Chapter 1

It was gloomy inside St. Bart's morgue. No different than any other day, except Molly Hooper felt decidedly melancholy. She wasn't sure how she was going to handle the aftermath of her decisions of today, but no matter what it would be worth it. She would do anything for Sherlock, and he knew it.

When he came to her earlier that morning and asked for her help, she was not a little bit shocked. Sherlock never asked for help, at least not from her. And the look in his eyes was one she'd never seen on him before. There was his usual self-assurance on his face, but behind that there was fear and sadness in his eyes. She, of course, couldn't refuse him.

So she lied. On paper and in person.

"He's dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead."

The words caught in her throat, not wanting to be said, or heard. Tears streaming down her face. Her voice cracking.

John was broken. His eyes were puffy and red from unshed tears demanding release, although he did his best to look neutral to this information that was not actually news to him. He had watched Sherlock jump after all.

As John walked out of the morgue, without a word to Molly, she noticed him limping slightly. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. How was she going to keep up this ruse for however long she needed to? She had barely made it through telling John and he wasn't going to be the last one she was to talk to.

She dreaded the visit from Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. She had heard John and Sherlock talk about him before and in the few times she had met him he had lived up to his reputation. Cold and terrifying, even when he wasn't trying to be.

Sherlock peered out of her office after John had left and stared after his best friend. His face showed nothing but his eyes showed all the pain he was feeling. He was leaving everything he knew and loved just to keep his friends safe. He was letting sentiment rule his life for once and the result was his leaving everything he knew and everyone he had let himself grow to love. No wonder he had fought against it so hard in the past.

Molly wiped away the tears that were silently falling down her face and turned to look at him. He stood there staring at her.

"Are you crying to make it more believable or because seeing John believe I am dead makes you cry?"

Molly stared at him, mouth open slightly.

"You always say such horrible things," she turned around and looked down at the floor. "I'm crying because you died today." The tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her face. Her words were met with silence.

When she got her tears under control she turned around and looked at Sherlock again. He was looking at her as though she were a puzzle. Never before had he looked at her like that. He always knew everything about her.

She shuffled her feet and looked to the floor again, pushing loose hair back behind her ear. "What?" She said nervously, and bit her lower lip.

"You know I am alive and still you are upset at my death," pause, "is it because you have to lie?"

Molly shifted again, getting more nervous. She looked up into his eyes, "Whether you're alive or not makes no difference because none of us will see you again," she paused. "We'll miss you. I'll miss you." Her eyes went straight back to the floor as she finished talking and she turned again to walk away, when he grabbed her arm and held he still.

"I have to go and you have to keep my secret. I can't have John finding out and following me or trying to find me." The hard look in his eyes was back. This was the Sherlock she knew.

She reached up and touched his cheek, "Of course I'll keep your secret. I'd do anything for you." Half a second later she realized what she had said and yanked her hand away from his face. "Oh God! I'm sorry, I didn't… I… I…" Her face turned bright red and she couldn't form any kind of thought beyond horror at herself for what just happened.

Sherlock took a step back and continued to stare at Molly. After a moment he said "I still need to stay at your flat tonight. As I said before it'll only be tonight. I have everything in order to leave tomorrow." There was no hint of emotion in his voice, as usual.

Molly swallowed and said "Of course." She smiled weakly and turned to walk towards the locker room. She changed quickly and met Sherlock at her office. He had changed into the clothes she had gotten for him and looked nothing like himself.

"We cannot risk a cab, or the tube. We'll have to walk to your flat," He stated calmly.

Molly looked at him. "It's almost an hour walk, Sherlock."

"I like to walk," Was all he said as he made his way out of the building, leaving her to trail behind him as usual. After a few feet he realized what he was doing and slowed his steps to match hers.

They left St. Bart's together and walked the long distance to Molly's flat. When they arrived, Molly was slightly out of breath and flushed. Sherlock looked as he always did. Molly turned the key in her lock and opened the door. Instantly, there was an orange ball of fluff rubbing on her legs and purring. She smiled and bent down to pick him up.

"Sorry mommy's late Toby, we decided to walk home today." She smiled and kissed the kitty, then put him back down. She glanced at Sherlock who was standing by the closed door talking in his surroundings. Molly blushed slightly as she too looked around and realized that she hadn't tidied up her flat in a couple of weeks. There were dishes piled up in the sink, books and clothes scattered all over the living area and cat hair EVERYWHERE. She glanced again at Sherlock, who just continued to stand by the door.

"Sorry 'bout the mess. Um, please, um make yourself at home," she tried to smile at him but embarrassment won out as she darted around the flat picking up everything and tossing it into her room and firmly shutting the door. When she looked back, he was sitting on her couch, eye to eye with Toby. Toby stared back and must have finally decided that he liked Sherlock because he stood up and jumped onto Sherlock's lap and instantly settled down. Sherlock sat back and stared at the cat.

"Oh sorry, he likes people," Molly said, "He doesn't get to meet many though." She bent over to pick up Toby but Sherlock waved her away.

"He's fine, just leave him."

"Oh, um, ok." Molly shuffled her feet and looked around. "Do you want some tea or coffee or food? I can order in?"

"No I'm fine," replied Sherlock. After a moment he added, "But thank you anyway."

Molly blushed and sat down in her recliner, bringing her legs up underneath herself. They sat there for a few minutes, neither saying anything, the only noise being Toby's purring as Sherlock absent mindedly scratched the kitty's back.

