AN- A LOT has happened since the last time I updated. I defended my thesis and graduated with my Master's, I got a job, and I moved across the country (and way, way, WAY north) to Alaska! There were some serious bumps along the way and my parents are still being forced to watch my asshole cats for me, but at least I'm finding the time to write again and I've finally gotten internet access! Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed, especially TheEleventhTARDIS and kara who managed to get me off my ass and finally finishing this chapter. Hopefully it won't take me another year to get the next one up. I would also like to thank Sir Terry Pratchett, who's loss is sorely missed for my favorite idea of what the afterlife is like. Sir Terry, you were the best of us all and I miss knowing that you were still in our world. Until next time.

She was going to die.

Molly had spent a lot of time around death. More than most people, that was for sure. It was one of the perks and drawbacks of deciding that your workplace of choice was the morgue. Decent working hours, quiet clients, and an uncomfortable familiarity with death and all the ways it appeared. And while she'd seen suicides and murders, accidents, drownings, dismemberments, and regular old heart attacks she had to wonder-

What would death by ghost look like?

Moriarty giggled, stalking her through the halls as Moran dragged her the long way round down to the morgue. The ghoul was keeping his distance, taking the time to cackle as more and more ghosts appeared to stare at Molly with sad empty eyes as Moran pulled her along. She couldn't help but wonder what she would look like when she joined them, what it would feel like when she was dead. Would she be like the rest, trapped in this hospital forever or would she somehow make it back to Baker Street like Sherlock?

Sherlock.

Her occasionally friendly flatmate of a ghost. Mind drifting back to the flat she thought of the creature that had stood in Sherlock's place and shivered, forcing herself to think of something, anything, else. She thought it had been him, screaming in desperation as he called her name. Molly wondered if he would miss her. If he would forget her. If he would ever really know what happened to her besides that she'd been taken from their flat and never returned. Moran twisted her arm viciously as she gasped, pain radiating up through her. Well, not precisely taken from the flat. Sherlock had thrown her out of a window after all. The bastard. She cracked a smile, tears dripping down her face as she staggered after the gun toting blong man. That absolute bastard. If she made it back to Baker Street she was going to give him such a hard time about that.

"Good golly Miss Molly, you've certainly been bad," Moriarty giggled. She glanced back at him, finding the ghost continued to dog their steps, staying a constant ten feet away. "Bringing me presents. It's not even my birthday! Now, even though you've brought me my favorite minion doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you." His eyes glinted red and Molly smelled sulfur as the hallway started to darken. "I'm going to burn the heart out of you and send the ashes to Sherlock. He will know what I've done to you and despair."

She was going to die. Glancing over to Moran, at the gun held tight in his hand, her eyes drifted lazily back to the monster behind them. "Shut up," she said, voice far more airy and calm than she felt. "You're boring me."

Moriarty gaped and looked absolutely insulted as Moran snorted. "I'm boring you? Well forgive me if I don't feel being your fucking clown," the big man snapped and twisted her arm again until she cried out. Turning a corner he abruptly slammed her into the wall, arm across her throat as she gasped and struggled, fingers digging into his shirt sleeve as she struggled for breath. "How did you do it!?" he demanded, face white as Moriarty peered at them both, scowling. "How? Was it mirrors? Cameras? How did you make him appear like that? That bastard of a detective is dead."

Moriarty gasped dramatically, pouting hugely. "Moran got to play with Sherlock? No fair! I'm the one that murdered him, I should be the one to get to go on a play date with the dearly departed detective."

Kicking against him, Molly tried to twist out of Moran's grip as she struggled to breathe. The huge man pinned her against the wall with his body, arm cutting off all air as he glared down at her. "Tell me how you did it or so help me I'll kill you right here and now." His other arm came up, metal pressing hard against her temple. Tears tracked down her cheeks, staining her face red from the dried blood that coated them both as Molly tried to draw oxygen into her starving lungs.

