This is a very short story that was born from something I read on tumblr the other day. The lovely and talented MizJoely beta'd it and I am very grateful. Though I take credit for any and all mistakes.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

Molly looked over at the other passenger in the back seat of the Mercedes. He looked just as handsome as ever if not a bit worse for wear. He could hide himself from most people, but most people weren't Molly Hooper. She suddenly felt like she had to ask the question she'd been pondering for more than three years; she couldn't speculate anymore.

"Sherlock?" she said, getting his attention.

He turned and looked at her, his ocean eyes causing her stomach to flip just like always. "Yes, Molly."

"You didn't need me that day, the day you… j-jumped." She stumbled over the words, the memory still painfully frightening even after all these years. "Why did you come to me?"

He looked stunned for a millisecond. His face reminding her very much of how he looked at her when she called him out for being sad and trying to hide it from John. "Of course I needed you." He huffed. "You had to fake my autopsy."

"Please don't. I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. That plan was in place long before you asked for my help. I'm well aware that your brother had someone ready to take care of the autopsy. Now, please tell me why you asked me to help you."

Sherlock swallowed and looked away. "Been sitting on that question for three years haven't you, Molly?"

"Yes." She had. She'd known the truth since shortly after the fall. Mycroft had personally debriefed her and she had asked him herself. He explained that he had already planned for one of his people to take care of 'Sherlock's' body. She was completely unnecessary.

A long moment passed as he stared out the window at the passing scenery. Finally he said, "There's no easy answer, not really."

She sighed. "That's what I thought."

"And you weren't really expecting an answer," he said turning back to her.

Molly just shook her head as she turned to her window. He was right; she didn't think he'd answer her. As a matter of fact she was sure he wouldn't.

The silence stretched out as she watched the countryside roll by and felt herself starting to drift to sleep. Suddenly Sherlock spoke again.

"I suppose I needed you then for the same reason I needed you today. But you've figured out that much already. It's why you finally asked."

When she turned to face him once again she noticed that he'd moved closer to her, his head only a few inches from hers.

"I suspected the reasons were one in the same, yes. I just don't know… why me?"

A small smile formed on his lips. "The best way I can explain it is that when I'm going away, yours is the last face I want to see." He looked so open and vulnerable- so completely unlike himself. "Last time I had to look at John Watson's ugly mug. Though his wife did soften the blow a bit."

They both laughed for a moment. Then Sherlock's expression changed. He narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips.

"I asked for you, you know. Mycroft couldn't swing it." His eyes darted around, seeming to take her in features. "I'm always afraid that I'll forget…" His sentence died, ending in a whisper.

"Forget what?"

"You," he answered.

"You never forget anything if you don't want to."

He nodded. "But I have tried to forget you in the past. What if now…" He seemed to shake himself then he glanced outside. "We're almost there."

Molly followed his line of sight and noticed the large, imposing building in the distance. She turned back to him and took his hand. "It's only three months."

He turned her hand over in his, looking at it- studying it. He nodded his head and said, "Three months." When he looked back up his eyes were once again different. As a matter of fact, he seemed different. She couldn't place it but something had changed in the last few seconds. "I'm sorry I let you down- that I keep letting you down. You deserve a better friend than me."

She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand. "See, that's where you're wrong. Because I think you're wonderful. I think you are an amazing man, Sherlock Holmes. That's why I'm always here when you ask for me." She paused as she rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone. "And I always will be."

He cleared his throat. "In three months?"

"If not sooner."

As the car stopped Sherlock brought her hand up to his mouth, placing a tender kiss on her palm. "Thank you, Molly Hooper. I'll see you soon."

Then he got out, suitcase in hand, and walked up to the treatment facility without looking back.

A little sad... a little hopeful...

Thanks so much for reading. Please let me know what you think. ~Lil~