Why, hello, there! How kind of you to click into this story! :P

Well, what can I say? I re-watched the Reichenbach Fall and I fell back into Reichenbach Feels, even though Sherlock's back...but so is hiatus...and so I decided to take out my pain on this dumb thing.

I'm sorry if some characters are out-of-character. I slapped this thing together because I was just bored and in immense pain. :/

Reviews make the world go 'round! Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome, but flames are not. Toast your own marshmallows, please.

Molly knew that she should say something as she watched John Watson trudge out of the graveyard, his head bowed down to the ground.

It hurt her to see her friend in this way. It was unfair.

She closed her eyes and rested her head on the wheel of the car. "No," Molly murmured to herself. "You can't tell him. Do it for Sherlock."

Molly reopened her eyes and gritted her teeth, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip on the wheel. How could Sherlock leave John in the dark like that?

You should feel special, a small voice chided in the back of Molly's head. Sherlock trusted you. He told you about his plan. It's all you ever wanted, wasn't it?

"Not like this," Molly murmured sadly. She understood why Sherlock had to fake his death…she understood.

But that didn't make watching John crying at Sherlock's grave any less painful.

Taking a deep breath, she violently started up her car and forcing herself not to back, drove as fast as she possibly could out of the graveyard.

xXx

"You're wet," were Molly's only words as John walked past St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

John turned around, obviously surprised to see the younger woman standing in the door way of the hospital.

"Ah, yes." He looked down at himself. He was drenched from head to toe, undoubtedly from the rain that had been released from the clouds just earlier that day.

"I went for a walk," John continued. "After…" His voice drifted and he cleared his throat harshly.

Molly put her hands in her pockets. "Looks like you went for a walk through the car wash," she commented, desperately trying to change the subject. Once hearing her own words, Molly couldn't help but to wince. She sounded insensitive—so bloody uncaring, as though—

"I suppose so." John replied halfheartedly.

Molly looked up and smiled sadly. "Erm…how are you?" She asked weakly, wincing again at her choice of words.

"I'm…" John cleared his throat again. "I've been, ah…better."

Molly nodded, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She really was acting insensitive.

It hurt.

"I'm sorry." Molly blurted out. "I'm sorry about everything." Her lower lip trembled slightly—the guilt was beginning to crush her. Just seeing John's pained face made her want to cry over how cruel it all was.

Why did she decide to do this again?

Sherlock needed me, Molly thought to herself. I'm doing this for him.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about, Molly." John replied tiredly. He tucked his hands into the coat of his jacket and looked back up, although he wasn't looking quite directly at Molly.

"I'll be off, then." He said quietly and Molly watched as he turned and walked away.

For several moments, all Molly could hear was her own heavy sighs.

"Thank you, Molly." A familiar, deep voice reached Molly's ears and she turned around slowly.

Sherlock was standing behind her, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back.

"It's…it's alright." Molly replied quietly. "I guess you'll be…going, then?"

Sherlock gave a single nod and he lifted his head. She followed his gaze and her eyes landed on John hailing a cab from just a couple of blocks away.

John couldn't see them.

Molly's heart sank even further.

"Is it hard for you, Sherlock?" Molly asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

Molly turned back around. "Is it hard for you? To lie to John? To keep your secret from him?" Molly asked.

Sherlock was silent for what seemed like hours. Molly continued to stare at him, wondering what thoughts could possibly be going through his head at this very minute. Didn't he feel anything? Didn't he feel any guilt? How was it that Molly felt so guilty, even when she didn't do anything wrong? She certainly wasn't the one lying to John…so how was it that she felt guilty but not Sherlock?

"Yes, it's hard." Sherlock's voice was so quiet, Molly wasn't even sure if she had heard him right. She blinked, surprised. "Then why are you keeping this from him?" She asked. "Why can't you just tell him?"

Sherlock didn't reply.

Of course.

He never did.

"Thank you," he simply said, and turned back into the hospital.

xXx

John Watson was mulling over Molly's words on the cab ride home.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything."

John frowned. Apologies weren't uncommon throughout the entire day—many people had reached out to John to send their condolences, but there was something different about her expression.

There was something about Molly's eyes that disturbed John—was it anger? Anxiousness? Guilt?

John uttered a small laugh. No, Molly couldn't possibly be guilty of anything.

Why would she be?