She didn't want to die. There were things she still wanted to do. Places to see, people to meet, a life to live. She'd never run a marathon or flown in a hot air balloon. She'd never told her brother how much he meant to her or even given him a proper goodbye. She'd not said goodbye to anyone, not to Greg or any of her old friends nor even to Sherlock.

Her lungs were burning, the edges of her vision growing black. Moriarty was cackling from his place over Moran's shoulder, his dark eyes lit from within with delight as all around them a silent audience of sad ghosts hovered, transparent and useless.

She was going to die.

But at least she could choose how to go out.

Eyes narrowing, Molly spat in Moran's face. The man flinched back, mouth twisting in disgust as her spittle dripped down his face, loosening his arm enough for her to take a breath. Moran's blue eyes were lifeless as he slowly wiped the spit from his face. "You bitch," he said, voice flat. The gun came up, the barrel pressing against her forehead.

Molly closed her eyes, her entire body going tight. A final tear streamed down her cheek. She could hear Moriarty panting with delight, practically whimpering in excitement and she tried to think of Baker Street, of Sherlock and airy rooms with wallpaper she refused to admit that she had grown to love. Or heaven. Somewhere besides the hospital where she could go after she was dead. Yet in her final moment all she could think about was her mother, the woman's face far away and sad as she regarded her daughter from a distance.

The safety clicked off.

"Molly?" A new voice. Familiar. "What the hell's going on here-?"

A single gunshot rang out, echoing through the halls. It was followed by silence and then the low thump of a body wetly hitting the floor.

Molly Hooper opened her eyes.

Moran's face was turned away from her. His arm was held out and away from her, pointing down the hall. Against her will her eyes followed it, her breath coming in little gasps as she caught sight of the fallen body, the slightly plump and broken form all too familiar to her.

"Mike!" she gasped and stepped towards him, but Moran yanked her back as tears streamed from her eyes. Mike's eyes were shut as he laid in the center of the hall, his glasses fallen and broken at his side and a pool of blood slowly beginning to spread beneath him. There was a perfect round hole in his shirt, already ringed in deepening red. "Let me go!" she demanded, struggling against the man who held her. "He could still be alive! Let me help him!"

"No," Moran said shortly. With a grip like iron he dragged her down the hall, past Mike's prone body. Her eyes darted over him, taking in his still form and the blood and she knew that if there was still time, it was only moments. He needed help but who was there to help him? The other ghosts were gone and only Moriarty remained, his face nearly orgasmic as he stood at the edge of the pool of blood and bent down to touch it. A sob escaped her throat as Moran hauled her past Mike and through a set of doors into the chill of the morgue.

Thrusting Molly before him, Moran grabbed a lab stool and broke it in his hands, shoving a metal stool leg through the handles of the door. Rounding on Molly who cowered back he grabbed her arm again and marched her towards the body coolers. "Which one was it?" he demanded, shoving her towards the drawers. "Get the evidence. Now."

"I-I can't," Molly gasped. She wrapped her arms around herself, body shaking with repressed sobs. Mike. Dear Mike. He'd been her boss, but also her friend. Her ally in all this. She'd never told him about Moriarty, about the ghosts or the visions she'd been struck with but he'd still seemed to know. He'd tried to protect her, transferring her to safety, and now he was dead and it was all her fault. She'd all but murdered him herself.

"What do you mean, you can't," Moran roared, pointing the gun at her again. "Open the goddamn drawers and get me that goddamn evidence!"

"I can't!" Molly shouted back, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. "I don't have any evidence against Moriarty. I've never had any evidence against Moriarty! I'm a pathologist, not a detective, I don't know how to even collect evidence against a dead criminal mastermind."

"Bullshit!" Moran shouted, face going red as his veins bulged. "I tracked the IP address that hacked my systems back to your flat. You were the one to-"

"It was Sherlock!" she shrieked, eyes meeting his and her gaze fierce. "Sherlock has the evidence. Who know's what he's done with it. Who he's sent it to. It's probably on its way to BBC as we speak."

Moran stilled but the hand holding the gun began to tremble as he pointed it at her. "Holmes is dead. I watched him plunge off the ledge. I saw his brains smeared on the sidewalk."

