"Sherlock!"
Molly screamed out across the void to him, wind whipping her hair across her face, cheeks stinging and eyes watering. Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. He turned to face her, dark curls half covering his face, but not enough to hide the sorrow.
"Sherlock, please, come down," she begged, her words catching, choking her as the tears started to stream from her eyes down, wetting her chin and throat.
His face remained stoic, emotionless, except for his eyes. He teetered slightly and her pupils grew wider, delicate lips trembling as she tried and failed to make another plea. It was as if she saw it happen before it actually did; the old brick ledge crumbling under his heel as he shifted his weight, gravity suddenly kicking in to hyperdrive, dragging him down. The collar of his long coat pressed up to his cheekbones as he leaned away from her outstretched hand, his beautiful blue eyes drenched in defeat and pain. She felt the rush of wind as he fell away, an empty sky where he had just stood; felt the texture of his lapel against her fingertips where he had slipped from her grasp.
She was right next to him now, his limp figure twisted in a sickening mass on the pavement in front of her building. Her tears splashed onto his face as she openly sobbed to him, begging him to wake up. Blood seeped out from beneath him, staining the pavement nearly black.
She felt herself die along with him.
------
"Molly," she heard in a whisper, her breath coming in gasps and sobs, her face hot from crying. An arm was around her shoulders, trying to calm the violent shaking her body was involuntarily doing.
The room was inky black; encroaching and sinister. She felt panic rise in her throat till the voice came again.
"Molly, dear, wake up," it soothed, the hushed tones synchronizing with slow, gentle strokes from the fingers of the arm. She felt her breathing slow, the hitch in her throat catching less and less. Her eyes fluttered as she turned to her left, feeling the arm adjust around her, pulling her closer to its owner. He reached over to turn on the little lamp on her bedside table. It really gave very little light, but Molly had always loved it for how it made everything seem warm and beautiful with its yellow paper shade. The light was not the only thing that gave this impression, however, when she looked into the eyes of Sherlock Holmes.
Her eyes refused to stop leaking as she stared up in a hazy confusion at his concerned face, running over it again and again to confirm.
"Just a dream, just a bad dream," he murmured, putting his free hand to her hair, smoothing it away from her salty skin. His eyes stayed locked on hers, willing her to fully awaken and relax. It was strange, feeling an ache in his chest as he watched her cry. He wanted it to stop, it was most unpleasant.
She suddenly burst into a fresh flow of tears, burying her face into his T-shirt. He stiffened at the sudden outburst - it being completely the opposite of what he desired - but kept his arms wrapped firmly around her, silently hoping she would explain herself so that he would not have to continue perplexed.
His patience was rewarded as she stuttered out a reason into his chest, the fabric growing damper as she relived the night terror. His grip tightened on her instinctively, feeling her desperation run through him.
"Oh, Molly," he sighed as she finished. He hadn't really anticipated how his "death" would effect her. "I'm alright, and so are you," he continued gently, both of them staring at the soothing yellow lamp as he unwittingly cradled her. "You don't have to worry about me jumping off any more roofs any time soon." He grimaced at the remembered pain in his ribs, where she happened to be pressed against him.
"Don't mock me, Sh-sherlock," she pouted in a muffled voice. He smiled slightly and ruffled her hair as her muscles slowly began to relax. He began to count them and try to mentally estimate where she was still feeling tension. The muscles in her shoulders were still tight; should he go get her an ibuprofen lest she causes herself a tension headache? But she was holding him so tightly.... it felt wrong to leave for any reason. He smiled faintly, making up his mind that he would stay with Molly till she fell back asleep, entirely unaware of just how sentimental he was becoming.
