Set just after the events of The Reichenback Fall but before Sherlock sees John at his grave.

Molly had dealt with quite a few crazy things in her time, but none of them compared to having Sherlock Holmes in her flat. Specifically, Sherlock Holmes staying in her flat after faking his own death. Watching him follow her inside and close her front door was like watching worlds collide. The only images she had of Sherlock were at work and at Baker Street, and although she was grateful that she could help him, the idea of him being inside her house, in her personal life, felt weird. And, if she was honest, exciting.

She didn't have much time to dwell on this, however, as a little black blur came darting into the living room, barking madly and jumping up to put her paws on Sherlock's knees.

Molly smiled awkwardly. "This is Cookie, my little puppy. Cookie, stop that racket!" The dog gave one last bark and wagged her little stub of a tail.

Sherlock gave a small smile. "Not biscuit?"

Molly blushed. "The man who owned the shelter where I adopted her was American; that was what he called her. She'd already begun responding to the name, so I thought changing it might confuse her."

Sherlock nodded. "It suits her." He knelt down and scratched her ears, and to Molly's surprise, he smiled when Cookie jumped up to lick his face. Sherlock had always struck her as the kind of man who would be annoyed by animals, particularly if they were young and hyperactive. They were probably too simple for him, she'd thought.

He looked up as if to silently ask why she was still standing there and Molly quickly set down her bag. "Well, I suppose I'll just go into the kitchen and make us some dinner; I know you probably haven't had much to eat all day." He smiled and she felt a tiny bit of encouragement bloom in her chest. "Would you like something to drink in the meantime?"

He shook his head. "No, thank you." He stood up and planted himself on the couch. Cookie followed him, jumping up onto the cushions and whining for attention. Molly hurried to the kitchen and started gathering the ingredients for sandwiches. She had no idea what the world's only consulting detective liked to eat, so she figured she'd hand him a few slices of bread and a butter knife and let him make his own. While she was moving around the kitchen, she glanced over the counter a few times and had to smile at the sight of Sherlock holding Cookie in his lap and stroking her fur. He was having a time trying to dodge her constant attempts to jump up and lick his cheeks.

"When you refer to her as a puppy, do you so as a term of endearment? Because she appears to be fully grown."

"That's as big as she's going to get, but she's only a few months old. So technically she's still a puppy."

"And still not completely housebroken either." Molly stopped in the middle of spreading peanut butter and bit her lip. She turned around slowly and, as she'd feared, there was a big wet stain on Sherlock's pants.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, hurrying to take Cookie from him. "That happens sometimes when she's excited. We haven't had a visitor in quite some time. I'll wash those for you."

"It's quite all right," Sherlock said.

"I don't suppose you brought anything you could change into?"

He shook his head. "My clothes won't be brought to me until later. We have to wait for both John and Mrs. Hudson to be out of the flat." At the mention of their names, his eyes became sad again. In order to distract him, Molly put Cookie down and said, "Half a moment. I have something you might be able to wear."

She disappeared down the hallway, and when she returned, she was holding a pair of jeans with the tag still on them- she had grabbed the wrong size by mistake and the store didn't do refunds. "I know they're women's, but they're too big for me, so they might fit you all right." She could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second. "And if nothing else, they'll smell better," she said sheepishly.

Sherlock took them and thanked her. "Where's the spare room?"

Molly started to point to it, then stopped and thought. Though he was doing a good job of hiding it, Sherlock looked more melancholy than she'd ever seen him. He'd probably want some privacy, some peace and quiet so he could grieve the life and the people he was leaving behind. The spare room would put him right next to the window of her flat, where all the traffic could be heard. And it was closest to the neighbors, who seemed like they were always throwing a party of some sort.

"It's down the hall and to the right," she said. Fortunately her maid had thoroughly cleaned her bedroom just yesterday, so it could resemble a spare room. She didn't want Sherlock to know it wasn't; he might get the wrong idea. "When you're finished, just put the soiled pants in the washer across from it."

He followed her directions with Cookie tagging along behind him and soon the door closed. Molly set out plates on the coffee table and sat down with her own sandwich. A minute later, Sherlock reemerged and Molly had to avert her eyes and concentrated very hard on the floor so she wouldn't think about how good he looked in jeans, despite them being women's. She hoped to God she wasn't blushing.