"Oh shut up and try to think if you can," Molly growled. Mike was dead because of her. She was already as good as dead herself. If Moran didn't shoot her now, Moriarty would take his time taking her apart. She had nothing left to lose. "You saw what was in my flat. You know who it was. Sherlock Holmes may be dead, but he's certainly not departed."

Swallowing audibly Moran shook his head. "No. You… You're crazy. There's no such thing as ghosts."

Her gaze went past him to the door where a transparent figure was pushing its way through the metal doors. Moriarty, his face streaked with Mike's blood and his face blissful. Her gaze hardened. "Ghosts are real. Sherlock's not the only one either."

"Ah," Moriarty sighed and Moran suddenly stilled, his entire being seeming to freeze in that one second. "Trying to enlighten my little minion? I wouldn't bother if I were you, he's not all that bright."

"Ghosts are real," Molly said again, her voice firm. She poured fire into her own veins forcing herself to stand up straighter and meet Moran's eyes with the intensity of the sun. "Moriarty's a ghost. He's here with us right now."

"Shut up," Moran whispered, his hand trembling like a leaf. "Jim's dead. I saw him die."

"Well he didn't stay dead. He's right behind you, Moran," Molly said, glaring at man and ghost together.

"No he's not."

"He is," she said vehemently. "He's right behind you. Less than two feet away. He's looking at you, he's calling your name. He's begging for you to see him."

"Oh I am certainly not," Moriarty said, voice insulted. "I never beg. Give it up Miss Molly. Not even Moran is moron enough to believe that swill."

"He wants you to forgive him," Molly continued as Moriarty gasped loudly and looked repulsed. "He's sorry that he made you watch him commit suicide. He needs to know that you forgive him before he can move on."

Moran's face was white as snow as Moriarty rolled his eyes dramatically skyward. "This nonsense has gone on for long enough. Shoot her you idiot."

Biting her lip, Molly looked between the two men and took a chance. "He says that he loved you too."

Moriarty made a noise of incredulous horror as Moran let out a cry of despair. His gun arm dropped as the big man turned to look desperately for the ghost. "Jim?" he cried. "Are you there? God, Jim I've missed you-"

There was a flash of silver and blood arced through the air. Moran collapsed to his knees, clutching at his throat as Moriarty glared down at him. A silver scalpel dripping red was in his hand as his lips twisted in disgust. "You are such a disappointment," he growled. "As if I could ever love an idiot like you."

Moran's gaze traveled upwards to meet the ghost's eyes. He might have heard Moriarty. He might not have. Molly didn't wait to find out though, turning and running as soon as both men's attention was off of them. Heart racing she dashed to the back door, throwing it open and sprinting down the hall as Moriarty let out a cry of fury behind her. It was all down to running again she thought, nearly slipping as she turned a corner. Her feet versus Moriarty's ghostly power. She didn't know if she could get away again.

The corridors were wavering before her eyes, the walls seeming to warp and melt as heat and pressure built up around her. Moriarty wasn't going to let her get away this time. Reaching a fire exit she cursed as the door slammed shut in front of her. Crashing into it she banged on the metal, screaming and cursing loudly before giving it a final kick. "You can't block every exit!" she shouted to the empty air, not even believing herself as she said it. "I won't let you get me!"

Laughter echoed through the halls as she turned and continued to run. How many exits were there from the morgue? How many could she get to before the ghost caught her, before he killed her? She wasn't sure but she would do just about anything to find out.

A thought struck her and she came to a crashing halt against the wall, chest heaving. This wasn't just between her and Moriarty, this was an active hospital. There were other people here, patients, people who'd she'd sworn to heal and protect. Without another thought she glanced to her right and hit the fire alarm. The two tone shriek filled the air, lights flashing a warning as another idea struck her. Smirking to herself she took a breath and headed for the employee break room.

She didn't want to die. So now it was the time to fight.

