Author's note:
As I write this, I wonder how many people will actually read this silly little story. I guarantee there will be typos most likely, so don't go in thinking I'm an actual experienced writer. I just had an idea for Sherlock and started typing. The idea won't come up for another few chapters. I'm not sure if this chapter is long or short compared to other fanfictions; I haven't read enough to know what the normal length is. This will be a multi-chapter sort of deal. It will eventually turn into a Sherlolly fanfiction when the time comes. Maybe. Probably. I'm just buying time now, I'm scared to press the "Publish" button… AHH!

I don't own Sherlock or anything so… please don't sue me!

Chapter 1

Molly was headed to a coffee shop not far away from Bart's when she heard her phone chirp.

HE'S BACK.

-GL

She knew exactly what those words meant. Her heartbeat quickened.

Molly knew he was not dead, of course, at the beginning. She was the one who helped him fake his death. Well… fake his autopsy at least.

She remembered going through the motions of examining the body. Knowing he would wake up within the next few hours. But by then, no one but Molly would have been there- except for her and the corpses. She somehow avoided looking anywhere he wouldn't wish her to.

Molly, in some way, found this very surreal, seeing him like this. So lifeless. So cold. It gave her the creeps, no doubt, but the fact that he was here proved how much he trusted Molly to do her part of the plan. She felt honored.

She had to admit, keeping up a front through all of Anderson's persistent questions was pretty hard. She was proud of herself for not giving anything away; not being a very good liar to begin with. But this was for Sherlock. She would have done anything for that man. Her school girl crush almost cliché.

Molly didn't even have to put on a front of being sad at the funeral. Seeing the reactions of those around her: John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade… It absolutely broke her heart.

She knew why he had killed himself; it was to save the people he cared about the most. But the same act that would save them would also be the act that hurt them more than Sherlock could understand. Not then, at least. They would never move on from this, not even now, that he is back. They will have an ache in their heart when they remembered the pain they were feeling in that moment.

Mycroft was there at the funeral, standing by himself. Molly didn't know if he knew the truth or not, but he had the same, unhappy, gruff look on his face as usual.

Lestrade stood like a statue, unmoving and stiff. The only thing that changed was his facial expressions. Changing from deep depression to vast loathing. Sometimes not seeming to be aware of his surroundings. The stench of whiskey percolated the air around him. His wife had just left him again not long after Sherlock's 'death'. Molly couldn't help but shed a tear for what he was going through.

Mrs. Hudson -who reminded Molly of her Gram so much- would let out soft little sobs every so often, then raise a handkerchief with her trembling hand up to her mouth. She had told Molly once that she had only been pregnant once, but the child was born too early and died a few hours later. As Molly watched the tears rolling down her cheek one after another, she knew in her heart, Sherlock was a son to her. And so was John, whom she was now holding hands with for dear life.

Oh John… His eyes furrowed through the entire service; frowning. Of course, what else would he be doing? This frown seemed different though. Deeper. Causing him to age before your very eyes. His breathing would be smooth at one moment, then become slightly sporadic at others, trying to keep himself calm. His eyes looked so tired, so sad, so… old.

His words were short when they asked for people to speak. Meaningful, sort of, but not exactly what molly expected. "Sherlock was not only a great man, but a good one." Molly heard an awkward kind of grunt from Lestrade who was trying to hold back a sob, Molly had guessed. "He once told me that caring is not an advantage," Molly saw Mycroft's head lift up out of the corner of her eye. "But I am here to say to him that it is not a choice either. And I think he knew that, deep down… in the end, perhaps…" He looked like he might say something else but stopped himself. He looked down and walked back over to Mrs. Hudson who was quietly weeping.

She saw John standing at Sherlock's grave alone, talking, after everyone had walked away. Molly hoped he was saying more than he did during the funeral because she knew that Sherlock was stupid enough to attend his own funeral, but also brilliant enough to get away with it. She wiped her eyes as she walked towards the street to get a taxi back to her flat.

She kept in touch with Lestrade due to her job as a pathologist. He seemed to be dealing with everything well. Anderson, with his ridiculous questions and theories, continued to drive Lestrade absolutely mad.

She tried to have tea with Mrs. Hudson once every month or so. Mrs. Hudson appreciated this very much. She loved being around Molly. She reminded her of the daughter that she had lost so many years ago, and of Sherlock… whom she had also lost.

Molly always would take Mrs. Hudson out for tea instead of coming over, knowing the boys always made her make them tea. She felt like she should treat her for once. Unless, of course, Mrs. Hudson invited her over.

John, on the other hand, was a completely different story. She and he had coffee once a few weeks after the funeral. He was moving his things out of the 221B as quickly as possible. They talked about his plans and his new job at a new doctor's office. She tried to mention Sherlock at one point. He quickly said, "Don't… please, just… don't."

They had spoken four times since then. She knew she reminded him of Sherlock and the life he once had, so she quit prying on trying to meet up. She knew this whole thing hit him the hardest. They loved each other. He was Sherlock's real brother. Not in blood, but in bond. Their friendship was something that rarely happens. It is something beautiful and precious. She never believed the rumors of their supposed "love life." People can't imagine two men loving each other like they did without thinking something more was going on.

