I can't wait anymore. I'm publishing the end. So everybody, you have the final chapter. The chapter is dedicated to darthsydious, who has been fantastic and awesome, and you should all check the story which inspired me - "I've Got Soul but I'm not a Soldier." Amazing work, especially if you like strong!Molly.

Additionally, I'd like to mention my favourites, the ones who have been reading nearly all of my Sherlolly - the usual suspects - TheHolmesSister MegHolmes, applejacks0808, EvelynHunters, and of course, how can I forget? InMollysWildestDreams. I haven't ever spoken to most of you, but I love you already. Okay, without further ado:

Sherlock is a work which does not, in fact, belong to me, contrary to the rumours otherwise.

She had been glowing.

Sonja had seen Molly, she had seen the way the little woman had given her little speech, and then shot. Moran had fallen, and Sonja had seen Molly radiate with something ethereal.

Sonja had never before felt so humbled.

Molly was being dragged off into one of the ambulances, with the EMTs. The detective – Sherlock Holmes was watching her. "John, go with them. EMTs won't be enough."

John nodded. He spotted Sonja. "Molly said she helped her."

Sherlock looked over Sonja. "I don't think so. You're a murderer, an assassin, one with a very specific skillset of breaking, torturing, and collecting information. You're originally from Poland and you're not very good at hiding the scar from the machete you got during your childhood. Why would you be helping Molly?"

Why was she helping Molly Hooper? Why would she help someone when she had kept the sentimentality out of the job for so long?

Sonja grasped at straws while the detective's face pierced through her. "I helped her –" said Sonja, struggling. "I helped her because she would sing."

Something visibly cleared in his face – "Take off your shoes dear, you've come a long way?" he asked, speaking very fast.

"Yes," said Sonja emotionlessly. "All the time."

"No –" said Sherlock disbelievingly, "She only sings that once in a while. When she's really lonely." Sonja said nothing, before something resurfaced in her mind. Sherlock had turned away.

"She shot him," said Sonja. "She shot Moran. She was half blind, almost every part of her body broken, and she shot him, straight through the heart."

The detective had his back turned, so Sonja did not see the look of mixed confusion and shock.

"She's in a really bad shape," said John tiredly. "The Doctors say she's going to make it out alive, though."

"How bad?" asked Mary.

"Pretty bad. Her Cranium's been hit over and over, bruised badly. Both her ankles are sprained, her left arm is broken. A number of fingers have been broken. And there was an iron branding on her back. The shoulders were all off set. I fixed them as soon as possible. There were all these contusions. There's a rib broken, one knee fractured and the other knee has slipped out of joint. One of her eyes has been scarred in the most horrible way. Anyway, yeah. The joint sprains are endless."

"Poor Molly," muttered Mary.

"Moran's dead," said Sherlock exhausted, from behind.

"Dead?" echoed John.

"Molly shot him in front of us," said Sherlock. "He was rushing towards her, and she had been given a gun by the Polish woman who has a British accent, so she aimed and shot. Half blind shot."

"She killed him?" asked Mary.

"It was a fatal shot. Right to the heart."

"How?" asked John.

"The woman – The Polish girl. She said Molly said something very odd before shooting," said Sherlock thoughtfully.

"What did she say?" asked John.

"No one's going to save me but me," recited Sherlock.

Mary began laughing. Both the men looked at her. Mary smiled, "rest assured, boys, she'll make it out with a bang."

"I don't understand," said John. "This is Molly. She hasn't hurt anyone in her life."

"Molly's always been brave," said Sherlock softly. "She's always been strong. And she's always been capable of fending for herself, which is why all of us depend on her for normality so much. Despite the fact that she's hardly normal, and all of us don't like normality."

"She keeps you grounded," said Mary.

"Yes. And this time – she kept herself grounded. Trust Molly Hooper to go through this ridiculous kind of mind set of saving herself before anyone came, because she's Molly Hooper, and no one saves her but herself."

"She's going to be fine," said Mary. "She's probably want to going to want to learn how to shoot."

Sherlock was watching Molly sleep. Her hair went everywhere when she used to sleep, but right now, there was an artificial, doll-like beauty about the idly lying Molly Hooper. Her hands were by her sides, and her face set. Her hair didn't go everywhere, they were parted neatly and arranged, cut till her ears. He wondered how that had happened. It was eerie. Sherlock sincerely wished Molly would wake up, that she could wake up, because Molly lying like this made him think about how Molly would lie like this when dead. No more red flush in her cheeks, no more parted lips, murmuring as she slept, no more quiet mutters.

He was watching her most of the time, entering his mind palace, wondering exactly what had happened.

And Molly was lying there, almost dead.

Sherlock's head filled with relief when he saw her, when he remembered how close he had been to losing her.

