It took ten minutes before he could stand up. Molly never stopped holding the umbrella even as the rain fell to a slight patter. She didn't try to talk him out of his feelings or move them inside. She stayed.

And yet he still felt alone.

Sweet Molly was there. A good woman. Kind-hearted and lovely but she was no John. No Lestrade. She could not replace any of the people who he'd lost.

As the rain stopped he felt his pulse slow and the reality come into focus.

"Molly?"

Her hair was plastered against the side of her face and shirt was clutched against her skin. Still, she smiled. "Yes?"

He started to stand up. His wrist ached and his fingers were raw. Standing up felt impossible. His body was sore and tense and each muscle resisted the reality of moving forward. Molly grabbed his uninjured arm and helped him stand.

"Ready?" she said.

He nodded.

Inside it was quiet, silent almost. Where was the rush to save John? He looked around for the doctors, the nurses, anyone who could help. Molly stepped in front and began to walk forward. He stood in the middle of the hallway and clutched his wrist.

Where was everyone?

Molly gestured for him to move forward.

Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. Where were they? He needed to see them. He needed to see what he'd done. He needed to see the mess that he had made. That was all he wanted. He wanted to apologize for being late.

For being wrong.

For letting them down.

"Come," she said.

He stood still and tried to will himself to continue to walk.

"I can't," he said.

Molly bowed her head. "Please," she said. "Just follow me."

She pushed through a set of double doors and walked straight to the stairwell.

"Where are you taking me?"

She didn't say a word. Molly began up the stairs. He'd been the hospital dozens of times. There was research on the second floor. Patients were on the first—there was no reason to climb the steps.

Immediately he grew suspicious.

Was it over?

He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at Molly. She walked emotionless towards the second floor. It would be nearly empty up there. No one would know where he was if he followed her.

How could he trust her?

"Come on," she said.

He turned back towards the stairwell door. "I need to go."

Her brows furrowed. "Your hand. This will take just a moment."

"I need to see John," he said.

She shook her head. "Not yet. You first."

It wasn't over. Moriarty had planned it all. Sherlock would have to die one way or another. How clever to have it be the woman he'd trusted all these years. Of course. How could he have been so stupid?

He spun on his heels and went for the door.

"Sherlock!" she shouted. "Wait!"

They were not going to win. It wasn't going to end this way.

Her voice was muffled behind the door but Molly still shouted.

He ran out into the lobby.

He didn't know what to do. As hard as he thought, there was no answer. The question kept changing and the solution didn't exist. If Molly was part of this, then there was nowhere to hide. Everyone would be lost. He was alone and there was nowhere left to go.

Molly burst through the doors. "What are you doing?"

He genuinely didn't know.

She moved in closer. "John's not down here," she whispered.

He had to be. She was lying but why. Why lie now? Why not just kill him here. There was no one around. There was nothing left to lose.

Sherlock had no exit strategy. John was lost and there was no point in running any longer. He stepped back until he hit the wall and slid down until he reached the floor. The gravity of the last hour still hadn't set in but moments and flashes crept in and jolted his heart. He couldn't hold it back any longer.

As the tears fell down his cheeks, Molly came and sat beside him. She rubbed his shoulder.

"Come with me," she said.

He shook his head.

"It'll make you feel better."

"Nothing will," he said. "I've lost them all."

She didn't have a reply to that.

"It's my fault."

"Sherlock…"

It was hitting him all at once. All the suffering. The loneliness. The pain he'd caused. All those people lost because of him.

"I should have stopped him."

Molly took her hand off his shoulder and stood up with her arms crossed. Her tone of voice turned pointed. "Come with me."

"Why?"

"I have something to show you. Please, just come with me."

What was left to lose? He wanted to trust her. Molly had a good heart, a kind heart. He forced himself to his feet and followed behind her in shuffling steps.

They climbed the stairs in silence. She constantly peered behind her to make sure he hadn't run off. This time he stayed put—there was no longer any point in running. They reached the second floor and Molly peered out the door before stepping through.

"Let's go," she said as she ushered him up the stairs. "Hurry."

The door led into the lobby that was the hub for the research labs. He'd walked the steps so many times that the journey to her lab was instinctual. She shuffled towards the door all while cautiously looking around her as they moved forward.

He wrist throbbed as they entered her lab. The pain had begun to push through the emotional webs and was dominating his neural activity. He bit his tongue to power through the discomfort.

"Molly, what are we doing?"

He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was check on John. He needed to know what had happened. It was the not knowing that was killing him.

She pointed towards a smaller lab off to the side.

"Molly, please. I can't…"

He felt dizzy. Sherlock grabbed one of the counters for support.

Just then a door opened.

He had to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"John?"

There was smeared blood on his shirt and jacket and a scratch on his head but John walked through the doors of the small lab with a smile on his face. Molly looked on in glee.

"But how?" he said. His head still pounded.

"Molly. All Molly," he said.

She shrugged. "Jim talked a lot about you," she said. "He told me everything. He wanted me to help him but I said no."

John continued. "When all this began to happen with him, Molly remembered his plan for the gunmen and the blackmail. Mycroft hired bodyguards for all of us. He never told you because you'd never agree."

"Lestrade? Mrs. Hudson?"

"They're fine," John said. "They were never in any danger."

"But I saw you…" Sherlock said .

John pulled out a small bag of theatrical fake blood. "Bought this the other day. Thought it might be needed just in case. When Mycroft told me that Moriarty's plan had begun, I was ready. Molly had a few of the doctors ready to do a little acting. All an illusion to through them off."

Sherlock had to laugh. "Never do that again," he said.

John smiled. "I'll try. Can't promise."

"Can't believe I didn't notice the fake blood…" he said.

John raised an eyebrow. "Thought you might catch that."

Molly walked closer and pointed to his swollen wrist. "Let's get that taken care of. John?"

He grimaced at the injury. "How did you do that?"

Sentiment, he thought. It'll get you every time.