That's What People Do

Molly's hands were steady, her movements smooth and practiced after years of work and study, as she dragged her scalpel along the chest of Mrs. Joy Davys in a perfect Y-incision. The almost muted strains of "A Thousand Years" by the Piano Guys broke through the stoic silence that usually accompanied a graveyard shift at the morgue. It wasn't her usual preference for music, but it was a gift from Mary last Christmas and Molly felt bad just letting it sit in her flat unused. She was surprised to find how much she enjoyed it. The strum of the cello, though deeper than the violin, served to remind her of Sherlock the more it was played.

A soft smile played on Molly's lips behind her mask as she set her scalpel aside and finished opening Mrs. Davys' chest. It had been several weeks since Sherlock was last in London, he'd gone off to Scotland, he said, following a lead on the last of Moriarty's network, but she expected him back any day.

Molly enjoyed the time Sherlock spent at her apartment, but she would be lying if she said it was all good. He was still Sherlock, scathing with his words at times and easily bored, but they were closer than they were before. Molly was sure of it. He actually saw her now instead of looking through her. They talked and more than once Molly found herself putting him back together after he stumbled into her flat looking worse than when he'd 'died'. That changed things between them, slowly but it did. They were friends now, Molly felt safe to say. And maybe, just maybe, a little something more.

There was a black spot on the bottom of Mrs. Davys' left lung and Molly turned on the recorder to take mention of it. The assumption by the police was natural causes but her son, Troy, was positive she'd been murdered. Sherlock would agree, she knew, so it was Molly's job to prove it.

Her phone buzzed and Molly nearly grinned. It was almost three am and only one person would be texting her. He did it often, and at random, usually with something trivial like 'I'm bored' or 'it's too cold'. She appreciated it though, it let her know he was still alive. And even though Sherlock would deny it, Molly knew that was the reason he did it.

Molly continued her observations, determined finish before checking her phone, only to have the phone buzz with two more texts in quick succession. That was unusual. Maybe he was hurt? With a sudden flash of panic, Molly stepped back from the table and peeled off her gloves, reaching below her apron and into the pocket of her lab coat to pull out her phone.

Her brow furrowed in confusion when Molly realized it wasn't Sherlock after all, but a number she didn't recognize. Curious, she opened the texts and froze.

Why do we fall? Glared up at her. There was a download link and Molly clicked it. She nearly yelped at the candid shot of Sherlock with cross-hairs focused on his temple.

Do I have your attention now, Ms. Hooper?

Molly jumped and looked around as if the sender was somehow with her in the morgue. Naturally, there was no one there.

Good.

Meet me on the roof.

Tell no one.

Come alone.

Trembling slightly, Molly cleaned up her space and pulled the sterile sheet over Mrs. Davys' head. How did someone get that picture of Sherlock? And why would they send it to her. Everyone thought he was dead, didn't they? A part of her hoped it was an old picture, taken before the Fall, but his hair was shorter from where she'd cut it three months ago to help him better blend in.

Molly slipped out of her lab coat and hung it carefully on the hook behind the door before taking one last look around the morgue to be sure that everything was in its place. Except for the body laid out on the table, it looked as though she was about to go home. A sick feeling settled in Molly's stomach and she swallowed hard. Suddenly everything felt so final. If she went up to the roof, she wouldn't be coming back down.

With one last fortifying look at the picture on her phone, Molly squared her shoulders and left the morgue with her head held high. She refused to show fear, no matter how deeply she felt it.

The night was rather cool as Molly stepped out onto the roof, the wind whipping slightly as it dragged her hair across her face and neck. Summer was finally over then. John and Mary were planning their wedding for November and Molly was the Maid of Honor. She was supposed to throw Mary's Hen Party but she hadn't thought to start on it yet. Yesterday there was still plenty of time.

"Hello Miss Hooper," came a low, masculine voice and Molly felt the hair on the back of her neck stand as a man stepped almost cat-like from the shadows.

"It's, it's Dr. Hooper…actually…" Molly said, her voice smaller and less confident than she'd hoped.

"Do you know why I asked you up here, Miss Hooper?" He asked and Molly was stiff and fidgety as she shook her head. He sighed as if disappointed. "It's for the Game, Miss Hooper. You were smart enough to fool Jim, something I never thought possible, so surely you're smart enough to know what that means."

"I-I'm afraid I don't."

"You broke the rules Miss Hooper."

"The-the rules?" Molly said, folding her fingers around each other to the point of being painful.

"They were simple enough, Miss Hooper. If Holmes died, we would leave his friends alone."

"Sh-Sherlock is dead." But Molly didn't sound convincing even to herself. "He j-jumped. From up here. Just over, over there."

"Yes he did," the man agreed. "But just because he jumped, doesn't mean he died. And why is that, I wonder." It wasn't a question, so Molly didn't respond. Instead she was trying to subtly slip her hand into her pocket and grab her phone. She needed to call Sherlock. She had to warn him.

"Now, now, Miss Hooper." The man sighed as he pulled out a gun. "None of that."

"What do you want?" Molly said, shaking so badly that she was surprised she didn't stutter.

"To finish the Game, of course."

"I won't let you hurt him." That came out braver than Molly expected and she mentally gave herself a pat on the back.

"Well that actually depends on you, Miss Hooper," he said and Molly really hated the way he said her name.

"What do you mean?"

"Since it was you that disrupted the Game, it only makes sense that you should be the one to put it back on track."

