little hades; i'm giving you a nightcall

[alwaysmattered]

[cw: character death]

Eurus Holmes was the first person to realise that Molly Hooper mattered. She was not the last.

Months had passed since Eurus had held her brothers and John Watson prisoner while she played out her games. Months since she made Sherlock call Molly and ask her to tell him she loved him; watched as she made her big brother break the poor sap of a girl’s heart. Of course Hooper had mattered, and she’d watched all those silly little emotions play out: so complicated, so annoying. And in the aftermath of it all, it had been Sherlock who had picked up the pieces to salvage not only broken sibling but his friendship with the woman who had always mattered. The woman he loved because she was his friend. He had owed Molly his explanation and his apology; giving her enough detail to placate her but keeping the rest of his sister’s games out of it. She didn’t need to know everything but she would know enough and she would know how sorry he was. She deserved that. He owed her that.

Eurus’s game would not be the last. Sherlock Holmes could not keep all his friends safe. But in the months that followed, things seemed to settle once more. However, the fact remained: someone else knew that Molly Hooper mattered.

Someone that needed to send Sherlock Holmes a message.

It’s morning when Molly finishes her shift, the streets are filled with rush-hour crowds on their way to work as she makes her way home from St. Bart’s. She considers stopping for breakfast, or supper, rather; she reminds herself she needs milk and cat food for Toby, that she’s looking after Rosie later too. Her mind’s hazy with tiredness; the brightness of the sky and hustle and bustle of London’s streets disorientating her further. All in all, she just wants to curl up and sleep for a few hours. That would be lovely, actually.

She doesn’t notice the red light hover over her chest as she pauses to cross the street. A small crowd of impatient commuters form around her, waiting for the traffic lights to change. A few tut, Molly can hear the dull, tinny sound of music from a young man’s headphones.

The force of the bullet makes her flinch. She staggers back a step. One. Two. Thr-- She slumps and falls backwards, eyes wide and unblinking, the small crowd of fellow commuters parting around her. She hits the cold half-wet ground; her head bouncing with a dull smack, arms splayed and lips parted, as if ready to utter a soft ‘oh’ of shock. As the crowd looks and realises the gaping hole in her chest, most begin to flee in panic. Molly stands over herself, her face white and stony.

‘Oh.’

In the chaos that ensues, Molly just stands there and stares. She stares as her pupils dilate, losing focus and staring, no, not staring – they’re not even looking anymore. She stares as her muscles twitch involuntarily, the last of her synapses firing in her brain in those few remaining seconds – those few precious seconds that exist to show that Molly Hooper once lived and breathed and thought and loved. She stares as those muscles relax and all the grim realities she knows death brings rear their ugly head and she knows that when people start to crowd her once more, checking her pulse and shouting, it’s no use. She would never live; she would never survive the bullet in her heart. She’s already gone. She's here, standing, watching it all unfurl around her.

She straightens her shoulders, her eyes damp and hard as she watches the scene. That’s it, then. That’s all she got. She can’t change this. But she’s sad, though. She’ll be sad.

But that’s all there is.

A voice calls her name and she finally turns away, taking her eyes off her body, off the people around her. One of the faceless crowd around her slips something into her coat pocket and leaves. Molly purses her lips for a moment, searching for the voice’s owner.

She has to go. She knows it, deep down, she has to go.

So Molly goes.

Eurus Holmes was the first person to realise that Molly Hooper mattered. Certainly, however, someone else was the last.