The speaker's flowery words at the funeral seemed to last forever to Molly. Her eyes darted around everywhere. From the back of Lestrade's head, to the back of Donovan and Anderson. She wasn't sure what had possessed the two to come, but maybe they did care. It isn't every day a co-worker dies.

She found herself looking down at her hand, the black coat she'd put on over her regular sweater covering up much of them. No... to them, it's suicide. Her heart stirred. She couldn't imagine what she'd be going through she'd thought Sherlock had taken his own life. She found her eyes wandering the front row of seats in the funeral home again. A few seats down from them was Mycroft, his face like that of a man playing poker, his chin angled upwards as he listened to the words. And then there was John. He was sitting at the edge of the row, Mrs. Hudson occupying the seat next to him. The old woman was small in her chair, blowing noisily into a tissue. John sat, his head down, like a figure carved from stone. Molly was on the other side of the second row, and couldn't make out his face. Her heart moved again. He needs to tell them.

She let out a slow breath. Molly hated it, pretending to be sad about a death that didn't happen. She'd always been so straightforward, and pretending was not something that came natural to her. But she'd agreed to let Sherlock tell who he wanted when he wanted to. And now it was coming back to bite her.

What really distracted Molly was the woman who'd taken the seat next to her. She wore a smart black suit-style shirt and a hemmed gray skirt, and scratched away notes on her notepad every few moments for the last hour of the Sherlock's service.

There it goes again. Molly stole a glance at the sheet, but once she did the ginger began writing again, blocking her view. She let out a breath of frustration, and looked up at the speaker, a short man in a suit. She had been right, he was tying up. He said a short goodbye, and soon everyone around her was standing up. She followed suit, as did the woman. Molly intended to go straight home, with a quick goodbye to her friends. She would have loved to try and comfort them, but she wasn't sure how many wet eyes she could look at before "I helped fake Sherlock's death, he's alive," spilled out her lips. It was safest not to risk it.

But the woman she didn't recognize had wet eyes. She couldn't help but wonder who it was. Not a friend of Sherlock, definitely. An ex? She shut down the thought, it made her more distracted than she would admit. But the woman had been crying, and had come alone. Does she have anyone to help her?

Molly found herself worried for the stranger, and took an act intended for kindness, unknowing how much she'd regret it.

"Hello," She said, a weak smile.

The woman straightened up, slipping her notepad and pen into her handbag. "Hello." Her response was curt.

"So..." Molly remembered why she'd never been good at making friends. "Did you know Sherlock?" She froze, realizing what she'd said. "I mean... if you don't want to talk about it, I understand, I didn't mean to... I was just wondering... I'm sorry." She stumbled through the words.

"It's fine," The woman said. "I'm Kitty, pleased to meet you." She stuck out a hand. Molly took it.

"Molly Hooper." She said, giving a weak smile. "I just saw you crying a bit, I was wondering if you were okay?"

Kitty reached up and touched the edge of her eyes. "Oh, look at that, you're right." She brought her arm back down. "But not for this man. I just came here to take some notes."

"Notes?"

"I'm a journalist. I was curious as to what a fraud's funeral would be like." Molly's stomach twisted. Fraud. She'd grown sick of the word. "I'll be writing about it. You can look for my article in the paper tomorrow."

"Kitty," Molly repeated the name to herself. "You.. you we're..." Realization struck Molly. "That article."

Kitty let out a sigh. "Yes, my claim to fame," She let a smile cross her lips. "Of course I couldn't have done it without... my informant..." She sniffed and reached up to her eyes again. "That's what I'm crying about. Not that fool Sherlock."

Molly ignored the snide comment as things began to come together in her head. "Your informant...?"

"Richard Brook."

Molly's eyes widened. She had heard Sherlock's story, she'd even heard a bit from John, about Moriarty calling himself 'Richard Brook.' She's crying over Moriarty. Something boiled inside of her, but her mouth stumbled around like usual. "Rich... Richard Brook?"

"The actor," Kitty said, looking past Molly for a moment. We were living together before," She took a pause and sniffed. "He died."

"You were living... with Jim Moriarty..." Molly wasn't sure why she found this such a shock. She'd gone on three dates with him and never caught on. But living with him? You would think...

"Only for a short time. And his name is Richard Brook," The lady said sharply. "Don't tell me you're one of the nutters who still believes in Sherlock Holmes?"

Molly couldn't respond.

"Oh, please," Kitty said, rolling her eyes. "I lived with Rich, I would have knew who he was. He was a man who needed money and did some things he wasn't proud of because of the man in the casket over there," She gestured to the front of the room. "And it brought him to..." She sniffed, looking down, then back up to Molly. "Sherlock destroyed Richard. He was a monster."

