The explosive sound of the gun firing filled the room, followed by a scream and the splatter of blood against the wall.

Everything slowed down, Molly's chair had been thrown aside in the madness and hit her head on the cold hard concrete floor. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to keep conscious. Men with guns ran into the room and made their way over to the dead body and in the distance she thought she could hear John shouting urgently.

She was right, it had been John. He immediately helped Mary down enveloping her in his arms and then pulling her at arm's length to make sure she was okay then back in his embrace. Mary was alive. That was good.

Molly didn't know anything. She immediately closed her eyes and heard the gun fire, she couldn't bare watch Sherlock do that, and now her chair face only to the side. Sobs now racked her chest as contemplated the idea that Sherlock might be dead, dead dead, actually dead, not faking his death dead. Dead. She felt her heart thump loudly in her chest and could only hear the blood rushing through her ears and muffled shouting.

Molly screamed out in pain, she felt like her heart was being squeezed dry and she kicked her legs desperately to get out of the confounded chair and over to where Sherlock now lay. She closed her eyes and wished it all away. Everything away. It should have been me, she repeated over and over to herself mumbling the words like a silent pray, as if God would make the switch if she begged hard enough.

Someone was behind her now, untying her legs and wrists. They asked her if she was alright or if she was hurt and she gave a simple nod.

Yes. She was hurting.

Hurting like hell and she couldn't bare it. She needed it to stop and stop now.

The ropes that had once constricted her now gave way and she slumped against the floor, immediately curling into a foetal position as the sobs continued to shake through her. She was hardly there for a moment before she felt arms wrap around her small frame and begin to carry her out.

"No!" She protested kicking her legs and squirming out of his hold. "I need to see Sherlock!" she pleaded.

She steadied herself before she looked past the man who had tried to carry her out. She saw Mary and John looking at her solemnly, holding hands and keeping close to one another. As if their world would shatter if they were ever separated again. The man, that was inconveniently blocking Sherlock's body, looked past Molly as if waiting for confirmation from a higher force before he took a step aside. Behind him was Sherlock's body, lifeless, breathless, dead, on the floor. One hand flew to her face muffling her cry as the other went to her stomach, as if to hold back the urge to be sick.

She didn't quite believe her eyes she needed it to not be real. She needed him to be alive. Her legs carried her forward towards him, numb with pain, as they weren't her own. Hovering for less than a moment before her legs gave way and allowed her to collapse next to the man.

"Sherlock?" She whimpered. "Sherlock please."

She sat near him, weeping silently as she clasped his hand in hers, bringing it once to her lips, placing a small kiss on his knuckles, as if it could breathe life into him once more. She rocked back and forth, merely waiting for him to come back, she refused to believe it. This was Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective. He wasn't allowed to die, especially not over someone like herself.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes still continuously rocking hand in hand. She didn't know how much time had now passed but she refused to move.

"Miss Hooper?" She heard the familiar voice of Mycroft Holmes utter.

She paid no attention to him.

"Molly. We need to get to Sherlock." He continued.

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him. You will not make me."

"Molly, we need you to go with the ambulance."

She whipped her head to face him, with a speed that could crack her neck, furious with the older brother. "What part of no do you not understand?!"

There was a silent beat. No one dared to utter a word against Molly. She stared him out waiting for whatever Mycroft tried to feed her but he also had thought better and decided against that.

The silence continued for a few mere moments, as Molly stared down the older Holmes brother, before a groan, cough and the faintest of whispers broke through from next to her.

"Molly, go with them." He nodded as his eyes began to open.

She was awestruck at this man, taking him all in, making sure it wasn't a horrible illusion before she leapt onto him, crying softly into his neck. She felt one arm around her waist, holding her close to him as the other stroked her hair, trying his best to calm the shaking woman down.

"Sherlock you big fat monstrous idiot! I hate you!" She cried to him.

"Quite the opposite, my dear. I am not fat nor am I idiotic. And you by no measure hate me." He whispered back with a chuckle.

Oh my god I know I am so sorry. I am the worst person but I've had a lot of stress and bad feeling at college and I haven't been able to write at all for the last two weeks! I know I'm sorry. Anyway I really hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for reading this far. Only one or two left now. This has been briefly beta'd so it might also suck. But please tell me what you think! I am dying to know!