Disclaimer: It all belongs to the BBC.

After being counted among the dead for almost a year, Sherlock Holmes was starting to feel like one of them. Three of the people he cared about most in the world were out of his life for their own safety. More and more, Sherlock found himself thinking about the one friend who was still in his life, Molly Hooper. He mentally clung to her like a lifeline, though he hardly ever saw her. Mycroft kept him informed of his friends' welfare, Molly included, but it wasn't the same as seeing her, talking to her.

Decision made, Sherlock had Anthea book him on the next flight to Heathrow. As soon as he was out of the airport, he took a cab to a building a block from Molly's. He knew her schedule – at this hour, she'd still be at work. I'll wait for her, she'll be delighted to see me. I'll just have to put up with that damn cat.

As soon as he climbed through her bedroom window, he knew something was wrong. There was a person-size lump under the duvet and he could hear the sounds of a woman crying. Of Molly crying. It's the middle of the day on a Monday, she should be at work. Was she sacked? That would explain the tears. She doesn't have any family left, so it's not that. Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the edge of the bed.

Molly immediately sat up and turned to him, tears still running down her face, her eyes wide, then she scowled in confusion. "Sherlock?"

He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, didn't get a chance to change first." He knew what he looked like – dingy white trainers, worn and faded blue jeans, navy hoodie that had seen better days, dyed ginger hair, and three-day-old stubble on his face. In a word, ordinary. He raised a hand to her damp cheek, saying gently, "What's happened, Molly?"

"You haven't deduced it?" she asked quietly.

"I refuse to deduce you after what happened that Christmas. When it comes to you, it seems I am more blind than observant."

Molly swallowed hard and Sherlock noticed she was tightly clutching a photograph in one hand. He saw a flash of ginger fur in the photo and knew exactly what had happened.

"You had to put Toby to sleep," he murmured. At her nod, he went on. "It happened today. Did you go into work at all?"

"No." She took a deep, painful breath. "He went downhill over the weekend. Friday, he was fine. Yesterday, he was at the emergency vet's. I didn't sleep at all last night. This morning, I went back and the vet said it would be best to end his suffering." She wrapped her arms around herself. "Renal failure. I knew he wouldn't live forever, but I never imagined…" She trailed off, biting her lower lip.

Sherlock lightly wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his shoulder, weeping softly. He rocked her gently, like his mother had done to him when he'd been a child and had his sensitive heart broken.

When her tears stopped, he got her a glass of water and insisted that she drink it. She did, though he knew it was only to humor him as opposed to rehydrating herself. That done, he had her lay back. Sherlock changed into the spare pajama bottoms and t-shirt he kept at the bottom drawer of Molly's dresser then got into bed next to her. They had shared her bed several times since he'd faked his death. There was never anything sexual about it, just two adults needing sleep and wanting company.

Sherlock gently pulled her into his arms again and she went willingly, resting her head on his chest. He gently stroked her hair, murmuring, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She nodded. "I think it'll help. I know you and Toby belonged to a mutual detestation society but I'm glad you're here."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He had a sudden impulse to kiss her hair but suppressed it. "It was your father who gave you Toby."

"Good guess. Yes, I had a hard time adjusting to uni. Dad thought having to watch over a tiny kitten would give me someone other than myself to worry about." Her finger drew idle shapes on his t-shirt over his chest.

"Did it work?"

"Yes." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I got so wrapped up in Toby that I didn't have time to worry about grades or making friends or boys."

He smiled a bit. "Was Toby a terror to all your boyfriends?"

"Yes. I think he wanted to be the only male in my life."

Sherlock chuckled. "He nearly succeeded."

She laughed weakly. They held each other silently for a while then Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Would you consider getting another cat?" he asked gently.

Molly was silent for a few minutes then said softly, "Eventually. Maybe in a few months. I know I'm going to miss having someone to pet and cuddle with. Of course, Toby only cuddled on his terms."

"Like when he wanted to be fed?" She smacked his chest but he could feel her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter. "It's alright to laugh, Molly," he murmured.

She held her breath for a moment then let it out in a soft laugh. "Toby was rather shameless when it came to getting what he wanted. Reminds me of someone else I know."

