It had been five years since Sherlock Holmes was forced to fake his death. Five long years… Molly still couldn't stand to be on the roof of any building, nor look to the top of one. It gave her willies, which is an improvement, considering it used to make her sick to her stomach. A lot had happened in those five years. She'd made a habit of smoking and adopting cats, she'd been given a promotion in her department at St. Bart's, and she'd even begun to see her mother more often, in an attempt to fix the jagged relationship they shared. She had stopped being that mouse of a woman she became around Sherlock, she gained confidence, wore pumps more often. That was merely the tip of the iceberg. Deep down side inside though, she was the same Molly Amy Hooper, the very same litte bit hippy-ish girl who fawned over a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes. If anything, that'd only gotten worse.

Perhaps fawning wasn't the right word... She was a woman, and she was mature enough to admit that she was head over heels in love with him. He knew, of course. He just never said anything. There were moments, though, when she how he felt about her. It was an unspoken rule, never to bring up things like that. She was his, his friend, his pathologist, his partner in crime, but she couldn't help wonder if he had grown to feel something else over the years. After he had asked for her help all those years ago, she felt like their relationship changed. He had gone to her, Jesus, of all people, he had gone to her. He trusted her, he needed her. She was part of the plan, something Jim Moriarty had missed. That night, though, that night there had been a glint in his eye, a glint she didn't recognize and it scared the hell out of her. All she could do was gape at him, tell him she would help. By rights, she should have kissed him right then and there, but she didn't.

It took some work and a great deal of effort communicating with the homeless network, but they'd faked his death. It got harder when she realized she had to lie now. He'd spent an entire month at her house after everything happened, before he had a grip on where he was going to go. It was unbearable, to say the least. He stayed up late every night, typing away on the computer, then he went out, came home. It worried her to death that he did those things. He could have been caught, or worse, killed. Lord, what if he had bumped into John by accident?

Molly had to steer her thoughts in a different direction as she got out of her car. "Don't think about such things," she told herself. "Think about bodies, think about work." She softly laughed at herself. "You're such a morbid girl, Molls." She closed her door and made her way into St. Bart's. Everyone said their hellos and good morning's as passed them in the halls. She smiled in return, balancing her paperwork and a coffee in her hands.

In her office, she dropped off her pocketbook and the mountain of paperwork she had yet to complete. "What's this?" she asked, noticing that someone had written her a note.

Dr. Hooper,

Sorry, had to leave early. Work to do, cases to solve, people to arrest. Fun, fun.

~Sherlock

P.S. I know, I have to give you back those heads. I'll swing by tomorrow, don't you worry.

"I hate when he calls me Doctor Hooper," she thought out loud and a laugh erupted from her. "That's why he does it," came the voice of her best friend, Sam. "He loves to tease you." She looked over to see her leaning against the doorframe, under some mistletoe. "This meant for him?" Sam asked, pointing to it and smiling. Molly giggled and shook her head. "No," she answered and waved her friend away.

"I believe you," Sam said and narrowed her chocolate brown eyes at the doctor. Her hair was down and it flowed like a wild waterfall across her shoulders. She was beautiful woman, but a totally tomboy. Molly and she had been friends since before middle school. "Oh, be quiet," Molly said and laughed again.

"Got a lot of work today?" Sam asked and took a seat in the lab bat's 'comfy chair.' Molly shrugged into her lab coat as she answered. "No, thankfully. How's the forensics lab been lately? I haven't seen your lovely face around here in a few days." Molly winked at her friend, joking around. Sam merely shrugged. "Horrid… Anderson is such an asshole. I hate when DI Lestrade sends him over with stuff." Molly nodded in understanding. "He's mean, I'm sorry you have to deal with him." Sam breathed a deep sigh and slumped her shoulders. "I might seek refuge in here if he comes by today." Molly smiled over at her friend. "Fine by me. I get lonely sometimes. You know how it is, these guys, my zombies, they listen great but they don't talk back. Bloody depressing sometimes…" They shared a laugh. "You sounds like Ducky Mallard, darling," Sam told her with another laugh. "Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, lord knows I love him, but you aren't Scottish, you're only thirty-seven, and you don't carry on for hours talking about stories we've heard a thousand times, so it doesn't fit."

Molly giggled and sat on the edge of the desk. "Careful, you might wind up building boats for the rest of your life and moving to Mexico, with that kind of talk." With that, Sam got up. Before leaving, she gave Molly a little slap to the back of the head. "Careful, I just might. Then who would defend you from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?" Molly was still laughing as her friend left. "Merry almost Christmas, Molls," she yelled over her shoulder before the door closed. "Merry Christmas!" Molly hollered back, a cute smile on her face.

She picked up the note from Sherlock and smiled, before getting back to work. She had three bodies for today, not too bad. Maybe she could leave early if she worked quickly. Christmas was two days away and she had tomorrow off. It would be lovely if she could take the rest of the day off.

With a thoughtful look and a heavy sigh, she left her office."Time to get to work," she said to herself. Her Converse made soft shuffling noises on the linoleum hallways as she walked. As she made her way to the morgue, she thought of Sherlock. When he'd returned, it was all over the news. Everyone was blown. Frankly, Molly would have been too had she not been part of the whole scheme herself. Sherlock saved her reputation, saying he had pulled the whole thing off himself. John knew though, all he had to do was look her in the eyes. He wasn't stupid, and that thought alone, made her wonder if he'd known all along that Sherlock was alive.

(Author's Note: LOL at the NCIS references, I couldn't resist.)