Her head heavy and her body exhausted, Molly made her way from the morgue to the lobby so she could leave. It was a minute after midnight; Thursday had become Friday. In the elevator, she put on her light rain jacket before slinging her large work bag over her shoulders. In the reflective doors, Molly could see that she looked as exhausted as she felt: hair falling out of her messy ponytail, her posture slumped, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes…Nope, definitely not a portrait of true beauty.

She hated these late shifts, especially when it meant she had to be on her feet for eighteen hours. Thankfully, nothing too tragic or out-of-the-ordinary had come through the morgue today, for she had enough to worry about. After all, the man she was head-over-heels and unrequitedly in love with was lying in a hospital bed eight stories above her recovering from a bullet to the chest.

When he had first been brought in, she'd visited him and sat with him. But she had not seen him since he'd woken up for several reasons. One, she was still angry with him for using again. This case, whatever it was, had now put a bullet in his chest as well as giving him license to shoot up, and the last thing Molly wanted to do was forgive him too easily. Two, the front page news of every newspaper she had caught sight of today definitely soured her towards the detective. Whatever was going on with Mary's maid of honor, Molly knew that whatever it was would only make her get a sour and sick feeling in her mouth and throat. She already hated the sting of jealousy and bitterness she felt, for though she was no longer engaged (no thanks to her), she still had no claim to Sherlock. And I never will…The heart is supposed to be wise, so why can't mine accept that?

Thankfully, her depressing thoughts were broken by the gentle ding of the elevator and the doors opening to the lobby. Sighing in relief, Molly stepped out of the small cube, looking forward to a long, hot bath and a good night of sleep before her long weekend off and out of London began.

After everything she had been through in the past month, Molly only had one thought about that: It can't come fast enough.

However, all thoughts of going home flew out of her mind when she saw John Watson make his way across the lobby. She waved but he didn't see her. By the look of him, the kind of state he seemed to be in, he probably couldn't see anybody. When he went through the door that led to the barely used stairwell, alarm bells rang urgently in Molly's mind for a very good reason: the stairs, unlike the elevators, led all the way up to the roof.

Without a second thought, Molly followed after him, up the narrow and isolated stairwell as silently as she could, keeping a good distance behind him. She didn't want to startle him in his state. When she finally reached the top, Molly opened the door onto the roof. The night wasn't too cool, it being the end of August, but it was drizzling a bit. Pulling her hood up, Molly looked around frantically for the good doctor. She was about to call out for him when she spotted John through the dark and the drizzle.

He wasn't standing on the spot Sherlock had stood when he jumped, but he was standing before it, as if contemplating whether or not to step onto it.

Her heart pounding in fear and worry, Molly quickly and quietly came closer to him, calling softly, "John?"

The doctor didn't jump or startle in response at all. Instead, as if he had heard Molly's voice from a distance underwater, John slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. "Oh…Molly…hello…" was all he said, so quietly Molly almost didn't hear him, before turning his head to look back over the London horizon.

"Hi, John," said Molly, as calmly and normally as she could. "What are you doing up here?"

"You mean, are you going to jump or not?" retorted John bitterly. "Am I going to follow in the git's footsteps and see just how far it would be to make such a fall? Am I finally curious to see just how he pulled off playing Peter Pan?"

"No," Molly responded in the same tone, stepping closer to him. "I know that you would never do that, never even consider doing such a thing."

John must not have expected that answer, for he turned fully around to face the pathologist. "Why?" he asked, as if he genuinely wanted to know.

Molly gave a small smile and stepped closer to him. "Because you, John Watson, are not a coward. You are absolutely brave in the face of the worst situations. And you would never selfishly abandon Mary and Sherlock like that."

A spasm of true pain and heartbreak crossed the good doctor's face at the mention of the two people he loved most in the world. "So…if you really believe that, why did you follow me?"

"Because I know that any reason you have to be up here can't be good." Molly carefully lifted a hand and placed it on John's shoulder, keeping eye contact with him so he would know she was being honest. "John, I know that I'm not as close to you as Mary and Sherlock –" Another spasm of great pain crossed the doctor's face, and Molly squeezed his shoulder. "But I do care about you greatly, and I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

Even through the dark and the drizzle, both could see and hear each other clearly, so John could see that she was being truly honest with him. He felt somehow safe in her presence, which shouldn't have surprised him. After all, Sherlock trusted her completely; she had been his helper and secret-keeper for two years, helping him stay dead to the world but truly alive for two years. Though he knew barely anything about her, John knew that before him stood a person who would gladly help him.

He took a deep and shuddering breath, looking down at his feet as tears burned his eyes for what felt like the millionth time this night. "I…it's…" Was he really going to tell her everything here and now? Was he really going to tell her everything period? He could feel in his bones that he could trust her…but he also felt in his bones that he wasn't ready to speak the horrible truths he had uncovered tonight. He couldn't face the full reality yet, not here and now when it was so raw. "Molly, all I can say is that…everything in my life has been turned upside down or…torn apart. People I loved the most, they…I can't even look at them right now, I…If I stay here much longer, I feel like I might lose everything else I have…"

Molly didn't know what to think, but she did know that hearing him say this in such a broken tone made her heart twist painfully in her chest. This had to be more than Sherlock almost dying from being shot. That had been several days ago, and her last update from Mary a few hours ago had told her that Sherlock was recovering well. And if Sherlock had taken a turn for the worse, John and Mary would have no qualms about informing her immediately. Something else was going on here, something that involved not only Sherlock but Mary…

But the pathologist ceased her wondering as she took in the sight of John Watson. He looked more broken than he had at Sherlock's funeral, and that was the very definition of a red flag. Now was not the time for Molly to speculate or make theories; if or when he wanted to confide in her, she would listen wholeheartedly. Now, what she had to do was offer him anything he needed that she could give.

If I stay here much longer, I feel like I might lose everything else I have.

His words gave her an idea, and she made her offer before she could second-guess or change her mind.

"John, I plan to leave for Ireland on a morning flight. My family has a cottage near the Ring of Kerry; I inherited it after my dad died. I'm going to spend my long weekend there, and come back Sunday night. Would you like to come with me?"

John raised his eyes and looked at her in surprise. Obviously, he hadn't been expecting this: an opportunity to get away for a while offered right away. Molly expected to hear a polite decline, an apology for frightening her in any way and for being silly. What she got was something quite the opposite.

The surprise on the doctor's face melted into quiet, grateful, grimly determined acceptance.

"Yeah…I really would."