"Yes, John is quite manipulative."

Molly lifted her head to grin at him. "Not John."

He grinned back. "Graham?"

"You mean Greg, and not him either."

"Mrs. Hudson, of course."

She laughed then softly kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock. I needed this."

"You're welcome, Molly." Sherlock's sincerity surprised him but he didn't let that show.

Molly laid her head on his shoulder, yawning softly. Sherlock knew the exact moment she was asleep. I should go. Moriarty's empire is still out there. His arms refused to obey the command from his brain, though – they still held Molly close to him. Molly herself wasn't helping – he could feel her soft breath on his neck and it made him want to just stay where he was and hold her forever.

Sherlock compromised by staying where he was and holding Molly for another hour, then he reluctantly got up, careful not to disturb her. He briefly considered leaving a note but decided that would be too sentimental. Giving in to his earlier impulse, he kissed her hair just before he left. As Sherlock disappeared into the London foot traffic, he realized that by comforting Molly, he made himself feel better too.

A week later, he was holed up in a fleabag hotel in Sicily, waiting for one of Moriarty's Mafia connections to make a move. It was the middle of the night and the Mafioso was in bed, leaving Sherlock with nothing to do but think. Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Molly.

I should see how she is. He grabbed the mobile Mycroft had given him to use in an emergency only. Well, determining Molly's welfare is an emergency.

1:03a Are you awake? SH

1:12a I wasn't but I am now. Molly

He winced. I should have realized she'd be asleep, she works tomorrow.

1:13a Sorry. I just wanted to know how you were doing. SH

1:16a Getting by. I missed you last week. Next time, wake me before you leave. Molly

1:17a I thought it would be less awkward if I just left. SH

1:20a I still would've liked to see you again. I never know if each visit is going to be the last one. Molly

Sherlock stared at the text. She's afraid for me?

1:21a I promise there will always be another visit. You can't keep me away that easily. SH

1:27a I will hold you to that. Molly

The next morning, Sherlock was still waiting on the Mafioso when he saw a white cat washing its face in the doorway of a house across the street. He took a photo of it and sent it to Molly with a caption.

8:41a Think it meows in Italian? SH

8:46a It probably dips its mice in marinara sauce. Molly

Sherlock chuckled and resolved to send Molly photos of any other cats he encountered. It quickly became a regular thing. Sicilian cats, French cats, Spanish cats, all photographed, captioned, and sent to Molly in an effort to make her laugh. Sherlock realized that the interaction between them warmed his heart as well.

When this is over, I'm going to swallow my damn pride and ask Molly out. To hell with "sentiment," I need this woman in my life. She already is my anchor, now she needs to be my center.

Three months after he last saw Molly, Sherlock was back in London for good. He'd revealed his continuing existence to Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson. The three of them were instructed not to say anything to Molly yet.

After doing extensive research, Sherlock went to an animal shelter close to Baker Street and looked over the available kittens. He settled on a ten-week-old calico female. Before he could second-guess himself, the kitten was adopted and he was sharing a cab ride with the cat, who was inspecting the inside of her carrier, and her various necessities.

At Molly's building, Sherlock finally used the key she had given him to let himself and the cat through the security door then he took the lift to her floor and knocked on the door to her flat. He set the carrier and shopping bags of accessories off to the side just before the door opened.

Molly's face lit up when she saw him. "Sherlock!"

He beamed at her. "I've been thinking, Molly."

She blinked in surprise. "About what?"

"If you need someone to pet and cuddle with, you can have me." He smiled at her softly.

She stared at him, her expression torn between hope and doubt. "For how long?"

"Forever, if you want. I'm home for good, Molly." He held open his arms to her.

Molly hesitated for a moment then she hugged him tightly. Sherlock held her just as tightly and all he could think was that he wanted to do that forever.

"Meow," came a small voice from the floor.

Molly pulled back enough to look down, smiling in delight when she saw the kitten, then she turned back to him, grinning. "I thought you were going to be my pet."

Sherlock chuckled. "I thought you wouldn't mind two of us."

"I think I can find room for both of you on my bed."