Molly's brow furrowed. What was that supposed to mean? The wind blew again and Molly shivered just a bit, wrapping her arms around her waist in an attempt to stay warm. Her eyes wandered a bit, taking in the roof before it suddenly clicked and she turned to the man feeling almost alarmingly calm.

"You want me to jump."

He grinned brightly, showing off a row of perfectly whitened teeth. "Very good Miss Hooper. You're not as stupid as I first assumed."

"But why? If I do jump, and you know I will, then what will you gain? And how do I know you won't hurt Sherlock anyway."

"I promise, Miss Hooper, if you jump—and I do know you will—there will be no reason for me to hurt Mr. Holmes."

"Then I don't understand, what would you gain?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps you're not quite as smart as I last assumed, Miss Hooper." He motioned towards her pocket. "Now if you would be so kind as to call Mr. Holmes?"

Molly froze. "Why?"

"Because you're going to tell him."

"You want me…to tell him about you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not. You're going to tell him what you're doing and where you're doing it. And you're going to say it's his fault."

"He won't believe me," Molly said, frantically shaking her head. "He won't."

"Then make him believe you. Say whatever you have to, to make him believe that your death really is his fault. And I don't need to tell you, Miss Hooper, that if you mention me at all it won't just be you that has to die. I may be the last of the Network, but I was Jim's right hand. I know everything he knew and I know why Holmes did what he did. I'm not above carrying out those hits. Especially since they were mine to begin with."

Molly gave a strangled cry. "John? And Mrs. Hudson and Greg?"

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "And your own dear Mr. Holmes of course."

Swallowing hard, Molly jerked her eyes to the edge of the roof. Her knees felt like jelly and her hands were trembling so hard she could barely hold her phone. "And-and if I do it, you'll leave them alone? All of them?"

"On my life, Miss Hooper."

She didn't believe him, not really, but then again, what choice did she have? Nodding slowly, Molly made the call.

The phone rang six times, and for one heart stopping moment, Molly was sure he wouldn't answer.

"What is it Molly?" Sherlock said, clearly agitated. "I assure you I'm quite busy."

It was such a Sherlock thing to say. Molly sobbed. There was a pause before Molly heard something shift on the other end.

"What is it Molly? What's wrong?"

"I-I'm done, Sherlock. I can't-can't do this anymore."

"Molly, what on Earth—"

"I can't keep lying for you. It's always the same, Sherlock, you say nice things to get what you want and then you just let me hope for nothing until I'm so depressed and sad that I try to get over you, only to have you say something else so sweet and nice that I can't-I can't go through with it."

"Molly—" He sounded worried now so Molly cut him off. If he said something nice again she wouldn't be able to go through with this. And she had to go through with it. She had to save him.

"And John, Sherlock! John's so sad and it's awful that I have to lie to him over and over and every time I see him he smiles at me and says he couldn't do this without me, that I'm his closest friend!" Molly sobbed again, horribly as tears poured down her cheeks. "It's terrible Sherlock! I can't keep doing it!"

"You don't have to Molly," Sherlock said, and he sounded almost frantic. "Tell him the truth. I'm almost done, it's only Moran left and then, Molly, I'm coming back. I promise."

Molly shook her head even though he couldn't see it, stifling more sobs behind her hand. "It's too late, Sherlock. Do you really think it will all be okay just because you're back? John will hate me, and poor Mrs. Hudson will be so upset. Even Greg will blame me because I knew, Sherlock, all this time I knew and I never said anything!"

"I'll fix it Molly. I swear I will."

"You can't Sherlock. You can't fix this. I don't-I can't…" She stopped, taking a shuddering breath. "I just can't Sherlock, not anymore."

"What-what are you saying Molly?"

"I'm saying I'm done, Sherlock," Molly said softly, her heart breaking with every word. "This…this is my note."

There was a sharp breath and Molly knew that he understood. Not just what she was doing, but everything. He knew she was being forced, knew that John and Mrs. Hudson and Greg were in trouble. That he was in trouble too and Molly was trying to make it better. To save them in the only way she knew.

"Don't do this Molly," Sherlock begged, actually begged, and Molly's breathing hitched around her sobs and tears. She'd never heard him sound so broken. "Please. I can still fix this. Just give me some time. I just need time!"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But th-there is no more time."

"Molly!"

"Good-bye Sherlock."

She hung up, she didn't want him to hear those tiny tells that would draw what she was going to do like a map in his wonderfully brilliant mind. She didn't want him to see, like John saw, even if it was only through the recreation. Dropping the phone to the roof, Molly took one last look at Moran—because he had to be Moran—who was smiling at her like a proud father who's little girl just won full-marks in the school spelling contest. She turned away hating him. Hating herself.

Stepping up onto the ledge, Molly looked down into the inky black night and wondered who would find her. How long would she be laying there, on the ground in the dark, before some poor soul stumbled over her? She hoped Sherlock wouldn't find her. She really, really hoped it wouldn't be John.

There wouldn't be a laundry truck below her or someone waiting with blood to make it look real. No convenient biker to clip John to knock him down and disorient him so he wouldn't realize the body he was checking still had a heartbeat. No homeless network dressed up like Doctors and Nurses. And no Molly Hooper to forge the autopsy and death certificates.

Taking a deep breath Molly raised her arms, closed her eyes, and jumped.

Kaliea: So this is very similar to Squiet's On the Ledge (which I rather liked) but I just wanted to say that I started this before that story was posted. Not that I really need to defend myself, but whatever. Anyway, thanks for reading and don't forget to review!