Luckily she was distracted by Cookie, who was whining and standing on her hind legs trying to reach the food on the table. "No!" Molly said, slapping her nose. Cookie looked sad and twitched her tail, but Molly held firm. "Do not give her anything, no matter how much she begs you," she instructed Sherlock. He sat down next to her and started buttering his own bread, and she wondered why he was being so quiet. She also wondered what he might be deducing about her flat. Her shoulders hunched at the thought. Probably nothing good.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "Are you quite sure you don't want to sleep in your own bed? I don't want to put you out."

She nearly choked on her sandwich. "What?"

"The room you sent me to. You told me that was the spare, but it wasn't. It's your bedroom." Before she could ask how he knew, he said, "The quilt on the bed was handmade, and judging by the state of the fabric, at least a few generations old. You wouldn't put a sentimental item like that in a spare room and trust a stranger with it; you'd keep it on your own bed where it would be safe. When I closed the door, I noticed a half-circle had been worn into the carpet, indicating that the door is opened and closed very frequently. Considering you live alone, it's highly unlikely that your spare room door would be used often enough for that to happen. And besides that, you took the pair of jeans from the same room."

She shook her head. "There's just no fooling you, is there?" She said it lightly, but when his expression didn't change, she frowned. "You don't have to sleep there if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought you could use the space. It's much quieter in there than over here." She pointed to a closed door that was right beside the kitchen. "That's where the real spare room is. It's comfortable, but very noisy." She fidgeted. "Someone who's been through as much as you have deserves some peace."

Molly expected him to deny that. She thought for sure that he would claim that he needed no such thing, that he was perfectly fine, or maybe he would somehow deduce that she was lying even though she wasn't. She expected Sherlock to do anything other than what he ended up doing, which was to smile, lean over, and kiss her on the cheek.

"I'm extremely lucky and grateful to know you, Molly Hooper," he said, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "And I can't begin to thank you for what you've done for me."

"I'm going to miss you," she said, and then to her surprise as much as his, she started blinking back tears. "Be safe out there. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to contact me, all right?"

She wasn't sure who initiated the hug. All she knew was that a few seconds later, she was in his arms and he was leaning his cheek on her head, and she could have sworn she felt her hair get wet, just as she was getting his shirt wet as she held onto him. She sniffed, wondering where he'd go and if anyone other than occasionally Mycroft would ever look out for him.

Cookie went ballistic. She leaped onto the couch and whined, trying to lick both of their faces at the same time and pushing herself between them. Molly and Sherlock laughed in spite of themselves and let her in. Upon seeing their faces, Cookie looked sad enough to start crying herself. Sherlock wiped his eyes and tousled her fur, taking her in his lap and scratching her behind the ears. Molly still couldn't get over how alien that looked: Sherlock Holmes fawning over a little puppy who was crazy about him.

"She'll probably follow you right into bed," Molly said. "She's used to sleeping at the foot of my bed. Keeps my feet warm."

"Redbeard used to do that," Sherlock murmured in a voice so low Molly almost didn't hear it.

"Who?"

"Never mind," Sherlock said quickly, and stood up. He set Cookie on the floor. "I think I'll go to bed now; Mycroft and his boys will be coming for me early in the morning when there won't be as many people out on the streets to see us. Cookie may come with me if she likes." Before Molly could say anything else, he left to go to his room- her room- with Cookie right at his heels. She bade him goodnight and started cleaning up, ready to turn in herself.

Molly didn't sleep that night. Her feet were unusually cold, for one thing. For another, she was sleeping in a much noisier environment than usual, and the man she loved was in her bedroom. A man she had no way of knowing if she would ever see again. She tossed and turned for hours until she finally gave up and moved quietly to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. The sun was just coming up, painting the sky a pretty mix of orange and pink. She stared at it, captivated, until she heard what sounded like laughter coming from the hall. Curious and a tad nervous, she went to investigate. What she found was something she could never have imagined seeing in a million years.

Sherlock Holmes was rolling around on the floor with Cookie, laughing hard. All three pounds of puppy were pinning him on his back as she licked his face over and over again, whimpering and wagging her tail so hard Molly thought it was a wonder it didn't fall off.

"What are you doing?" she asked through giggles. Upon seeing her, Cookie gave an enthusiastic bark and ran to greet her. Molly scooped her up and kissed the top of her head and Sherlock sat up, looking a bit sheepish.

"She was in a playful mood this morning," he said.

Molly grinned. "She woke you up by licking your face, didn't she?" He nodded. "She does that to me too, every morning. Much better than any alarm clock." Cookie started squirming in her arms and Molly lowered her to the floor. As soon as she did, the little pup took off across the room toward the corner where her toys were stashed. She grabbed a short piece of braided rope- her favorite- in her mouth and brought it to Sherlock. Then she stuck her backside in the air and wiggled, practically begging the man to play with her.