"Molly? Where are you?" The voice echoed through the halls. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

Hands over her mouth, Molly pressed herself tighter against the wall and tried to control her racing thoughts. Think! What did she know about ghosts? What did she know about Sherlock? He was incorporeal and touching her without a buffer caused him pain. He could move physical objects but it was difficult for him and he really could only manage the one object at a time. He could do the thing with the invisible birds, but Moriarty didn't seem to be able to manage that. They both turned into… things when they were very upset or angry.

But what good did any of this do her? How did you kill a ghost?

"Molly! I'm getting bored!" Moriarty's sing song voice menaced. "You won't like it when I get bored, Molly. Molly? Moooollllyyyyy…"

The voice faded away down the hall and Molly took a breath before stepping away from the wall. So Moriarty couldn't find her easily, couldn't track her through the halls using his ghost powers. That was good to know.

Glancing down the hall Molly jogged down the way she'd come, her mind still on the break room. There was the fire axe there and the defibrillator. Neither of which would probably work on a ghost, but she'd still feel better armed. Besides, she could use the fire axe to chop through a door and escape to safety? While a murderous ghost just stood there and politely waited for her summon up some latent lumberjack skills, of course. Easy as pie! "Shut up," she murmured under her breath. The plan was a work in progress. First she'd get the axe, then there was some question marks, and - finally - profit!

Her hand on the break room knob, she paused as her eyes went wide. "Oh god, I've seen cartoons on the telly with that plan," she muttered. Molly bit her lip and shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was no matter. She was set on living and would do anything to make sure she got through this in one piece. Wrenching open the door, Molly ducked inside only to freeze at the sight of the man rummaging through the silverware drawer. "Mike!"

The pudgy man turned, his face lighting up in delight. "Molly! I thought you were dead!"

"Don't be silly, I thought you were the dead one," Molly said, a smile splitting her face. "I don't understand, I saw Moran shoot you. How did you survive?"

"Twas but a flesh wound," Mike said, eyes crinkling as he smiled at his own stupid reference. He gestured to his still bloody side with a bit of a wince. "He missed everything too vital."

"There was a lot of blood though. Do you want me to take a look at it? You may need stitches."

Mike waved her off, face pale and drawn. "There's no time. All the exits are locked and the hospital is in the middle of a fire evacuation. Your doing I imagine? Good job. Anyway, it'll take them ages to come here and check on us and we have a rampaging ghost to deal with."

"You know about Moriarty?" Molly asked, shoulders sinking with relief.

"I've suspected that our Angel of Death was something a bit more paranormal for a while now, but I wasn't sure how to tell anyone about it without sounding completely crazy," Mike said with a weak smile. "But the ghost seemed to have a particular interest in you so I knew I had to send you away. So it's Moriarty? That Irish bastard. What about Sherlock, is he here?"

"Sherlock is in Baker Street," Molly said with a grin. "After we get out of this I'll take you to see him."

"Sherlock's in Baker Street?" Mike repeated, eyes going wide. "With you? You've been living with the spectre of Sherlock Holmes as your flat mate all this time? No wonder you had that mental break. I thought it was work that got to you, but if you were living with Sherlock-"

Molly laughed, shaking her head. It was strange, laughing when a murderous ghoul was hunting her, but for some reason she felt, well, light. Free. Mike knew. He understood. They were going to get through this together. "So what's the plan, boss?" she asked, throwing open cupboards and throwing things out. She knew she'd seen that fire axe in there somewhere.

"I'm not sure," Mike said, going back to the drawers as well. "I thought I would get a knife, see if I could pry the fire doors open somehow and slip out before anyone noticed. But all of these are plastic. I don't know if I want to risk going back to the labs to get a scalpel."

Molly let out a little crow of pleasure, her hands closing around a rubberized handle before pulling a large object from the cupboard. "How about this for a knife?"

Mike blinked, eyes going round as he took in the massive fire axe. "That might work." The metal door to the fire escape suddenly shook, the door vibrating as something on the other side began to pound hard. Going pale, Mike jumped and headed for the other exit. "He's found us. Come on, we have to go."