John had grown some god awful mustache the last time Molly saw him. He had also met a girl. Mary. She was absolutely lovely. They were adorable together. Though John still acted odd in Molly's opinion. Not odd, just sad. Still looked old. Had obviously gained a few pounds. Still wearing ugly vests and sweaters. Which Molly couldn't really say much, her fashion since was pretty horrendous. He was obviously still mourning his lost friend…

Oh, Sherlock…

Molly had been so captivated with Sherlock. He was beautiful, brilliant, and wonderful. But was also cruel, rude, and insensitive. She had always seen him as this God-like man with flawless features and such massive intellect. He was so brave and fearless, not letting anything faze him. She was so infatuated with this man that she could barely get a sentence out without stuttering. She knew it annoyed him when she acted this way. Her stupid school girl crush was ridiculous. They were adults. Adults don't act like this.

The day he told her he needed her, she knew it wasn't just some cruel way to manipulate her like usual; he really and truly needed her. His eyes were slightly red, slowly filling with tears. He was scared. This undoubtedly broke her heart. This was the exact moment he let those concrete walls of his slip for Molly to see how absolutely frightened and vulnerable he actually was in that moment. This was the instant her crush on him was over. He wasn't just some flawless man who was too good for her anymore. He was this poor man who needed her. This was the instant she fell in love with him. The real him.

The last time she saw him before leaving, he still had a little bit of the dried 'blood' on his hairline. While getting dressed after his fake autopsy, he was telling her that she needed to go to his funeral, saying that it seemed like something she would do. Nothing she didn't already know.

After giving her other instructions, he walked up to her, fully dressed in tattered and dirty clothes; an old frayed looking hat in hand. The next part of the plan was obviously where the homeless network came in, she guessed. There was a pause as he looked her up and down thoughtfully. He then grabbed her hand and said, "Thank you, Molly Hooper," lifting her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

Her cheeks flushed to a deep red. Ok, maybe the silly crush wasn't completely over…

He smiled, seeing this reaction from her. In one fluid motion he turned, hooked the fedora onto his head, turned up the collar of his battered brown coat, said, "Until next time!" and walked out the door.

She knew that helping him with this plan was a way of letting him go, possibly forever. She knew he was going to try to dismantle Moriarty's web. She knew it would be dangerous. She knew there was a great possibility that he would die trying to accomplish this.

She tried to move on. She eventually did. She met Tom. Tom was nice and kind to her. Tom's family seemed to like her enough. Tom had a dog. Tom was handsome. She loved Tom. Tom was great…Tom. Tom. Tom. What a boring name. Not like Molly was exotic or anything. Tom was actually a lovely name. Her favorite actor's name was Tom.

She was just being silly.

She was happy.

Really.

They dated for about eight months before he proposed to her. They started dating about a year after Sherlock's fall. He worked at St. Bart's hospital as some kind of lawyer or business man or something. She guess she should figure out exactly what he did for a living before they got married. She knew he made a lot, which she didn't really care about.

He, on the other hand, knew a lot about what she does. Always seeming fascinated about her work. She loved that about him. Most people thought it was gross and disturbing. He always asked so many questions about certain people. The ones that were a little odd or the ones that were part of a case.

She, of course, would never reveal a lot about them. Most people never thought about Molly ever knowing much about the crime part of a case. They always kept her on a need to know basis even though she could figure out most of what happened by looking at the body.

Tom would always come up with ridiculous scenarios of how the crimes happened. Pretending to be as great as Sherlock once was. She would always laugh and giggle at them, thinking they were funny.

Sometimes though, she longed to be amazed once more by a brilliant man solving the crime by focusing on such small details. But she had completely moved on. She was completely happy being with Tom.

Another thing about Tom, he was fascinated by Sherlock. His detective stories, at least. He always asked Molly about different cases that she had helped with from a pathologist's point of view. He wanted to know all about it, know how Sherlock thought. If Molly had actually thought Sherlock was dead, she might have been bothered by this, but she wasn't. He liked to keep up with Anderson's ridiculous (while some were true) theories on Sherlock and whether he was alive or not.

At one point she was worried she had made a terrible mistake by being engaged to a gay man. She swatted off the idea and decided he was just a little quirky. Anderson was ten times worse than Tom and he certainly wasn't gay; being married to a woman AND having an affair with Sally on the side.

When she heard of Sherlock's return, she went still. Her breath caught in her throat. All things Tom left her mind as a grin crept across her face.

Sherlock stood in front of his mirror, staring at himself. He was shirtless but had his trousers on. He had thinned down since the last time he was able to really look in a mirror. His muscles had become more defined due to the strenuous activity he had endured through for the past seven months in Russia.

He turned sideways and saw the remnants of the scars and bruises on his sides and back. He had two large bandages total. One, on his shoulder blade where he had a cut about six inches long. It had been tended to and stitched; it might leave a scar, it might not. The other was on his left hip where a guard had stuck a red hot poker and drug it along his hip bone just a week ago. That particular scar would never completely go away.

