The tears flowed from Molly Hooper's eyes as she read the note she'd found on her bed.

Goodbye, my dear. Perhaps we'll see each other again someday. Some things have happened and I can't take the risk of telling you about them. Know that I'm forever yours. Jim xxx

As she stared at the note, she was dimly aware of her cat, Toby, rubbing her arm as if to console her. She couldn't think. Her heart beat too quickly and it was hard to breathe. Jim was gone. Her boyfriend had left her and there was no purpose in her life any more. Nothing mattered.

The next day she had set off to work, determined to at least pretend to be her usual chipper self. But when she passed the door of the IT office—Jim's office, she fell into a depression. She burst into tears and had to go home.

She spent the next day in bed. She barely got up the day after that. Nothing made sense. Everything was wrong. Even Toby couldn't keep her from despair. The one man she'd loved in all the world more than any other was gone forever. She knew he was the One. Her one and true soulmate. But he'd left her.

Two days turned into a week, and the doorbell rang. Molly didn't feel like answering it, so she ignored it. The sound of the lock turning startled her and she got up, wishing she had something with which to defend herself other than a cat. The door opened and there stood Sherlock Holmes, looking concerned. She'd never seen him look that way before. As soon as he saw her, though, his face resumed its typical emotional neutrality.

"H—hi, Sherlock," she managed.

"Oh. Hi." He changed his stance from his guarded, almost panther-like position to its usual arrogant, prim, and strict state. "I was just…uh…checking up on you. Making sure you weren't dead."

"Oh, yeah, I've been fine, I just needed some personal time." She knew she was a bad liar, but hoped Sherlock had the sense to at least pretend she was convincing. He didn't.

"This is about Jim."

Molly's lip quivered slightly, and fought back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her again.

"Molly, I'm sorry for what you're going through—I'm sure it must be hard. There's so much more to him than you ever knew, and I'm choosing to spare you that knowledge since apparently last time I tried to give you all of the facts was unkind." He reached out a protective, possibly an apologetic, hand.

"He wasn't—he's not—he never has been gay!" She shrank from his gesture.

There was silence for a few moments before Sherlock spoke softly. "I know. I was wrong. I realize that now."

To Sherlock's utter surprise, Molly embraced him, a full hug as though he were an old friend she hadn't seen in decades who could help her through a crisis. He stood in shock, before slowly reciprocating.

They stood for a few moments, in a mutual embrace, Sherlock confused as to her emotional outburst but accepting it, Molly soaking his coat with tears. In the corner, Toby watched Sherlock as if to give his approval, nearly saying "Thank you. That is what she needed."

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were red and exhausted. She smiled.

"Thank you. I needed that hug." Her voice was as raw as her eyes.

Sherlock, surprisingly, smiled back. "What are friends for?" he asked softly. "I'm glad you're not dead. Would have made my acquisition of body parts for experimentation much more difficult."

Molly laughed through her tears. It was a gentle laugh, the laugh of someone beginning to recover from the long dark tea-time of the soul. Sherlock was puzzled.

"In what way was that a humorous comment?"

Molly laughed again. The poison of depression was being released. "You! You're trying not to care. You don't want to show that you have a heart, but we both know that's not true."

Sherlock started slightly at that comment. Molly looked at him, confused.

"Why did you react like that?"

"Jim said that to me. More or less." He was guarded now, studying her carefully.

"What? When did you see Jim?" She began to panic.

"In Bristol about two weeks ago. Just sort of…ran into him."

"And…did he mention me?" The hope in her voice was loud and clear.

"No, I'm afraid he didn't." Seeing Molly begin to cry once again, he added "To be fair, he had other things on his mind at the time. Like the bomber."

"Oh….oh! He was one of the people in the bomb vests?" She began to hyperventilate.

"No—no, but he knew people who were." If Molly had had Sherlock's observational skills, she would have seen that he didn't want to tell her the truth but also didn't want to lie. "He's fine, Molly. He's alright. I'm sure he'll get back in contact with you as soon as he thinks it's safe."

"Safe? I thought you said he was fine!" Molly's mind was in a whirl. Sherlock sighed as he figured out how to phrase what he was about to say.

"He has people after him right now. Dangerous people. But I'll be the first to know if something happens." He held her shoulders to keep her from running away, and stared her in the eyes with what he thought was a reassuring gaze. "I'll let you know."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. But wherever he is, I'm sure he's thinking about you. He loves you as much now as he ever did."

To hear those words from Sherlock, who was notorious for not understanding emotions, warmed Molly's heart to the level that she thought it might burst. She didn't realize that Sherlock was telling her that he'd never loved her, or that he was a criminal on the run from the very man who she was once more hugging, or that he'd been responsible for all those deaths. Sherlock had reassured her of the best thing in the world, Jim's love, and, at the very least, that made him a good friend.