Here is the teaser chapter for my upcoming fanfic, just to see if any of you are interested by the time I actually post the real deal. Have fun! I have lots more in store for you! If you want current updates on how it's going, I'm always on tumblr, so don't hesitate to contact me!

An Introduction

"Come in," said a deep voice lazily from the other side of the closed door. Molly Hooper blew out the breath she had been holding when she knocked. She shifted the strap on her tote, relieving the pain that had started in her shoulder from its weight. Her bag didn't contain much, only enough clothing to last her five or six days, toiletries, other necessities and whatnot. Once her bag was resting more comfortably on her shoulder, she grabbed the brass knob hesitantly and tried to calm her nerves. Molly had no idea if he was aware of what John had asked of her.

She had been finishing up at St. Bart's when John unexpectedly lumbered into her lab.

"Oh, hi John," she said as she looked up from her papers.

"Hi Molly." John walked right up to her, his fingers twitching like they always did when he was anxious. "Listen, can we talk for a minute?"

Molly raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah, sure. Just let me put away Ms. Addleton's file…" she shuffled quickly through her papers, stuffing them into the manila folder with the label reading Addleton, Natalie M. "So… is Sherlock with you?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

John cleared his throat and his fingers twitched again. "No, just me I'm afraid." Molly bit her lip and turned away to put the folder into the filing cabinet. She had wanted to see Sherlock ever since she learned that he would, in fact, be remaining in London. When Molly heard that Sherlock murdered a man, her heart was broken. It was not because he had killed, but because she believed that he was put into such a horrible situation as to where he had to kill. However, no one fully explained what had happened that Christmas afternoon to her, so what had occurred was left to her imagination.

"Okay," Molly said when she turned back to face John, "What do you need?"

John, appearing quite ruffled, cleared his throat again, twitched his fingers a bit, and looked about the room. "Well um, you know what happened with the whole…never mind, you know what I'm talking about, um…" He swallowed as he tried to find the right words. She knew that he was speaking of the day Magnussen was murdered. Molly watched him, her concern increasing by the second.

"Is something wrong?" she asked slowly.

John clicked his tongue, "Not entirely, no…"

"Then what is it?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, since… then," he said delicately, "Sherlock hasn't been quite…oh, the same, I should say."

"What do you mean?" Molly momentarily cursed herself for sounding a bit too nervous.

John sighed. "He's just—I dunno, he's different somehow. Like he's going mad or something. His brother is worried about him."

"And you are too, I can tell," she commented quietly.

"Yep." John flicked his eyes up at her once, and then back to the table.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Molly could tell in his tone that he wanted her to offer her services, rather than him have to ask.

"Yes, actually, that's why I came here, to ask you something." Molly raised her eyebrows and waited for his question. "Right, well," he cleared his throat once more, "I don't quite know how to ask you this, but um…" he paused for a moment, looking down at his shoes. "Well, I know you and Sherlock have a sort of… friendship," Molly grimaced, "and uh, a couple of others and I think it would be good for Sherlock to have someone with him…" John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Molly's brow furrowed in confusion.

"So… you—oh, me?" Molly gaped at him in shock.

"Wait—just listen—"

"Why do you think that's a good idea? He wouldn't let me move in anyways, I know him."

"Which is exactly my point. Because you know him."

"Wait," she said as she put her fingers to her forehead. A headache had begun to form. "Who is 'we'?"

John swallowed and looked at her now. "His brother, for starters, and Mary and myself, and Greg and Mrs. Hudson." Molly closed her eyes and grit her teeth together.

"Why can't Mrs. Hudson be enough?"

John sighed impatiently, "Look, Molly. Sherlock needs you. He doesn't know it, but he does."

"But how do you—"

"You're the only one who can, I dunno, handle him, Molly. It's always been you."

Molly's heart did a little flip on its own accord, but she tried to maintain her composure.

"Really?" she squeaked.

A small grin crept onto John's face. "Yes."

Molly felt what she could only describe as childish excitement. She smoothed down her sweater. "So, um, how would me moving in help exactly?"

"Well, for one thing, he'll have someone to talk to, instead of talking to that bloody skull of his." He and Molly shared a shy smile. "And, uh he's been acting a tad strange lately—restless, and showing signs of anxiety." John blew out a breath, "He's lonely, but he won't admit it. And ever since that Moriarty deal all over the telly, he's been going haywire." He shrugged his shoulders. "He just needs someone to be there for him—to make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble…"

Molly swallowed and looked at her feet. By 'trouble' she automatically thought about Sherlock's habit of turning to drugs when there's nothing else. Reading the results of his drug test on that awful day had infuriated her as much as it broke her heart. That cannot happen again, she thought, ever.

"Sherlock just needs to calm down and lay low until we get anything else on the Moriarty case." Molly chewed the inside of her cheek; she really needed to break that habit.

It's not that Molly had anything against the idea of living with Sherlock, she just wasn't sure how he would deal with it, especially this soon after her falling out with Tom. Things were bound to be uncomfortable and awkward. But, it would also be helping Sherlock, and Molly would never wish this kind of despair on someone.

Molly sighed and met John's gaze. "I don't know, John. What will he do if I agree?"

John scoffed. "I don't give a damn if he likes it or not, it's going to help him, and that's the point." Molly fidgeted with the buttons on her sweater, the watch on her left wrist, anything to avoid John's pleading eyes. John licked his lips quickly, growing desperate. "Okay, Molly, how about you just give it a go—a few days, at least, and see if you can handle it."

"And if I can't?" she asked meekly.

"Then, I dunno, I'll work something else out. I'll have him move in with Mary and me."

"Oh, John! No, that would be worse!" she cried, imagining the hell John and a very pregnant Mary would be living in. Her heart swelled at the level of concern he had for Sherlock.

John pursed his lips. "So you see? He would be better off staying at Baker Street, just with someone to watch him."

Molly was starting to agree with John's logic. She almost complied when she remembered something. Rather, someone. "Toby. My cat. What will I do with him? I don't think Sherlock would be too fond of him."

John scratched behind his ear. "Well, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson wouldn't mind looking after him. She'll probably do it out of gratitude for you helping Sherlock."

Molly took a breath. I can't believe this, she thought. "Oh, alright. I'll do it."