Molly's insides were boiling. She suddenly wanted to let everything out, anything to disprove this horrible woman, but she tried to control herself. "Sherlock was not a monster," She said, quieter than she intended to. "Moriarty was a monster."

"How dare you," Kitty said, her voice low and intense, her lower lip shaking. "Moriarty didn't exist, or did you forget that? Sherlock said it with his own words, or so I've heard."

"I know Jim. He existed," Molly had never been rude to someone crying before, but suddenly she couldn't help it. She hadn't been this angry in a long time. "And you're a fool to believe otherwise."

"Who are you to say that?" She snapped. "Did you even know Richard?"

"I dated him!" Before Molly could stop herself, she'd yelled something she could barely admit normally to this stranger. She felt her heart coming up to her mouth and her lip shaking, and she turned her gaze downwards. "I went on three dates with Jim Moriarty. He played me to get to Sherlock. He's as real as I am."

"Molly?" Molly recognized Lestrade's voice as the man stepped over to her, but ignored it. "What's going on here?"

"Then I guess Sherlock is more ruthless than I thought," Kitty said. "To force him to keep up an act and date you as a character. It's cruel, to give you a false hope like that."

Her heart twisted with anger. "Sherlock had nothing to do with-"

"He must have hated you," Kitty said. "To involve you in his little game."

"What?"

"Miss Riley," Lestrade stepped in. "I don't think this is the time for-"

"Sherlock played both of us," Kitty said. "Driving my boyfriend to his death and making him fake date you."

"J-Jim dated me on his own," Molly said. Her voice was failing her as tears filled her eyes. "He played me, not Sh-Sherlock!"

"Molly..."

"A common enemy makes friends," Kitty recited. "Right? You don't have to worry about Sherlock hurting you again, he's gone now, thank goodness."

"Sherlock is not my enemy."

"You'll come to terms with it eventually," Kitty went on. "Soon the whole of England will know Sherlock was a psychopathic fraud, and you'll have to know you were wrong then."

"No, no," Molly said under her breath as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her fists were shaking.

"Ms. Riley, please leave," Lestrade said from next to her. "This really is not a good time."

"You'll know you were wrong soon," Kitty ignored Greg. "He destroyed Richard with guilt until it was too much. That bastard got what was coming to him."

Something snapped inside her. Before she knew what was happening, Molly had swung out her arm, and Lestrade's hand had grabbed onto her wrist just in time. Her eyes widened. I almost hit her. She let the anger in the pit of her stomach die down, as her eyes shot to the shocked woman. But she only stayed in shock for a moment before her eyes narrowed again.

"One day you'll understand. You don't know the truth." Kitty turned and, uttering one or two choice words, walked away.

Molly's eyes moved slowly to the hand on her wrist, letting her hand loosen from the fist. She looked up at Lestrade. "Greg... I'm... I'm sorry..." She looked down. She'd never let herself become so taken with anger in her life. She'd almost hit someone.

Lestrade held her arm for a moment, then lowered it, letting it slip out of his. "We're all going through a lot, Molly. It's best not to let our emotions get the best of us."

Molly gave him a weak nod, like a child being reprimanded. She reached up to her eye and stopped another tear. "You think Moriarty was real," She said quietly. "Don't you?"

Greg let out a long breath. "I'm not sure what I think right now," He said. There was a bit of silence. "Molly, let me buy you a coffee, okay?"

Molly sniffed. "But I-"

"I want to make sure you get home alright." His eyes were filled with concern. Molly couldn't imagine how confused the Detective Inspector must have been feeling, and here he was looking out for her. It was so admirable, she couldn't refuse him.

"Sure," She said.

"My car is this way," He started off, and Molly followed behind him. She was starting to stop crying. Seeing so much pain around her and all of the anger she had pent up because of Jim Moriarty was enough to make her cry easily. She wasn't sure how she'd manage to make it look like she was just upset about Sherlock sitting down to coffee with Lestrade. But somehow being with the Inspector made her feel safe, so she didn't worry much about it as she headed after him.

[Thanks so much for reading! I'm sorry if Molly and Kitty sounded OOC, I hadn't done much writing from their perspectives at all. Also for this fic I went with the idea that Moriarty really did die, but we don't really know for sure what will happen, with Gatiss and Moffat and all. And I suppose Kitty did some eavesdropping to find out about John's phone conversation with Sherlock. So yeah, that's all I've got. Hope you liked it!

If I do a second chapter, it will be totally different, because I ship GregxMolly and so I might do a fic about that. I'm splitting it up because if I do a second part it will be heavy on the shipping, and I know not everyone likes that. But anyways, thanks for reading!]