Disclaimer: I own nothing. Boo-hoo right? If I did, Sherlock/Molly would be canon. Like hardcore canon.

Pairing: Sherlock/Molly, (past)Molly/OC, John/Mary

Summary: Three years after the Fall and everything is back to normal. Until it isn't. Molly Hooper's past decides to rear its ugly head and she's going to need all the help she can get to stop the man who wants her dead.

A/N: Hopefully you all like it! I'm Canadian so this isn't Brit-picked and I apologize in advance if I offend anyone, I definitely don't mean to. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Just though I'd get this out before my head explodes. There will be quite a few twists and turns and it does have something to do with Moriarty but not in the way you'd expect. Thanks!

Free Falling into the Unknown

Chapter 1

When Sherlock Holmes asks Molly to help her kill him, she almost says no. Her brain tells her to say no, that this is a bad idea, because despite what Sherlock likes to think, he doesn't know everything about her and Molly is fine with that. Sometimes. Not really. (Suffice to say, she's working on it). She wants to tell him that she's sick of being used (so sick) and she wants to tell him that she can't, because if anything, she's terrified that she's going to put him in even more danger.

She takes one look at his face (his beautiful face) and at his eyes so shrouded in misery, fear and vulnerability and she says yes.

In the end, Molly Hooper will always say yes to Sherlock Holmes.

(This, of course, terrifies her).

A year and a half after The Fall

He comes to her sometimes. He doesn't often but whenever he can, he sneaks into her flat in some sort of disguise and usually always requiring medical attention. She's long since stopped questioning what happened and just started doing. Her heart still pounds as she looks at him and most of the time she still has to will her hands to stop shaking. She doesn't know if it's because of Sherlock Holmes is in her flat, bleeding and relying on her to keep him alive, or if it's because of something else.

She doesn't respond when his eyes zero in on hers and he says "a man's been here." Four little words that make Molly's heart stop. Yes. She thinks, a man has been in her flat. He usually comes. Always checks in on her, always makes sure that she's fine. It's been like this for years.

But she doesn't respond to his inquiry and she pretends to busy herself with his wounds and she definitely ignores the way he glares at her, as if she's committing some sort of act against him. Which she hasn't. She refuses to feel guilty. She doesn't feel guilty because, she reminds herself, he doesn't know everything about her. He doesn't know her secrets that she keeps hidden in the corner of her heart, the corner of her mind.

She doesn't know when it starts (she's pretty sure it's after his third visit) but he starts sleeping in her bed. With her. The first time it happened, she left him on the sofa, went into her room, changed into an oversized shirt and slipped underneath her covers. Not even five minutes later, she feels the bed dip, hears the rustle of sheets and she turns onto her side to stare at him. He doesn't look at her. Instead, he's on his back, staring the ceiling. Molly nods and then drifts off to sleep.

(Sleep comes easier to her when he's there with her. She won't let herself dwell on that).

This night is no different. He's hurt worse than any other times he's come to her. His eyes are a bit darker, a bit more frantic. His hand grips her wrist and she winces at the sudden pain. He lets go instantly, runs his hand through his hair (it's ginger now, she prefers black) and stands up. He's pacing and muttering things that don't make any sense.

"Sherlock." She says softly. He doesn't answer. "Sherlock." She says it harsher. He stops and she tugs at his hand that gripped her painfully not even minutes before. She pulls him onto the sofa and she fixes him as best as she can.

She starts counting to keep from exploding. When she's done, she throws the bloodied rags and bandages into the rubbish bin. She washes her hands thoroughly and watches as streams of blood (his blood) whirl in her sink and down the drain. She grabs a couple of pills and a glass of cold water. She puts them in front of him and after a few minutes of hesitation, he takes them. She smiles softly at him and grabs him by the hand and leads him into her room.

He sleeps in his boxers and she sleeps in the same oversized shirt.

She doesn't know what wakes her. She knows it's not a sound, her flat is quiet, eerily quiet and she looks to her side to see Sherlock still sleeping. Her head jerks towards the hall and she gets out of bed quietly. She gets down to her knees and grabs the gun strapped to the bottom of her bed. ("For safety," he said to her, "use it when I can't be there for you. Don't ever second guess yourself, got it, Mo?")

She treads quietly, mindful to sidestep the floorboards that creak. She's holding the gun just like she was taught and slides the safety off. It's a full moon and the moonlight illuminates her main room. There's a figure dressed all in black. Molly raises her gun, finger on the trigger, heart pounding, blood pumping.