Sherlock happily obliged, grabbing the rope from her and tugging on it just hard enough to give Cookie the illusion of a challenge, but not so hard that it would hurt her newly formed teeth. Molly thought she would melt at the sweetness of it. Cookie growled a pretend growl and Sherlock growled back, though eventually he let her win by letting go of the rope and allowing her to walk away triumphantly.

"I never knew you were so good with dogs," Molly said. She sat down next to him and watched Cookie climb into his lap again and settle under his hand, which began stroking her fur. "Did you ever have a dog of your own?"

"Yes. When I was a child." Molly tried to picture Sherlock Holmes as a child and couldn't. "His name was Redbeard. Cookie resembles him quite a bit."

"Where did the name Redbeard come from?" Molly asked.

Sherlock's mouth twitched and she could tell he was trying to hide a grin. "When I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate."

Molly didn't mean to laugh so hard. She truly didn't, but the next second her coffee was practically spilling out her nose. "A pirate? You?" Now she tried to picture a miniature Sherlock in a pirate costume and laughed so hard her sides ached.

"It was a phase," Sherlock said with a slight eye roll. "Obviously it didn't last. But Redbeard was my constant companion. He acted very much like Cookie as well." His hand slowed a little and Molly didn't have to ask to know that Redbeard had probably been Sherlock's only friend.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

It took Sherlock so long to answer that she deeply regretted asking. "He was put down."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was he sick?"

"No," he said, and his voice was bitter. "He was feared." He closed his eyes. "When I was eight years old, the neighborhood we lived in had a series of break-ins. Cars, houses, garages, everything. Nobody knew who was doing it it. We had a neighbor at the time whose behavior seemed odd to me. To make a long story short, I caught him in the act, and he didn't like being discovered. He came after me and Redbeard stopped him."

"He protected you?" Molly asked.

"Yes. He was a big dog, and a strong one. He injured the man enough for him to be hospitalized. No one would believe what had happened or that he had committed the robberies; it was my word against his. Eventually there was pressure on my parents to get rid of him. No shelter would take a dog with a history of violence, so there was only one thing they could do."

Molly put her hand on his arm. "How awful. You must have been heartbroken."

Sherlock swallowed hard and his voice, which up to this point had held its usual matter-of-fact tone, faltered just a bit. "I'll never forget the way he looked at me when they injected him."

Molly racked her brain for something encouraging to say. "You can come visit Cookie anytime you like. Goodness knows I'm at work all day and she gets terribly lonesome."

Sherlock avoided her eyes. "I can't say if or when I'll ever get that chance."

Molly felt her stomach drop at the way he sounded, and she put her hand on his cheek. "Are you okay? Tell me the truth."

He covered her hand with his own. "I would certainly be a lot less okay if it hadn't been for you." When he said that, she didn't know whether to smile and thank him, or burst into tears and throw her arms around him. But she ended up doing neither of those things, because at that moment there was a knock at the door.

"They're here," Sherlock said tersely. He got to his feet. "I'm going to get my pants from the laundry. You'll have to answer it, just on the off chance it isn't Mycroft."

Molly had no choice but to do as he said, and when she opened the door, it was indeed Mycroft who stood there with several of his men behind him. Molly ushered them in as quickly as she could and shut the door behind them. Cookie jumped at his legs too, but he didn't seem quite as enthusiastic to see her, so she soon gave up and turned back to Sherlock, who emerged from the hallway fully clothed in the outfit he'd arrived in.

"We have everything you need," Mycroft said, gesturing to the suitcase one of his men was carrying. "Are you ready?"

"Of course," Sherlock said as he bent down to give Cookie a final pat on the back. He then straightened up and turned to Molly. "Thank you again, for everything."

She nodded, trying to maintain a straight face. It wouldn't do to get emotional in front of all these people.

"I trust you can keep quiet about what you've seen?" Mycroft asked. She nodded.

"Of course she can," Sherlock said, giving his brother a glare. "We can trust Molly Hooper absolutely."

"Well it never hurts to be careful, now does it?" Mycroft retorted, but both brothers fell silent as they turned to leave. Cookie gave a mournful whimper at seeing them go, and Sherlock gave her a little smile and waved his fingers.

"Take care," Molly said softly, and for a long time afterward, she would remember watching the back of his head- which was soon covered by an oversized hat so no one would recognize his face- as he walked out of her flat and out of her life for the next two years.