Molly turned on the telly to ease the silence. It was the news. In big bold letters it said "Reichenbach fake falls to death." Molly turned it back off and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Sherlock's hand had stilled on Toby's back.

"I'm going to order in, are you sure you don't want anything?" Molly looked anxiously at Sherlock who was just sitting there staring at the black screen of the telly. "Sherlock?" Molly reached over and touched his arm. Jerking slightly at the contact, Sherlock said simply, "Not hungry."

"Oh. Of course. Ok. Um. I'll be right back." She left the living room and went to the kitchen to grab a menu and order herself some dinner. She picked one that she thought Sherlock might like and ordered two full meals hoping that he might get hungry later.

It had been about five minutes since she left to order food and when she walked back into the living room, Sherlock wasn't there. Panic seized her for a moment until she heard him behind her bedroom door. She walked over and opened her door to see him sitting on her bed looking at the mess she'd left. He looked up at her and her face caught fire. A blush so deep her whole body burned from the heat.

"Oh God. Um… I um, didn't get a chance to, well, um, clean up," Molly stumbled over a pile of books trying, in vain, to block Sherlock's view of her dirty laundry pile.

"Those don't look very comfortable, and you don't have a boyfriend or lover, so why would you wear them?" Sherlock nodded towards her lacey bras and knickers laying on the floor.

Molly didn't think she could get any redder. She closed her eyes and silently prayed for the earth to swallow her up.

After a moment of Molly standing there, almost in tears from embarrassment, Sherlock said, "Oh, not appropriate was it? I'm sorry. I don't do well with politeness, as you know." With that he got up and went back to the couch. Molly stood there for a good long time trying to compose herself, before following him to the living room.

"Wha…? Why were you in my room?" Molly asked him when she could again form words without squeaking.

"Curiosity," was all the response she got.

"Oh. Um, why?"

Before he could answer, which it didn't look like he was going to anyway, there was a knock at the door. Both of their heads swung towards the door with shock written all over.

"That'll be your food," Sherlock said after a moment.

"Oh, right, sorry." Molly grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet and went to the door. Before opening it she glanced to where Sherlock was sitting, He had removed himself to her room again so as not to be seen. She just wished he'd chosen somewhere else to hide. She opened the door and paid the boy and took her food to the kitchen. She pulled two plates down from the cupboard and piled both of them with food and headed back to the living room. Sherlock was back on the couch with Toby on his lap. He looked up when she sat the plate in front of him.

"Not hungry," he said before pushing it back towards her.

"Eat," she replied, pushing it back to him.

He cocked his head and looked up at her for a moment before giving in and taking the food.

Pleased with herself, Molly folded herself into her recliner and started eating. They ate in companionable silence for a while before Sherlock piped up.

"I really am not hungry, Molly."

She looked at his plate and he'd eaten about 5 bites, small ones. The look on her face told him that she didn't like what he was saying.

"Honestly, I can't eat," he pushed.

"Ok," was all the said. He put his plate down and she finished her own food.

"Did you not like it? I didn't know what you'd like so I guessed. Would you have eaten something else?" Her voice was so small at the end that he almost didn't hear her.

"No, Molly. I told you before that I wasn't hungry and I was serious. Just like I am now."

She flinched slightly and tucked her feet a little tighter under her.

Sherlock noticed and closed his eyes briefly.

"Molly, I didn't mean to snap. I'm used to people doing as I say and not second guessing me. That's all. John never pushes food on me when I'm not hungry." His voice quivered slightly on john's name.

"I guess it's just my maternal instincts," she laughed, then realized what she's said. "Oh, God! Sorry! So sorry, I…"

"Molly, don't make jokes," He said to her with a small smile on his face. Molly visibly relaxed and got up to take care of the dishes.

While Molly was in the kitchen Sherlock went to the bathroom to change out of his disguise and into a grey t shirt and sweatpants that were going to be his pajamas for a while. He put on his dressing gown over his clothes and went back to the living room and saw the couch had been made into a bed. It didn't look very comfortable but it was better than the streets. Molly was in her room already so Sherlock laid down and tried to stop his brain from thinking and go to sleep. He could hear her moving around her room and could picture what she was doing. Picking up the books and putting them away. Putting the laundry in a basket. Picturing her laundry brought an image of Molly in her undergarments to his mind.

Sherlock shook his head as if to shake it free of those thoughts. Where had that come from? He never thought about anyone like that, not even The Woman, and she had given him lots to think about. He just wasn't interested. He had more important things on his mind. So why now? And why Molly? Was it the stress of today's events? Faking one's own death was bound to have unforeseen consequences and reactions.

He listened to her change her clothes and crawl into bed. The light under her door went out and everything was dark. Then he heard her sigh and the light turned back on. She got out of bed opened her door and peeked out.

"Um, Sherlock?" She said unsteadily.

"What?" He snapped, then immediately felt bad. It wasn't her fault he was struggling to keep his mind off her body.

She flinched and looked down.

"I have to leave my door open. Toby sleeps with me but his litter box is in the bathroom. He'll need to be able to go back and forth." She stood there for a moment longer, but when it was obvious he wasn't going to respond, she left the door cracked and went back to bed and turned off her lamp.

Sherlock sighed to himself and rolled over. It was going to be a long night.