"Don't shoot, Mo." He says, his voice deep and tired. "It's just me."

"Jesus, Nate." She whispers harshly. "You couldn't have messaged to let me know? I could have shot you!"

"But you didn't." He tells her. He looks at her and grins, his white teeth gleaming. "So, that's where my shirt went." He takes a step towards her and then stops, his grin sliding off his face as he looks around the room. His gaze snaps towards her and his eyes, his dark brown eyes bore into her. "Get rid of him."

"I can't."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" He hisses at her. "For fuck's sake Mo, this could kill you and could definitely kill him."

"Everything's fine." She hisses right back. She slides the safety on the gun and places it on the table. "What are you doing here?"

He laughs bitterly. "What I can't come visit you anymore? Is your Consulting Detective taking up all your time? I'm here to check up on you. Make sure you're safe. Remember? I'm keeping my promise."

She shakes her head and ignores the roll her stomach makes. "Everything's been fine for a while."

He shakes his head, "something's wrong."

Her heart plummets. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head again. "You know you're being watched? I can take care of them."

She's the one to shake her head this time. "It's fine. I know who it is." It's Mycroft. She's met him a few times. Sherlock told her that she should expect to be watched. It's just the way Mycroft is. "Nate-"

"I'm going off the grid." He interrupts her. He always does. She used to get so annoyed when they were younger, but she always put it down to how he was raised. American born and bred, Molly always teased him about his lack of manners. Not that he cared. He would always reply with a smile and some quip about being too posh (his words, never hers.)

"How much off the grid?"

"Almost non-existent until I figure out what's going on. I don't like this. I've been hearing rumblings and some of it has to do with the supposed dead guy in your bed." He leans forward and places a kiss on her forehead. "Be careful. Don't try to reach me. If anything happens, see Glenn."

"Nate." She calls out softly as he makes his way to the window. He pauses and looks back at her and suddenly she doesn't know what to say. She feels heavy. She feels…like she's never going to see him again. So, she says the only thing she knows to say. "Always and forever."

He smiles so brightly and suddenly Molly is taken back to her childhood when she was sixteen and in love for the first time. "Surpassing even eternity." He says just as softly. And then he's gone.

Molly makes her way back into her room and places the gun back into its place and crawls into bed.

"Molly?" Sherlock mumbles.

Molly freezes. "Yeah?"

"Who is he?"

Molly doesn't answer. Instead she curls into a ball on her side and pretends to sleep.

(How does she explain to him who she is? How does she explain what happened to her so long ago? How does she explain Nate and Glenn and everyone else to him? It's easy. She doesn't.)

He's gone when she wakes up. That's not much of a surprise. He usually is.

It also doesn't surprise her when there's a knock on her door while she's waiting for her toast. She opens the door and smiles sarcastically at Anthea who is typing away on her phone. The taller brunette doesn't say anything; she looks at Molly, shrugs and turns away. Molly sighs, grabs a long sweater, slips into her flats, grabs her keys and locks her door.

She follows Anthea into the car and waits until they come to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse.

"Who is he?" Mycroft Holmes asks her as soon as she steps out of the car.

"I don't know who you're talking about." She's done this before with him. And it's the same thing every time.

"My brother sought your help and then a man came into your flat. And then for twenty minutes our CCTV's went black. As in gone. I will ask again Miss Hooper, who is he?"

"He's of no importance to you." Just me. "And it's Doctor Hooper." She adds after a moment of deliberation.

"My brother-"

"Is safe." She interrupts. Maybe she's learning more from Nate every time he sees her. "Well, as safe as Sherlock can be."

There is silence and then Mycroft Holmes looks her in the eyes and Molly almost staggers back. There is something in his eyes, a sort of recognition and maybe even a little bit of shock but there is definite pleasant surprise. He knows. He bloody knows.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Mycroft doesn't elaborate on the who, but Molly knows who he's talking about.

"No." She says, her voice rough. "He doesn't."

"Well, I suppose, there is always something he misses."

He says nothing else, but gets into another car and leaves. Molly stands still for a moment before Anthea laughs a little at her mobile. Molly quickly climbs into the car and gets out just as quickly when they reach her flat.

She unlocks the door and walks into the kitchen. "Damn." She says to the empty room.

