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"You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus."
But he wasn't. The opposite in fact.It's just asking Molly to marry him. Wearing the suit and shirt she told him she loved, a lip biting grin produced when he showed up to her door. A new restaurant she's talked about going to for a month. Giggling under their breath at deductions of others around them and failing to keep a straight face every time the waiter returned to refill their wine. But as they lingered savoring dessert, he felt wrong and cliche to ask now and panicked. His heart threatening to burst out of his rib cage."Sherlock…" her hand slipped into his under the table, squeezing it in concern."Sorry," he squinted, and laughed into a cough. "What were you saying?" And he gulped away the words to the pit of his stomach. Laying in bed, embraced and intimate, warm and refusing to let go, the words flowed through his mind."Molly…"But all diffidence cut his vocal cords. And that panic rang in his ears again. "You're most certainly going to die." He threw his words into a corner, taking her lips to stop his own, caressing away any darkness. In the morning, all sweetness over sugared coffee, kisses and hinting embraces thanking him for an amazing night. It should have been more. Her finger weighted down with a new burden his goal but he missed it twice now."Sherlock, are you OK?"Her voice clear, direct as it is in his mind. Deep pools of brown wide searched his face and he wished with everything for a moment she could read his mind."No, I'm not sure I am," he mumbled.She frowned, feeling at his forehead, the back of her hand soft and cool against his temple. Those same lines of worry across her brow he saw in his mind as she said those words. "You're most certainly going to die."She sighed, "You are a bit warm. Maybe you should take it easy today.""I feel…"
She waited but he shrugged. She checked her phone on the counter, keeping a caressing hand on his bare chest. How is she missing my heart leaping?"Ugh OK I have to get ready. Not gonna be late like you made me Monday." She leaned up, planting a quick kiss on his chin. But that pull between them as his hand slipped to her hip. One more deep kiss, aching and she dropped to her feet flat slow as a honey drip, slipping down his body with every centimetre of her pressed tight. "You're gonna be the end of me, Sherlock Holmes," she growled planting a biting kiss on his chest and pushing him away. He watched her pad down the hall and into the lavatory."Likewise," he whispered into the empty room.
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Darkness surrounded his head in the chilled room, only the dim light from the hallway bleeding down from the window. But the beam brightened as some approached. And he waited, letting out one more heavy breath. A yelp as the lights flipped on. Molly's hand over a rapid heart pressing in her ribs. He could sense. His own matched. With a quick cough, she half smiled, "God Sherlock you scared me. You'll forgive me but I got to get to work on that body just there." She gestured and stepped toward it. He kept his eyes steady, hand fidgeting with a box in his coat pocket, stroking the velvet top as a reflex to keep his bearings. She slowed her pace and paused, turning slowly. Her eyes asked questions. So he began to answer them. "I am most certainly going to die," he drawled out, cautioned in tone. She rushed to him and burst into tears. Her fist struck his chest in anger and he gasped at the shock “No! No you are not you are not! I won’t allow it!” Anger flashed in her wide eyes. "Molly, even you can’t stop time itself," he snickered but choked on his on tongue into the end. Her tears splashed on the floor as she grabbed his arms. Her grip increased, pressing her thumb into his forearms as if to steady herself. "I can try! I will try I can't... what we have," she swallowed hard, her stare pleading. "Why are you always the one who willingly walks into death... Why?" “Every choice is a willing step toward a death.” She shook her head fast. " No. I refuse." Her fingers dug in his arms but he brought his hands up against her resistance to her face. He cupped her jaw tight. "Perhaps let me finish my request and you're free to refuse if you want." She begged, eyes shutting. "I don't want to hear it let us help you let me--" "I have plenty of help," he sniffed. "Who else? Tell me." She dropped his arms and folded her own across her chest. Her voice low and demanding. He sighed. This is out of hand as I expected. "I promise you. If you listen you will understand what I am asking." She sneered, pulling away from his touch. "Fine! Fucking fine...I... what do you—" "I'm going to die. And so are you." He rushed the words and searched her face for understanding. But found only distress. "What no I... Oh God what is happening?" She reached out and ran her hands shaking over his face and down his neck frantic. "It’s... it's not a plan