AN: While I've written fan fic for years, this is my first Sherlock fan fiction. I don't have a beta reader, so if you spot an error, please let me know. This will be a 3 chapter fic.

I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,

Or tell you that.

But if I didn't say it,

well I'd still have felt it

where's the sense in that?

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder

Or return to where we were

I will go down with this ship

And I won't put my hands up and surrender

There will be no white flag above my door

I'm in love and always will be

~ Dido

MOLLY

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"It's what needs to be done."

A chill suddenly washed over her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the morgue or the stone cold corpse lying on the slab in front of her.

"I'll need to... dress him... properly." The man was naked, and yet it was the idea of putting clothes on him that made her stutter. Brilliant.

"Yes, I brought in the necessary items. You'll find them in the locker room in the far back stall."

She only nodded.

He continued. "And when this whole affair is over, you needn't bother with having them washed. Just toss them out."

A blink was her reply.

There was a long pause while he just looked down at the corpse. She could tell he was taking in everything about the dead man – things that might give the game away no matter how insignificant. Things no normal person would see. His eyes always danced when he was figuring things out.

His beautiful, ice blue eyes. She loved watching those eyes, so long as they were trained on other people. She hated those eyes when he fixed them on her. Because he only really ever looked at her when he needed her to do something for him. And he would use his deductive powers to find the precise words that would persuade her to help him. And she always helped him.

Oh, who was she kidding? She would help him regardless of what he said. At least it meant he would talk to her. And that she could hear his voice. His delicious voice that affected her more deeply than she would ever admit.

But again, he was sure to know that as well. He knew everything it seemed.

"He's taller than I am," he said, bringing her focus back to grim reality.

"Easy to fudge," she offered. "A fall like that will cause certain spinal damage. His true height will be hidden."

He hummed thoughtfully.

"I'm more concerned about the cheekbones," she said with a smile, a weak attempt at lightening the dark mood that seemed to have settled over them. "That is, I mean, your face – the bone structure is, well, very – it's very - "

"Angular."

"Striking."

They spoke at the same time offering up thoughts on his appearance; his thoughts came from fact while hers from emotional opinion. He tilted his head to the right ever so slightly in surprise. She blushed crimson.

"What I mean is... er..." she tried to cover, "your face is very distinctive, and this man's is... well, common."

"You will just have to be careful that he falls face first onto the pavement. And that there is plenty of blood to detract from too much notice of facial differentiation." He smiled at her. Actually smiled. While plotting his fake suicide. "Besides, by the time John reaches me, I should be in place so that he will see me up close and personal and not this poor chap. No, I only need the corpse to actually hit the pavement for me. That and serve as a body in the autopsy and burial."

It was so cold, so calculated. It churned her stomach. And brought tears to her eyes.

"Sherlock, are you certain this is what you want to do?"

He frowned at her. "You already asked me that, once, Molly. My answer has not changed, nor will it change." Then a beat. "Are you crying?"

She shook her head no in an obvious lie. "I just don't know how you can be so calm about this!"

"I'm not calm, I'm just being logical. This is what has to be done to convince Moriarty."

"I know, I just..." she sniffed. "I can't imagine coming to work and not having you pester me for samples." She chanced a glance up at him. "I'll miss you."

His eyes shifted somewhat. "You do realize that this plan ensures I will walk away perfectly fine. I'm not really going to be dead; I just have to make everyone believe that I am."

"I know but... I..."

"You...?"

How was she supposed to say this without sounding like a teenager with a raging crush?

"I will have to be the one to pronounce you dead and... and... " She shook her head. "Honestly, Sherlock, a person should never have to do that for someone they... well... that they care... about."

He squinted at her. "Caring? Really, Molly..."

"Yes, I care. Stupid as it is." He knew she cared about him. Cared for him. He had to know... especially after Christmas. "Which is why I find it difficult to do this!"

"But don't you see, Molly, it's the key to the whole plan! You are what makes this work. Moriarty isn't focusing on you. I can't ask John or Lestrade because he's watching them for the importance he feels they have in my life. But not you. He's not watching you because you're not..."

He stopped.

"Important," she finished. "I get it."

It stung like lemon juice on a paper cut. More like a bullet right through the heart. She knew Sherlock didn't feel deeply for her, but she at least thought she was important given that he always came to her for pathological discoveries.

"No, that isn't what I meant. You are important. I told you so when I asked for your help."

She couldn't look at him. As a distraction, she zipped up the body and slid it back into the locker. "I said I get it. I'm important when you need me to be important. The rest of the time... I'm just..."

"Molly—" He placed a hand on her shoulder, making her freeze in place. "You are important. Moriarty is a fool for not seeing it."

She wanted to believe him. Yet as she looked up through her lashes at his handsome face, she knew he was once again lying and saying what she needed to hear so that she would help him. Moriarty had seen the truth. Molly was so insignificant to Sherlock that he didn't think twice about insulting her or her boyfriends. He only wanted her around for pathological help and to provide him with samples. Moriarty knew Sherlock used her... which was why is was so easy for Moriarty to use her as well.

But, as always, the smile Sherlock offered was enough to make her heart thud in her chest and her ability to resist weaken.

"I will do as you ask, Sherlock. But I don't think you understand what you are doing. The consequences..."

"The consequences are that no one will really get killed. No one will be hurt."

She barked a laugh in disbelief. "If you think no one will be hurt by your death, then you really don't know anything about your friends."

With cool detachment he said, "They'll get over it." He turned to go, but stopped to add, "Besides, I won't be dead forever."

Every step he took away from her broke her heart a little more. He would leave, and she would stay. What little hope she ever had for him to feel something in return for her crumbled as the distance between them grew. Not that she ever had much hope to begin with. Still, she knew she'd always love him. How could she not?