Now…all of you know that I have no idea how he survived in "Reichenbach Fall," right? So I'm not going to pretend to know. The only thing I am certain of is that Molly was integral to his plan. I am also semi-certain that there was a chance it would not work. So I'm going to run with that. This is just a peek, a what-if. I had to see what it would be like.

Enjoy, and please review!




On a quiet evening at the beginning of May

When the bat was in the skies

I heard a tearful young maiden

Singing beneath the shadow of the green branches.

The sun was setting in the sea

And no stars yet graced the sky

When the young girl sang sorrowfully

"My love is on the high seas…"

-Tha Mo Ghaol Air Àird A' Chuain


The door clanged and then squeaked very loudly as Sherlock shoved through it and into the lab. Molly followed after him, trying to steady her breathing, but her heart wouldn't allow it. It felt like it was beating irregularly inside her chest—skipping a beat only to pound twice too quickly, then suspend until a terrible dropping sensation plunged into her stomach. The door slammed shut behind her. She stopped walking. Sherlock strode forward, tossing his long black coat onto the back of a chair He kept going a few steps, purposefully, his shoes clicking. He then set his hands on his hips and paused.

He turned on his heel and quickly faced to the left, putting his head down.

Silence fell.

Molly swallowed, holding her left thumb tightly between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She watched him. His tall, lean, dark form went completely motionless.

He suddenly took a breath. She caught hers.

"Well that's…That's it, then," Sherlock said crisply, his deep voice echoing off of all the hard, white-and-steel surfaces in the lab. "Everything's accounted for. Should go off like a shot."

The edge of Molly's mouth twitched.

"I don't really like…the sound of that."

His jaw clenched.

"No," he muttered. "Poor choice of words."

She didn't answer. Her breathing unsteadied again.

"What…" she began. "What are the chances…exactly…that this'll work?"

"It will work," he said severely, glaring at the floor in front of her feet.

"You're worried that it won't, though," she pointed out, squeezing her fingers harder. "Is there something more we can do, some other—"

"Nothing at all. We've done everything possible," he cut her off.

"Then…" she said quietly. "What are the odds that…That it won't?"

His mouth tightened. He sucked in another breath through his nose, lifted his head and stared out in front of him.

"Twenty percent."

Molly felt the heat drain out of her face.

"That's a lot," she whispered.

"No, eighty percent is a lot," he countered, too sharply. "Eighty percent in my favor—those are excellent odds anywhere."

Molly nodded quickly, unable to say anything. Sherlock stood for a moment longer, then leaned back and sat down on a stool, hooking his heels on the rung at the bottom. He folded his arms tightly, his gaze unfocusing.

She felt his consciousness drift away from her. She could always sense it when he let go of the edge and sank down into a deep, undisturbed pool of thought. In those moments in the past, she had always just ducked her head and left the room, knowing that he wouldn't even notice she had gone. But this time…

This time, she couldn't. Because what if—what if she hadn't quite memorized every angle of his face yet? And the way is hair curled across his forehead, and the way his collar laid against his shoulders…? And what if…?

"Are you sure?" Molly said, before her mind caught up with her. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can do?"

He blinked, his brow furrowing—but not into a frown. He tilted his head, ever so slightly, toward her.

"No, Molly," he said—and his quiet voice shook. "There's nothing else. Thank you."

Those two words hit her in the heart.

She stepped up to him.

"Are you sure?" she said again. "Because if you're afraid, I couldn't bear it if you were afraid on my account. If you're not sure I've done everything right, if you're fretting that I made a mistake—"

"You don't make mistakes," he said—and turned his white face, and looked right at her.

Such brilliant, striking, pale blue eyes. They stopped Molly where she stood—near his left shoulder—and stole her breath.

"Yes…Yes I do!" she gasped, brow twisting.

"No." He shook his head once, minutely. "Not when it matters."

For a very long moment—too long—he gazed at her, fixed. And she looked back at him, unable to unclench her ribs to breathe again. Her hands tightened painfully down on themselves.

Sherlock swallowed, and glanced down at them.

"Go on, Molly," he said hoarsely. "I'll be in touch."

She stood there, frozen. He blinked rapidly a few times, still watching her fingers.

And he lifted his right hand.


Then lightly, gently, touched the back of hers with his fingertips.

She couldn't bear it.

She stepped in, wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him.

She felt him instantly straighten—the deep breath he drew washed over her hearing. Her arm tightened—her other hand came up and brushed against his collar. She pressed her lips deeply against his soft, warm mouth. It was soft, after all…

Terror suddenly pounded through her, and disbelief—

But she didn't let go. She didn't leap back and race out of the room, as she once would have.

She lingered, memorizing the feel and smell of this, of him.

And trying desperately not to cry.

Finally, though her whole body ached, she pulled back, just slightly…

For just a split second, she felt him tip toward her—

Their lips parted.

She opened her eyes.

And he opened his.

He had closed them.

They stared at each other, an inch apart, their unsteady breathing mingling.

He said nothing. His glance flittered over her features—and his eyebrows drew together.

"Sorry," Molly gulped, her panic finally overwhelming her, and she swiftly let go of him. He blinked, as if thrown, and frowned. She turned, lowered her head, and hurried toward the door, feeling tears burn her eyes. She grabbed the handle, twisted and pulled…

Paused, holding the door half open. She fixed her attention on the tile.

"I know…I know this'll work," she said firmly. "I just…Well, in case…Either way…" she shook her head, and clenched her right hand. "I want you to know that I love you."

Silence answered her. But only for a moment. Because she squeezed her eyes shut, yanked the door open all the way and plunged into the dark hall, swiping at her tearstained face.

To be continued…