or case we aren’t in danger," he reassured. "Yes, my words…" "So why are you saying that we're gonna die?" Confusion found its way back to her face, and she dropped her hands again to her side. "Everyone who enters here dies or is dead. In the whole scheme of time, we're already dead," he half smiled. "Yes but Oh God what are you getting at?" she sighed. "One day they'll wheel me in here. You too." Perhaps it's a bit morbid, he mused. She laughed, wiping her eyes, and it was his turn for confusion. "God this is a weird conver—... whatever." she shook off the look on her face and it settled to something bemused. "Maybe, who knows? I thought I'd live in the country some day and die happy in a cottage on the coast? But maybe you are right." "My meaning was more symbolic but…" She narrowed her eyes, searching his every feature with fervor, "If you're high then tell me so you can get the care you need and... we'll discuss it later." Gentle, pleading and laced with a sad and resolute anger. He begged, eyes shut. "On my honour I'm not high." "So you want to have a philosophical discussion? Dammit, Sherlock don't scare me like that." her fingers rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry." "Well... fine. I'm gonna get back to work, if that's okay?" she pivoted toward the gurney. He nodded with a gulp. It might make it easier, he thought. The sounds of metal on a table, the snap of gloves, soothing in their habitual simplicity. A familiar tune and dance. The calm washed over him and words flowed again. He swallowed, speaking low and with care to gauge her reactions."I finally accepted that I will die and that so will you and everyone we love." "Very existential of you." Her eyes looked up from at his giggle and he swallowed it, shoving his hand back in his coat pocket. "But more important, I want it all knowing the ending." He gazed at her, her eyes steady on the body before her. But the words rolled in her head he deduced and paused in anticipation. Her lip curved up, "Pardon but I just…" His voice trembled, but he strained past it, "Molly, I choose to live for you and with you forever if you’ll have me." His hand tightened around the box as he stepped closer. "Sherlock, you know my home is yours." The deflection he expected. A skill of hers he experienced often. "No, please there is more," he pleaded as he slipped the box out of his pocket, blue velvet and sized so there could only be one possible deduction of its contents. Bright brown eyes wide as she stared at the box and her jaw fell. The flabbergasted look pleased him but her jaw clamped shut and her eyes followed. "Why avoid it because of death? Let’s embrace it. Cling to everything we have, " he offered, holding up the box. His smile slight. "Sherlock... you're asking something you'll regret." She glanced up at him but her attention fell back to her work. The words hit him like a bullet to his chest and his arm dropped. He stammered. "Molly, what do you—" "You're married to your work. Your work is... you. I get some small part that isn't and it enough... really. More than I ever expected." Her voice stronger than he hoped when he contemplated the words which appeared practiced for the moment and he felt his footing shift. As if the world's tilt changed. But he recovered and decided to take her bait. Her every muscle tense as she looked back to the body and sliced. The blade and her breath sharp. He walked to a chair, dragging is across the floor to face her as he sat. "My work then. Let's discuss its purposes." "Sherlock, I... I really need to finish this tissue collection." There's the tremor, he caught it when she said his name. "I'll talk while you work." Cheery, and false was his tone, and he knew she'd read through it. Buzz on his mobile, their eyes glance to his pocket but he turned his gaze back to her, hands folded, waiting. She sighed, placing the tissue in a jar. "Your work... even mine keep us moving forward, I can't end that." Similar arguments already answered in his own mind. He could allow her the same courtesy to a point. "It is true. My mind cannot be bored... or at least used to not be. Trauma is funny like that. Likes to creep up into an empty mind. But I kept mine full up, brimming with study and puzzles. But it all found me, anyway." "Reason enough to pause these thoughts." "Or pursue them." She laughed avoiding his stare though he cocked his head to find hers. Placing the sample in a container, she set it aside. She folded the skin back. The plastic and zipper breaking the tension and they both empty their lungs masked by the crackling sound bouncing in the room. She moved the table to the wall of freezers, opening and sliding it in with ease and setting the gurney back. He watched every step of her performance, familiar as setting the kettle and avoiding all the same little edges of grief that cut across all their moments. The scent of sanitized death overwhelmed him suddenly. But it spurred on his thoughts. "I attempted something