value and your irreplaceable worth.

I want you to know that I will always think of you, Molly Hooper. Not just for the occasion that befalls us tomorrow, but for always.

SH

Molly held the skull firmly in her hand as she jumped out of the cab and raced up the stairs that led to Sherlock's flat. Frantically, she knocked on his door, breathing hard and fast, her heart barely keeping up.

"Open the door, you fool. Open. The. Door." she whispered, tasting the salt from a few rogue tears that had escaped.

The door swung open and there he stood, stunned to find her before him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glistening and her breathing rushed.

"Molly? What—…"

Before he could say another word, Molly wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. She buried her face into his chest, taking deep breaths to still her maddened and battered heart. Sherlock had seen the skull in her hand and knew she had read his note. He had nothing left to say, really. All that he had ever wanted to say, he had written to her. But he had not expected this. He had not expected her to be here, clutching onto him for dear life. He could feel her gentle sobs against his chest. Sobs she was trying so hard to stifle.

"Molly, calm down." he said, gently prying her away from him.
"Don't. Say. A. Word." she whispered angrily, maintaining her fierce grip around him. "You are leaving forever tomorrow and you expect me to calm down? You expect me to let go of you?"

Sherlock persisted and tried once more to remove her obstinate arms that clung to his waist. She relented at his second attempt and allowed herself to stand apart from him. She inhaled deeply and was pleased that she had her tears under control.

"What I meant to say, Molly," he said, trying to catch her lowered gaze, "was would you like to come inside?"

She lifted her eyes carefully, so as to meet his. He returned her look with a warm, gentle smile. The type of smile he reserved only for her. He was never going to see her again and would never smile this way again. But he was happy that he could do so tonight.

"Come sit with me, Molly." he said, taking her hand in his as he led her into the flat, shutting the door behind them.

He had to be up early and ready, for the car was waiting downstairs. Sherlock ensured the curtains remained drawn so that the slow but sure stream of sunlight would not wake Molly unnecessarily. When he was dressed and had a few last things sorted about the flat, he strolled back into his bedroom, where the sleeping figure of Molly lay. He could barely see the top of her shoulders, for he had pulled the sheets up, making sure she was tucked in warmly. Smiling, he crouched beside her and observed her sleep, studying her pale eyelids and measuring the intervals between each breath she took.

He would not shed a tear. Not yet.

He made sure to place the skull next to her clothes, which he had folded neatly. With great care, he leaned to plant the lightest kiss on her forehead, taking in the taste of her delicate skin one last time. It was the final kiss to seal his final memory of her.

"Happy Valentine's," he whispered.

With one final look over his shoulder, Sherlock shut the door, forever separating himself from his pathologist.

End