summary: the one time Sherlock Holmes made a phone call in his entire life.

notes: instead of studying, i'm attempting to writing some sherlolly angst. watch as sandals fails spectacularly.

dedications: to the brave souls preparing for the Battle of the Higher School Certificate. Godspeed you valiant warriors.

disclaimer: BBC Sherlock is the property of Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. No infringement of copyright is intended.

.

.

.

one way conversations

"Hello, Molly."

Molly Hooper lay on the couch at 221B with her phone pressed to her ear, "Hi Sherlock."

"I'm sorry that I have not called sooner, this case has been more difficult than I'd originally expected." the detective's deep baritone came through the speaker.

She smiled to herself, it wasn't uncommon for her boyfriend to become completely immersed in a case, but he always found time to contact Molly to let her know how he was doing. "It's alright Sherlock, I know how important your work is to you."

There was a brief silence before he spoke again, "I wish I could see you, Molly. I wish I could hold you."

"Me too, I miss you," she murmured.

Another silence, with the only noise being the familiar sound of Sherlock's breathing. It was almost like he was right there, lying next to her like they always did on a lazy afternoon.

"Molly, I'm afraid that I'm not going to make it back in time for your birthday this weekend."

"But Sherlock you promised!" she protested indignantly "…you promised." she repeated quietly. Molly could feel the tears building up behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I know that I promised you, I'm sorry.

She sighed. "It's alright. I understand…"

"I'm sorry."

She laughed, almost bitterly, "Stop apologising you clod." She could only think how uncharacteristic it was for him as a tear slipped down her face.

"But listen, I got you a present. It's under the skull on the mantel. I want you to have it, promise me you'll get it."

"I promise Sherlock." she said, her voice clearly broken.

"Right. Okay."

The silences were unbearable. She was so used to Sherlock's fast passed and self-assured speech, the quite just felt wrong.

"I miss you Molly, more than I ever thought possible, I-" his normally confident voice broke and he cleared his throat in an attempt to recompose himself.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to go soon."

Molly sniffed and wiped her tears with the back of her dressing gown, "I understand."

"Listen to me Molly, never forget what I told you. You do count. You-" his voice caught in his throat, "You've always counted. Do not forget that. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't Sherlock," she muttered quietly into the phone, tears now falling freely "I won't."

"Molly Hooper. My Molly." He sounded sad. So, so sad.

"Sherlock..." she said in a strangled voice.

"I love you Molly Hooper."

"Oh Sherlock,"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock. God I love you too."

There was a click. Then more of the horrible, endless silence.

Molly couldn't take it anymore. A horrifying sob escaped from her lips before her distraught cries wracked her body and she shook violently. The fragile pathologist wrapped her arms around herself, but it only served as sobering reminder that it did not feel like Sherlock's arms and that he was not there.

He'd never be there again.

Two weeks ago, Molly Hooper had been planning her birthday dinner with her boyfriend and friends. One week ago, Sherlock Holmes had left for a case with the promise that he would return for her birthday. Four days ago Mycroft Holmes had come to her with lost eyes, a broken heart and tragic news.

Five days ago, Sherlock Holmes had been killed.

There was no trick this time. No Moriarty, no snipers, no clever ruse to fool the world and no Molly Hooper to save him.

Mycroft told her that Sherlock had ended up in a warehouse and that it had been rigged with enough explosives to take out the entire site and were set to detonate in one minute and that there was no time for him to escape, but Molly didn't hear the details. All she had heard was that Sherlock was dead. The man that she loved was dead.

It was three days ago when she had discovered the voice message on her phone. When she first heard it, she had dropped her phone in shock and distress. Luckily John, Mrs Hudson and Greg had all been there to hold her shaking body. They clung onto one another and cried as she listened to the message for the first time.

The funeral was two days ago.

It was only yesterday that she checked under the skull to find her present. There on the mantle, sat a small velvet box. Inside, was a ring with the words 'you've always counted' engraved on the inside and a stunning diamond nestled on the top.

An engagement ring.

Now Molly Hooper lay on the couch at 221B with her phone pressed to her ear, staring blankly at the ring on her left hand. She pressed the replay button to hear the voice of her should-have-been-fiancé one more time.

.

.

.

"Hello, Molly."