more traditional, at least in my mind." She paused her hand from stripping off gloves and he studied her reactions. "Did you?" Two soft snaps and the water started to a trickle as she soaped up. He snickered at himself, rubbing his face. "I hesitated at the restaurant... and in bed." "And I know... knew." Her voice tight and she hunched her shoulders drying her hands, rubbing her hands so hard he could hear the paper scrap across her skin. He stared, fighting compulsion to stop her excessive scrubbing. "What did you feel when he asked you, years ago now I understand if it has faded," he asked with an unsure hurried voice. Her brow furrowed as she turned to him, "Why are you asking this? "Because I need the answers. I need evidence of what differs." He lifted his eyes to meet hers open, seeking, but they tightened shut. "Content... safe." She mumbled it out. Earnestly answered, he thought."But now?' he pressed."I don't know." She shook her head. "Yes you do and the reason you say you don't know is?" He waited. "I…" "Because you're afraid." She giggled, nerves in every note, "Not sure I ... that's—" "Yes it is. I get a lot of things wrong about you. Always have, you always discern me better. But fear is an old friend... I know what it looks like in every form." She shrugged one shoulder before crossed her arms at her chest. "So what if I'm afraid? It's completely—" "Normal? Yes." "Stop interrupting me!" Tiny fists fell to her side. They both paused, but he softened his jaw and sighed. "I'm sorry." She smoothed her hands down her lab coat. "If you chose this... if we chose this there is no easy out. It's everything." "And that scares you." "Yes, Sherlock." "But it didn't before." She dropped her chin into her neck then jutted it out. "Why do you... are you jealous? "Could be... sure, we'll call it that," he shrugged. She gritted her teeth. "Why do you have to find every crack every damaged bit to stick your fingers in--" "Because you do the same to me. It's what we do to each other." "Then perhaps that's your answer," she put her hands up looking at the floor. " It's not healthy for either of us." "My therapist would argue otherwise," he snickered. "Why do you forget the good and light moments now—" "Why do you?" her voice cracked. His turn to laugh out, " I don't know. I really don't and somehow... maybe we can fix that?" "It's more than great sex and nice dinners." She scraped her bottom teeth across her top lip at the musing. "Great sex helps a little right?" He smirked. "I'm sorry but all those things show me that we can be this. I hope? That we can be?... Why do I bother?" He threw his hands up wrapping his fingers across the back of his neck as he dropped his chin. He spoke to the ground. "This is the worst proposal ever." "It really is," she sighed and snickered, and he sensed her moving across the room toward him. "We'll have to come up with a different story for our kids." His head shot up seeking her eyes for confirmation. Her smile cracked through even as it threatened to fall again. She huffed out a breath, and he spied the edges of her eyes wet again. "I promise I'll never regret this even if I'm familiar regret regarding you. This is my correction of its previous hold," his voice deep and ardent and he watched her concern melt before him to his relief. "I know... why I know just has to be mystery I suppose." she smiled and the tightness in her jaw softened. "Then let it... lets both let it go and let it be. We only have so much time. He risked standing and taking her hand in his. She stepped closer to him and whispered. "You gonna ask me proper? Take a deep breath, there were words in your head. Say them anyway."He filled his lungs, letting the air out slow in counts as he stared into her eyes, finally open and willing to look into his. "You're most certainly going to die, so am I so we need to focus. Focus on the details that matter most. We don't have to do this alone. You've saved me, more than once. Let me try to do the same." Her mouth opened, but he shook his head, " Shh, no more of those words. Let me soothe every fear we're both burying. Let me try. Trust me with it all. Marry me, please." He kissed her warm but still, exchanging air in parted lips. She put her hand over his, the ring under her palm. Against his lips her mouth caressed the word Yes, and he grinned against it his arm finding her back and pulling her to him for a deeper kiss. He slid down to his knee slow, and she pulled on his arm as if in protest, but his eyes, wide and wet stopped her censure. Her hand, held light and small in his own shook as he slipped the ring on her finger. Delicate gold and a small cluster of canary diamonds. She stared at it for a moment, quivering. and before he could breathe again she tackled him, falling to her knees and burying her face in his chest. "I love you... and don't ever scare me like that again," she mumbled into his chest as she nuzzled her nose into the bare skin exposed. "I love you. I'll try."