"Go where?" Molly asked, following him. "We're never going to get out of this unless we find a stairwell."

"This way," Mike said, hurrying forward in the lead as they left the sound of banging behind them.

Her feet squeaked on the tile floor as they ran, Mike somehow managing to stay in front as they twisted through the halls. It was actually rather impressive. The plump man didn't even seem to be out of breath and his wound wasn't bothering him at all as Molly's heart began to pound and her lungs burn. If she got out of this she was going to take up all the jogging, join a gym, and eat kale for every single meal, she promised herself. The path Mike was leading her on was winding as they took a circuitous route toward wherever Mike was wanting to go. Her palms began to sweat as she struggled to hold the axe up, her chest heaving. "Mike!" she called as the other man turned the corner in front of her. "Wait! I need a break-"

Skidding around the corner she came up short and gasped for breath as she took in the body in the center of the floor. It was Mike, just as she'd seen him after Moran shot him, the pool of blood beneath him congealing and the corpse's face pale and drawn. Mike stood above himself, hand on his wound as he blinked down at his own body. "Oh," he said, voice soft. He reached up and adjusted his spectacles. "So I did die."

"Mike," she gasped between breaths. The lightness seemed to fade from her as she took in the man gazing with sadness at his own body. "Christ, Mike I'm so, so sorry. This is all- It's all my fault."

"It's not. It's mine," Mike said and as he turned towards her his eyes were rapidly becoming vacant, empty. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

More ghosts faded into existence behind him, their faces drawn and empty as they stared at her with lifeless eyes. She took a step back, bile rising in her throat at their slack bodies and hopeless gazes. "Mike-"

A hand wrapped around the curve of her hip and she gasped, looking down to see long, twisted fingers in red and black resting there. She looked up into a demon's face, the flesh mottled and dark and the eyes aflame with hellfire. "Hello dearie," the creature said with Moriarty's voice.

Molly screamed and on instinct swung the axe. To her shock and Moriarty's it slammed into the flesh near his neck and stuck there, black tarry blood seeping up into the wound. Moriarty screamed, stepping back. Holding tight to the axe it ripped free from his flesh and the black substance dripped down his chest in an inky cascade. His eyes were wide as he glared at her. "You bitch!" he roared. "That hurt!"

Not waiting to see what he would do next Molly turned tail and fled through the nearest set of doors. She slammed them behind her, thrusting the axe through the handles and took a step back as the something else slammed into the doors, shaking them. Moriarty had a weakness, she thought to herself as she staggered back. When he was in the body of that creature he was flesh and blood. He could be hurt. What could she do now, knowing that?

Her foot stepped on something slick and she tripped, falling backwards hard onto her bum. Letting out a groan she glared at her own feet to see what she'd tripped over only to meet Moran's eyes. His blood was on the floor, she'd slipped in it. She gasped, scooting back as the man blinked slowly, clutching at his own neck still. "You bitch," he said weakly, his face pale in the harsh light of the morgue.

"No, no, no, no," Molly muttered, staggering to her feet and looking about. She was an idiot. She was back exactly where she had started, the doors of the body drawers glinting at her in silent mocking. "No!"

Looking around wildly she found that her original exit had been blocked, a cupboard and even a lab benchmpulled down in front of it and the door inaccessible. Running to it anyway she struggled to move the heavy furniture but couldn't even manage to move it an inch. She was trapped. Trapped right where all of this had begun. Idiot! Her eyes darted to the glass of the observation room as Moran shakily sat up and the creature at the door continued to pound. The fire axe was holding him out, but for how long? Grabbing a lab stool she slammed the metal into the glass over and over again. Pleading under her breath she begged for the glass to shatter but it hadn't even begun to crack as the door on the other side of the glass flew open.

Molly shrank back, holding the stool in front of her defensively only to find that the face that stepped through the door was not a monstrous one, but instead friendly. For through the doorway on the other side of the glass stepped Greg Lestrade, his face freckled and browned from sun and his hair a bit longer and in disarray. His eyes went wide as he caught sight of her, hurrying over to the glass and resting his hand upon it as he mouthed her name.