He had older scars on his body as well, they had mostly faded. Only a few of them were permanent.

His face had mostly healed. He still had a small cut on his lip and a bright strawberry on his jawline. Due to the weight loss, his cheeks had sunken in more than usual, causing his already defined cheekbones to come at even sharper points. Some people with this particular characteristic might be defined as sickly looking but not Sherlock. He looked positively ferocious. Intimidating. Dangerous. Sexy.

He couldn't help but wonder what molly would think of this. There was no point in wondering this, really. He knew she had that stupid school girl crush on him. It was extremely annoying and inconvenient. She was a brilliant pathologist, he knew, but when she was ever around him she acted like some bumbling idiot, always stuttering and getting flustered over nothing.

He did use this knowledge to his advantage on occasion. Only when it was completely necessary. Not including the time when he asked her to help him with the fall. There was no manipulating ruse being pulled at that moment. He needed her. He trusted her. She did not disappoint. She came through for him. She could have lost her job if she was founded out, but she was fantastic. She worked wonderfully under pressure, he found out. Could have fooled him.

He had visited all of his main acquaintances besides Molly so far. The cut and strawberry on his face were due to his visit with John. Stupid old man with his stupid old man's mustache. Lastrade ended up hugging him… he would have rather gotten punched. Mrs. Hudson screamed. Fairly overdramatic, Sherlock thought to himself.

He was done getting dressed. Signature coat and scarf, of course. He took one more look in the mirror, ruffled his curls, and walked out the door.

He decided to walk to St. Bart's instead of taking a taxi. He needed time to think out what he was going to tell her. He did decide against a disguise. He learned his lesson.

He wanted to let her know that he appreciated how she helped him fake his death. Which was pretty ridiculous. He told her thank you right before he left.

A part of him just wanted to see Molly. That didn't make since either. Yes, he cared for her but he didn't understand why he was this… nervous.

As he walked to St. Bart's he thought back to his funeral. Seeing everyone's reactions. Lastrade deeply indulged in liquor. John… Suffering a great deal due to his loss. Mrs. Hudson sniveling away. He was pleased that John had stayed to say something else besides what he said at the funeral. It was heart wrenching. Sherlock wanted to come out of hiding and go to John. To show him that he was alive and well. He couldn't risk it though. He couldn't just blow everything he had worked for to comfort John. And what if he did die while detangling Moriarty's web? John would have to lose Sherlock all over again. Sherlock couldn't do that to him.

He walked into the hospital, making his way to Molly's lab. Not seeing her there, he walked to the nearby locker room that he knew Molly's was at.

He stepped through the door and saw her all alone, bent over, rummaging through her locker. After waiting a few heartbeats for Molly to stand up and turn around, Sherlock got bored and stole a quick glance at her bum.

Still flat. He thought to himself.

She finally turned around, just barely missing him staring at her bum. Maybe it wasn't as quick a glance as Sherlock thought. She stared at him with her big brown eyes. Her heart racing a mile a minute.

"Hello," he said.

She smiled at him, "Hello, Sherlock."

He started with her hair. Still long. Recently cut due to the very few split ends he could see from this distance and with the fresh cut lines throughout her hair. Bags under her eyes, obviously had been working since early this morning possibly over night as well. No lipstick on her overly thin lips… A red mark on her neck, possibly from a flat iron. Though he could see that she didn't use one this morning. Odd… He thought to himself.

She was wearing the same hideous sweater she had had since before he left. She looked thinner than she had when he left. Her nails had been painted pink, possibly on Saturday, due to how much they were chipped. Her hands, so small and delicate, were…- He then saw a thin gold band on her left ring finger with a diamond set on it. An engagement ring.

For one moment. For one small, unnoticeable moment, Sherlock froze. He stared at the ring on her finger… He felt his body go cold. He felt the pounding of the heart in his chest reverberate throughout his body. He felt his throat tighten.

Why on earth was she engaged? Who would she accept to? Do I know this bastard? What the hell was going on? Will this affect my availability to the lab? He needed a cigarette. He swallowed at the lump that was forming in his throat. He looked back at Molly's warm and kind smile. That smile might have actually made him feel even worse.

Other than letting friendly expression drop, he did not show that he noticed the ring. His slight smile had all but fallen. With a flat face and a touch of Sherlock condescension, he said, "I came over to let you know officially that I am back in London and will be in need of your lab once again as soon as Lastrade is in desperate need of my help with a case. Which, I do believe will not be too far in the future. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Uh… Oh-Okay… I-I mean no. That will be fine." Molly stuttered. Ugh… She hated herself. She wouldn't have stuttered if it weren't for his sudden mood change. And his deep voice. And his cheekbones. Oh God, those cheekbones. Had they actually gotten sharper?

The stutter she suddenly acquired gave him some self-confidence back. He enjoyed intimidating people when he means to. He half way turned to walk away, but something stopped him. That's not how he wanted to end this first meeting.

He looked back at her and said in a soft voice, "It's good to see you again, Molly." Then turned around and walked out the door before Molly could say anything back at him.

Ok, well that was my first Chapter! I promise it does pick up eventually! Until Next Time!