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"I love you".
His voice was quiet, hints of desperation behind the conviction in his tone. The hand holding the gun began to shake, the cool metal jittering against his palm, his other hand curling into a tight fist in an attempt to maintain his last shreds of control. His eyes retained that laser focus, though they began to shine with the words he uttered... Because he finally knew them to be true.
She stepped out of the darkness, the fresh bruises sprinkling her face, the new scar trailing in a long jagged line from eyebrow to chest and beyond. She stood in front of him, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She flinched when the loudspeaker came on and the harsh voice echoed throughout the chamber they were trapped in.
"Get on with it, Holmes. We have a timeline to stick to back here."
Sherlock's eyes hardened and he opened his mouth to reply when John shouted hysterically from behind him, "Let them have a moment, for Christ's sake!"
There was a brief period of silence, then:
"Five minutes."
Sherlock's eyes widened and went wild.
"Five minutes?" he whispered. His face crumpled and he reached out, pulling Molly firmly to him. "How can I tell you everything I need to in five minutes?"
She shushed him gently, rubbing circles into his back as he fell apart in her arms. Silent tears streamed down her face, but she smiled when he pulled away to look at her. She put a cool palm to his wet cheek.
"It's about time you said it anyways," she murmured quietly, eliciting an ironic chuckle from him.
Quickly sobering when he remembered the task at hand, the gun resting heavily at her hip. "I can't do this."
Molly grasped his face with both hands, leaning her forehead against his. "You've got to," she replied raggedly. "Mycroft will get the medicine he needs. Elizabeth will grow up with both of her parents. You have to, Sherlock."
He sniffled and held her tighter. "But what about you?" he gasped, the words coming thick and slow with restrained sobs. "God, I've wasted so much time--"
"Shhh," she whispered before she pulled his mouth to hers, tasting salt and cigarettes and regret. She kissed him gently, slowly, a slow burn that in a different time, in a different place would have sparked and ignited a wildfire.
Despite her best efforts, he moved his lips against hers with fervor, coaxing her mouth open and deepening the kiss, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She carded her fingers through his curls, pressing her body flush against his, getting as close to him as she possibly could.
"One minute."
Pulling away, she swallowed and caressed his jaw, pressing her lips together as she tried, in vain, to brush away the tears that continued to flow. His eyes flew open and met hers, her heart filling at the amount of love she found inside their watery depths.
"Molly," he breathed.
She pressed a finger to his lips, replacing it with a brush of her own. "I love you, Sherlock."
He smiled.
With lightning speed, she tore the gun from his hand and placed it to her own head, pulling the trigger.
***†***
Mycroft's eyes flew open at the sound of the gunshot. For what felt like an eternity, there was an unnatural silence, the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.
Sherlock fell to his knees and gathered Molly's body to him, a long, primal scream ripping through his body.
Next to him, Mycroft heard John retching quietly.
He was too numb to be cognizant of the tears streaming down his own cheeks.
He wasn't surprised to find his little brother dead of a heroin overdose three weeks later. Heartbroken, but not surprised.
The heart had finally been burned out of Sherlock Holmes.