Mary entered the secluded room. "Hello," she said quietly.

Sherlock nodded.

"How is she?"

"Stable," drew Sherlock.

"Hmm."

"I haven't slept in a while," said Sherlock.

"Go sleep on the sofa over there. I'll wake you when she wakes."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you," he said.

When Sherlock shut his eyes, he saw Molly Hooper, standing erect, in the middle of the field, gun in hand. He saw her murmur the unintelligible words that Sonja had later explained, and shoot, aiming truly. He saw her shoot someone when she shouldn't, by definition, have the energy to do so.

The blonde woman entered the room. "Hello," said Mary brightly.

Sonja nodded.

"Molly's good," said Mary. "You're the assassin?" she asked.

"Yes," said Sonja. "They fixed me up and let me see Molly."

"That's good," nodded Mary. "Between ourselves, Molly does have something compelling about her, does she not?"

Sonja nodded. "She was the oddest victim I have ever seen."

Mary didn't say anything. She stroked her belly for a bit. "Yeah?" she asked thoughtfully.

"She... I don't know how to explain it. Initially, it had been going normally. Moran thought she'd be broken in five days. Then – something happened. She began to sing," said Sonja, thinking about that third day of singing. "She would sing and she'd block it out, and that was normal. Some do that. But then something else happened."

"What?" asked Mary.

"She – she just went through something. She – she didn't block the pain out. Which was so strange, I almost told Moran to stop. I don't understand how she didn't block the pain out."

Mary shut her eyes and thought about all the torture sessions she had seen. Molly had probably broken the code for all of them. Bravo, Molly Hooper, she thought.

Sherlock was around when Molly woke up. The blonde woman had left; Mycroft was having a session with her. Mary was knitting, watching Molly sleep and Sherlock sleep.

He was woken by Mary. "Sherlock? Molly's awake."

Sherlock got up finally. Molly smiled at him weakly. "Hello Sherlock."

"I'm going to get John," said Mary, swiftly moving out of the room.

"Molly," said Sherlock quietly.

"Sleeping feels strange," said Molly conversationally. "I didn't dream at all, which was stranger."

"You hadn't slept in three weeks," said Sherlock evenly.

"Well," said Molly with a smile. "It wasn't that bad."

"Molly," said Sherlock. He seemed to be struggling with something to say. "What did you mean? When you said I told you that you were going to be fine?"

Molly smiled again, shifted a little. "Ouch," she muttered. "Well, while that man did whatever he was doing..." she began. "I had this version of you in my head. Much like you, it kept asking me cryptic questions which saved my life. It kept me sane."

Sherlock didn't say anything. "Why did Moran untie you?" he finally asked.

A shadow passed on Molly's face. For a second, Sherlock assumed the worst. "He had me on a chair for the night," said Molly. "Tied down, unable to move even my head. And there was a drop of water that fell on my head every few seconds."

"Water rots bodies," murmured Sherlock.

"Yes," said Molly. "It was painful. Worst night since he cut off my hair."

"He cut your hair?" asked Sherlock.

"Psychological torture," said Molly. "He'd snip off my hair, bit by bit, crooning things in my ear. It was the equivalent of rape, but worse."

Sherlock felt disgusted. Revolted. He wanted to comfort Molly, to put his arms around her. Make sure she was fine. He wanted to tell Molly that he'd missed her, that he had wisher her home everyday of her absence, that he hadn't eaten for so long, without her looking over. But he swallowed the lump in his throat and told Molly quietly, "It's good to have you back, Molly."

All sorts of people came to visit Molly.

Mycroft came, to her delight, and looked a bit affronted when she insisted on a peck on the cheek. She just liked making him uncomfortable. Mary and John were quite constantly there. Sherlock came again and again, violin in tow, playing melodies for her. Mrs. Hudson also briefly came. Greg Lestrade came, and he smiled at her weakly, telling her not to go again, because Sherlock was unbearable. Meena and Sally Donovan came, almost crying with happiness. Sherlock informed Molly that Tom had tried to come, but had been successfully detained. Molly frowned at him, but didn't say anything.

And then Sonja finally came to visit.

"Hi," said Sonja wanly. "They weren't letting me go until Mr. Uptight figured everything about me."

"Mycroft's like that," said Molly worriedly. "But they didn't give you a hard time, did they?"

Sonja grinned sardonically. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

They were silent for a while.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Molly.

"Well, Mycroft's giving me amnesty, apparently," said Sonja. "If I agree to work for the MI6 based in London."

Molly smiled brightly. "You'll take it, won't you?" she asked eagerly.

"I don't know," sighed Sonja. "I want to, but it seems too easy."

Molly gripped her hand at that point. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. You'll be fine," she said faithfully.

Sonja didn't say anything, but she too came often, giving Molly company.