"Greg!" she shouted, eyes lighting up. She didn't know how it was possible that he was here, the last she'd heard from him he'd still been overseas with his friend, but he was here now and alive and he could help her! "Greg, I'm trapped! You have to help me break the glass and-!"

Greg's eyes went wide and he recoiled in horror before surging forward. He pounded on the glass, shouting something and looking over his shoulder to yell as she felt hot breath on her neck. Molly froze. She couldn't hear pounding at the door any longer. How long had it been since it stopped? She couldn't remember. A shadow was looming behind her in the glass and she turned, raising the stool to strike.

Moran knocked it out of her hands as he slammed her back into the glass, his hands around her neck. Her nails dug into his flesh as she struggled, Greg shouting and pounding on the glass behind her but all she could see was Moran, his eyes lit up with hellfire as he smiled at her. Blood still ran from his own neck but he didn't seem to care, strangling her with a single minded intensity.

"Poor little Molly Hooper," he cooed and it was Moriarty's voice she heard. The tall blond man's flesh began to twist and distort, Moriarty's face somehow coming through as his skin split and began to darken. As he began to turn into the creature. Moriarty was doing it by possessing bodies she realized, but the thought didn't help her as her lungs struggled for air once more. Behind her, Greg was screaming, still pounding on the glass as Moriarty bent his face to hers. His face was like a lover's soft and close enough to kiss as he smiled at her. "I'm going to kill you now."

Greg was screaming. Moran's flesh was burning off of him as Moriarty used up his body. And Molly-

She gagged a final time, lungs screaming for air as her vision went dark. Her nails fell away from Moran's wrists, her body going slack as Moriarty laughed. There was a gunshot, the glass shattering behind her but it was too late. The darkness took her.

When her eyes opened again Molly was standing on the edge of a desert. It was dark, the sands black and as she shuffled her feet it rose like mist before settling down once more. No stars were in the sky, no breeze blew, but when she squinted she thought she could see figures far in the distance walking away from her and, past them, mountains. There was the barest glow of light hidden somewhere beyond those mountains and as she gazed upon them she found herself wanting to know what was beyond them. She took a step forward.

There was a loud sniffle behind her. Hesitating she turned back to see a small grubby boy in knickerbockers rubbing his face as he wiped away tears. He looked up at her and his eyes were dark and speckled with fire. "It's not fair," he said, voice sullen and accented with green Dublin. "I wasn't supposed to go alone. Where's my friend? Where's he gone? I've only got the one."

She knew him, Molly realized as she walked back to him, sinking down upon one knee to look into his small face. "Who's your friend?" she asked though she thought she already knew the answer.

"Sh'lock," the boy hiccuped. "We were playing a fun game and now he's supposed to take me home."

Molly bit her lip and slowly shook her head. "Sherlock's not coming. Not yet at least," she said, her mind traveling to a small chilly flat full of music. She looked over to the desert and the beckoning glow. "You're going to have to walk on your own."

"No!" the boy, Moriarty, shouted. His eyes flashed red as he stomped his foot and suddenly he was older, taller. "I won't go by myself!" Then he was young again, nearly a toddler as he moved to suck his thumb. "I don't know what's over there." Turning he began to march determinedly away from the mountains, the air starting to split and pull apart to reveal a strange white hallway. It looked like a hospital. "I won't go by myself, I won't, I won't! I'll go find Sherlock and make him go with me! He has to go with me for I shan't go alone!"

"Then go with me," a male voice said. They both looked over to see a tall blond man, Moran, standing there. He looked tired, his face drawn as he reached over to the boy who'd stopped his march. "Come on, Jim. It's time for you to go. We can go together."

"I don't want to go with you," Moriarty said, pouting. When Moran took his hand he didn't protest though, stumbling over his own feet as Moran began to walk towards the mountains. Behind them the air shimmered but shut, the hallway vanishing into darkness once more. "What's on the other side of the mountains?" Molly heard his small voice ask as they stepped out into the desert. "Do you think it's heaven?"

