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Astride of a grave and a difficult birth.
Down in the whole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forcpes.
We have time to grow old.
The air is full of our cries.
But habit is a great deadener.
At me too someone is looking,
of me too someone is saying,
He is sleeping, he knows nothing.
Let him sleep on. By Samuel Beckett; Waiting for Godot.

  • Molly Hooper:

    You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry—

  • Sherlock:

    Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area.

  • Molly:

    When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.

  • Sherlock:

    Molly.

  • Molly:

    you look sad. When you think he can't see you.

  • Molly:

    Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means—looking sad when you think no one can see you.

  • Sherlock:

    You can see me.

  • Molly:

    I don't count. What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do—anything you need, anything at all—you can have me. No, I just mean. I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine.

  • Sherlock:

    What could I need from you?

  • Molly:

    Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually.

  • Sherlock:

    Thank you.

  • Molly:

    I'm just going to go and get some crisps. Do you want anything? It's okay. I know you don't.

  • Sherlock:

    Well actually, maybe I—

  • Molly:

    I know you don't