Molly was finally being let out of the hospital.

Mycroft's team of doctors had done what they could, and Molly had been insisting on being allowed to leave as soon as possible. John and Mary had offered their spare room, but with Mary so close, Molly would rather not take over the baby's nursery. Rook was being given an apartment by Mycroft, and she was working with the MI6 now.

Molly was coming back to Baker Street.

Sherlock had brought her home. She had been delicate, her leg was still in a plaster. She smiled up at him, "Well, I always loved a challenge."

Dear Lord, Sherlock had another thrill seeker living with him.

Everyone had come to Baker Street to greet Molly. Sherlock understood why everybody was doing this – they expected Molly to need company and love for now, and Molly accepted graciously.

Molly and Mary, they were becoming better and better friends by the minute.

It was late when everybody finally left. John gave Molly a final kiss and said, "Call us if he causes trouble."

Molly laughed. "I think I'll be the one causing trouble. Might scream in sleep and all, after all," she said glibly.

The apartment became cold as soon as John had gone.

"Well," said Molly. "That was nice."

"Dull," said Sherlock dismissively.

Molly grinned. "Just a little. But I've had plenty of excitement."

"Molly –" Sherlock began. She looked at him, and her face shined. "Call me – if you need – if you need anything."

"I will Sherlock," said Molly.

She started screaming, true to her word. Sherlock ran to her room, abandoning the pretence that he had slept.

Her face was contorted and she was gasping for breath. Tears littered her face, and her whole body seemed paralysed.

Sherlock had never before felt the urge to rip someone like Moran apart, limb to limb.

"Easy Molly," he whispered. He hadn't even changed out of his suit yet. He rushed up to her figure, controlled her thrashing limbs. Molly's hands began to reach out for him – Sherlock hesitated. He didn't do this. This wasn't who he was.

"Don't hurt me," Molly groaned in her sleep. "Sherlock – tell him not to – please," she was moaning.

He immediately controlled her gathered her close in her bed. She was pressed close to him, still murmuring, when she woke up.

"Oh God Sherlock, I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shirt. "He was – he was horrible. And it was so much pain, all the time. Sherlock, I thought of you all the time and you were your usual annoying self in my head, and I couldn't do it – I almost didn't make it. I almost forgot everything about who I was, I forgot everything, everything except the pain." She was speaking a mile a minute.

"Then how did you survive?" Sherlock murmured into her hair.

"I –" Molly was at a loss of words. "I remembered my super power – to – to feel."

Sherlock kept her close to him, the tiny, small, brave little Molly. He forgot how much even she needed someone at times, how she was also in want of a soldier. Molly may be strong, and endless, and powerful, but she was also human. Sherlock wanted to remind her of that. He wanted to tell her, desperately, that she wasn't alone, despite her extraordinary capabilities. That she was Molly.

He opened his mouth, finally. "Take off your shoes now, you've come a long way, you've walked all these miles and now you're in the right place."

Molly briefly escaped his grip to look at him.

"This is your party – and everyone came. Everyone's smiling, and singing your name. And the nightmares and monsters, seem lightyears away. No they won't find you here."

Molly sang that song, all the time. She sang it because while she was being brave for everyone else – there was no one to be brave for her. She sang it so that she could perform the duties of being brave by herself. Sherlock – he had to remind her. She wasn't alone.

"I'll hold your head my dear; make sure no one's going to wake you. Tomorrow, you'll still be here, no matter where your dreams will take you."

"Oh Sherlock," she murmured.

"And you realise, all the falls and flights. All the sleepless nights – all the smiles and sights – they brought you here. They only brought you home."

Molly was smiling into his shirt. He could feel it.

"Put down the suitcase, this weapon of yours. The struggle is over; you don't need it no more. You can't remember lonely. You forgot about bored. Nothing's the same since you walked through this door. And this roof is a blanket – that's keeping you warm. Inside the silence, after the storm."

"I missed you," she told him.

"I know," he said.

"It was awful."

"I can imagine."

"You're not going to leave?" asked Molly.

"Not unless you wish it," said Sherlock. "You've always been brave, Molly Hooper. It is now officially your decision, should you wish to have someone guard you for a night."

"Don't go," said Molly childishly. She fell into the bed. "Please don't go."

Sherlock brought her close and held her tight.

"Not unless you wish it," whispered Sherlock.

"Take off your shoes now," hummed Sherlock. "You've come a long way. Walked all these miles and now – you're in the right place."

Okay everybody, that's done. I'm currently thinking about writing a prequel to this, and/or a story about Molly and Sherlock as children with kid!Lock. Anyway, stay tuned, because once I've tapped into the Sherlolly creativity sphere, there's no going back. If you guys wish for one shots and all, you need only PM me with a prompt.