"No," she heard Moran reply. "But it will be alright. I'm here now."

There was a sniffle as they walked into the darkness, fading from view. A low chuckle and the sound of a man's voice. "You idiot. You really loved me, didn't you? I'm almost sorry I killed you now."

"I always did say you'd be the death of me," she heard Moran say. If there was a reply after that she didn't hear it, the figures swallowed up by the darkness of the desert.

Molly stood. She brushed off her knee, admiring how the black desert sand glinted as it settled back to the ground. Looking to the desert she smiled and moved to step forward only for a hand to wrap around her wrist. "And where do you think you're going?" she heard Mike's kindly voice ask her as he pulled her back to face him.

Letting out a huff of frustration, Molly glared at her former boss. "I want to know what's over there," she said, gesturing to the mountains. "What's that light over there? I want to know what it is."

Mike looked over and frowned before looking back. "That? That's what we think we deserve," he said with a hint of a smile. "I think it's going to be a big comfy chair, a roaring fire, and a new book with a fresh cuppa on the side, don't you?"

"I don't know," she said honestly, her eyes traveling towards the desert again. "I suppose I haven't thought about it before. I imagined there would be more angels though. Or at least big pearly gates and clouds. Maybe they're on the other side of the mountains? I just want to find out."

"I don't suppose it could wait, could it?" Mike asked and smiled at her. She scowled back, folding her arms but the scowl faded as more and more faces appeared around them, the people gasping at the sight of the desert. Some of them looked familiar. but she was starting to have trouble remembering where she could have met them. Surely she hadn't seen them in the desert before. Had there been a place before the desert? She must have asked that question out loud for Mike's face went sad and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her away from the mountains. "Molly, I need you to do me a favor."

She frowned but sighed, stepping closer. "What sort of favor?"

"I need you to deliver a message for me," Mike said, his eyes sad. "To Sherlock. You have to tell him that I'm sorry. It was all my fault. That night when he came to me… I should have helped. I could have helped, but I was too… I was afraid. I could have stopped all this before it even started. I could have saved his life. Tell him that I'm sorry that I didn't."

Molly bit her lip, stepping forward. "Mike-"

"Please," he interrupted her with, stepping back himself. "Please tell him? I can't do it myself, but you still can."

"How?" she asked with a frown. "We're both here and Sherlock is not."

"I was watching them before I came here," Mike said, smiling at her. "They were giving you CPR."

Her brow furrowed. "Who?"

Still smiling Mike pointed away from the desert into the distance. She turned and felt Mike's hand touch her shoulder, shoving her hard. Stumbling, Molly fell and kept falling. She fell through the desert, down, down, down, as light and wind raced past her. Stars appeared and raced past, burning balls of fire as she fell and fell and fell. She screamed, hands reaching for a grip she couldn't find as she plunged into nothingness and light.

A voice echoed in her ear.

"Remember to tell him."

Molly Hooper took a breath. Her eyes cracked open and she looked up to see the weary face of Greg Lestrade who beamed down at her before seizing her into his arms. "Oh thank god," he said before crushing her against him in an aching embrace.

Molly blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright white light. Her hands came up to touch Greg's shirt, rubbing the material between her fingers. It was rough and slick and the best thing she'd ever felt in her life. Next to them a man was kneeling, his face careworn and a mustache upon his upper lip. It looked a bit silly to be frank. She frowned at him, body aching, and turned to Greg to ask who he was only for Greg's lips to meet hers in a searing kiss.

She blinked again. Greg was kissing her, his hands in her hair. There was glass all around them, a dead body a few feet away, the stranger turning a bit pink at their side, and Greg was kissing her as if she was the very air he needed to breathe.

Oh, Molly thought weakly to herself. Oh dear.

Later she would reflect on that moment and grouse that, if her life had been a romance novel, it would have been perfect time to swoon. Instead as Greg pulled away and the emergency workers finally arrived she met his wide beam with a tentative smile and wondered what the hell she was going to do now.