Her toast is cold.

Three years after The Fall

When Sherlock Holmes comes back to life, it's something akin to Lazarus rising. She rolls her eyes at the media. The Holmes brothers have done well to keep anything and everything from racing back to her. So, she schools her surprise and she walks around St. Barts positively gleeful.

Everyone knows of her feeling for the Consulting Detective. Molly is smart. She is stealthy when she wants to be but she is anything but subtle when it comes to affections of the heart. She wears her heart on her sleeve. Nate always told her to stop. To stop being so damn nice and helpful, but she can't, because that's who she is.

Sherlock and John come into the morgue more often now. DI Lestrade with them. Everything is back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Everything feels as it were before The Fall. Before Jim from I.T., before Sherlock would come to her and allow her to touch him, fix him. Before Nate dropped in, dropped a bombshell and then disappeared.

She hasn't heard from Nate since that night. She gets little trinkets in the mail sometimes, things that only Nate would know she'd appreciate. She gets coded notes from Glenn letting her know that Nate is okay. But she never gets anything akin to a message from Nate himself. Not until Sherlock Holmes comes strolling into her flat late one night. He tells her that Moriarty's network is eradicated and Sebastian Moran is dead. "Everything is fine." He says. "Everything is fine." He sleeps in her bed that night and she's studying his sleeping face when her phone glows with an unread message. It's a coded message and Molly has to get out of bed, grab a pen and paper and decode it. Everything is not fine – N stares back at her.

She doesn't know how to feel about that, so instead, she crawls back into bed and hesitantly lays her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He doesn't push her away. But he's still gone the next morning.

There is a pain that radiates through his body that he's only felt twice before. He was caught unaware. It was stupid of him. It was so stupid of him. He presses his jacket against his gaping wound to try to stop the bleeding. He needs to get to her. He needs to see her. He needs her to fix him.

He goes underground to get to her. He knows how to get to her unnoticed and he navigates the twists and turns until he gets to the door that will lead to the morgue. He pushes it open and stumbles into the hallway. He stops and leans against the wall, breathing in shakily and deeply. He's dripping blood on the floor and he knows it's not sanitary but he can't bring himself to care.

"Hey!" A male voice calls out. He turns his head and a short man with graying hair is in his vision. "I'm a doctor. I'm going to help you. Damn it, how the hell did you get in without being seen?"

"Mo." He croaks. "I need Mo."

"Just hang on, keep talking. I need to call-"

Nate shakes his hand and grips the stranger's hand tightly. "Molly." He gasps out. "Molly Hooper. I need Molly."

The man stares at him, eyes wide and then with puts his arms around him and drags him quickly to the double doors. "MOLLY!" The short man yells as he barrels through the door.

Nate would laugh at her reaction if he could, but he can't. Instead, his eyes land on her. She's lost a bit of weight since the last time he saw her. Her hair still in a ponytail. She's wearing a blue shirt that he vaguely remembers getting for her and a skirt. Sherlock Holmes is standing next to her, hand on her back but not quite touching her, just hovering behind her.

She jumps and turns around and then her face pales. She lets out a shriek and pulls him away from the man.

"Nate?" She questions him, her voice is pitching and he recognizes that she's near hysteria. "Oh. God. What happened? Where have you been?" She's shouting orders and the shorter man who dragged him is helping as quickly as possible.

"Molly." Nate winces. "Molly."

"We're going to fix you." She promises.

He has no doubt. Molly always has a habit of fixing people.

"You are not dying. Not today. Not anytime soon. Remember what we promised each other? You die, I die. And I am not ready to die and I am most certainly not ready to let you die. So, I need you to hang on. I need you to-" She chokes back a sob and breathes in deeply.

"Molly." He grabs her hand intertwines their fingers. "Molly…he's back."

He gets one look at her horrified face and then darkness takes him.

Confusing, yeah? Probably. A more in-depth history will be provided in the coming chapters that hopefully makes this easier to understand. A look into Molly's past will be explored and all that good stuff. I just needed this off my chest. I'm not British, no matter how much I want to be, so if I get anything wrong, I apologize. I've done as much research as I can, so hopefully I don't offend anyone too badly with this. Anyways, hopefully you all like it. I'm nervous about this for obvious reasons and because holy moly, this fandom has so many amazing stories and I love Sherlock/Molly. She breaks my heart. So, yes. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Thanks again and much love,