Trying my hand at a 30 day challenge to try and break the writers block on two other fics (that I have every intention if finishing). Feel free to review.

This first chapter had two cuss words in it, but nothing worse then what is used on the show. So I hope it's ok.

0o0

Sherlock, not usually attuned to human emotions, realised quite quickly that Molly was angry at him. The revelation probably had something to do with Mrs Hudson's vase flying past his head and smashing on the wall behind him. But he definitely realised it when he heard some of the unsavoury things coming out of her mouth.

Sherlock lowered his violin and listened to the language choices that would make a salty sea-dog blush. In fact, the petite pathologist was so irate he was only picking up a few words here and there.

"Didn't think that through, did you?" "Bastard!" "Good to know everyone is happy and safe..." "Fired! Can you believe it?" "Lots of hate for you right now Holmes"

One word set off a siren that saw Sherlock bolt from his seat. "Fired?"

"Oh you are listening then, arsehole" she snapped. "Good to know you weren't in the mind palace!"

"I was." He began carefully, staring down at her. "Crazy women screaming tend to get my attention though."

Molly's eyes flashed and another high level curse word (one Sherlock had never even heard John, the most fluent swearer he knew, use). She dug in her oversized bag, pulling out a folded piece of paper and slapping it against his chest.

"What's this?"

Her voice dripping with sarcasm, Molly replied. "It's a letter, dickhead."

If the anger was directed at anyone else, it would have been funny. In the past it had been. To date, one of the most hilarious things Sherlock had ever seen was Molly unleashing her fury on a young incompetent intern. From a distance, it had been all flailing arms and animated facial expressions. It was not funny up close though.

For Sherlock, it was just confusing. He looked down at the letter, unfolding it as he read, "Dear Doctor Hooper, effective immediately you are suspended from active duty. This suspension will be in effect for the duration of the investigation into your practices. If it is found that you are in breach of the medical association guidelines, your permission to practice forensic pathology will be revoked."

He took a minute to let the words sink in while Molly just continued a mantra of "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

"Calm down," Sherlock snapped, skimming the rest of the document. Molly stopped muttering but continued her pacing. "You are a fine physician who would never be in breach of any guidelines."

"Falsifying a coroners report is a direct breach."

"But you would never falsify a..." Realisation dawned on him. "Oh."

Suddenly, Molly launched herself up onto the coffee table that sat between then and and began pummelling him with her tiny fists. The action was ineffective, much less painful then other times she had struck him, so Sherlock allowed it to happen.

"I falsified your report, you idiot. This is all your fault!" She ranted. Sherlock took a small step out of her strike range, causing Molly to step off of the table. Now, at her natural height, she moved her attention to his chest. "I am bound by a code, which I broke, because you asked me to!"

Sherlock refolded the letter with one hand, letting her words sink in. This was his fault. When he had asked her to take part in his 'death' he had never considered possible repercussions, at least the repercussions for her. Up until now, there hadn't been any consequences for Molly. With all of the frenzy around his return, no one thought to think of accomplices, so with the exception of the relatively perceptive Anderson, no one outside of his tight circle of friends knew what Molly had done for him. Now, obviously, someone had pieced it together, and everything was coming down around Molly.

She sighed, and with one last exhausted jab into his ribs, collapsed into the nearest chair. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. I shouldn't really be blaming you..."

"Yes, you should." Sherlock said, not turning to look at her, instead focusing on the wall above her head, running through all of the possible ways that he could fix this for her. "You are right, it is my fault. I hadn't... I never... I'll fix it."

Molly sat up straighter in her chair. "No, you don't have to. The letter is right, I was in breach of my guidelines of practice. I did do the wrong thing."

"...because I asked you to." He echoed her previous words.

"I could have said no." Molly sighed. There was a brief beat of silence, before both of them began laughing.

Molly continued to laugh at the ludicrous idea that she would have turned him down, but Sherlock soon stopped his laughter. Molly would do anything for him. To a fault. Only now, years after she had helped him did he realise what it all meant. Molly Hooper would risk everything for him. Her job, for example. Sherlock had a power over her. A power that made him uneasy.

When he had asked her to help 'kill' him, it was because he needed someone with notable medical expertise. Molly had been a prime candidate. He hadn't realised exactly what he was capable of getting out of her. What she was willing to give for him. He had manipulated her for his own means before, that was true, but that was not what he wanted now.

Molly was his equal. In some respects, Sherlock believed Molly to be better than him. In that moment, Sherlock knew he would never manipulate her again. He would never repeat his previous tricks of using her sentiment towards him selfishly.

Sherlock stepped forward to sit on the coffee table, putting him eye level with Molly. The pathologist pulled herself together under the intensity if her companion's gaze. "The biggest injustice in all of this Molly is that I haven't really thanked you. For what you did." Molly wanted to interrupt, to tell him that no thank you was necessary, but he persisted. "I came to you when weak and you strengthened me."

Sherlock shocked himself as much as her when he reached out and took one her hand in his. He trapped it between his carefully. "Your strength and intelligence in the matter is what guaranteed its success. It was never my intention for anything to come back on you in this way. But it has... And now you need me."

She stared at his larger hands, wrapped around her notably smaller one. They were warm and smooth, holding her whole body still with just one point of contact. Molly said nothing as she continued to stare at their joined hands. Her hand was sandwiched between his warm palms, something she never expected to feel. This was the most physical contact she had had with Sherlock since she struck him, and sadly, the most intimate physical contact she had had with anyone since she had left Tom.

"What do you propose we do?" Molly whispered. She was all talk when it came to copping the punishment that the medical board wanted to give her. Molly loved her job far to much to turn down the offer of help from a man who had the means to assist.

"'We' do nothing." Sherlock replied, dropping her hands and shattering the moment that she was sure he wasn't even aware they were having. "Wait here."

Sherlock then swept down the hall to his room and slammed the door. Molly sat, stunned, staring after him. Since his return things had been different. Sherlock had gone out of his way to prove that she counted, and with the exception of his relapse, they had been what others would consider friends. He had sought out her advise on many matters, academic and personal, and they had even spent a small amount if time together socially. Their dynamic had shifted.

The strongest evidence of this change was his eagerness to help. Molly doubted he would have offered his assistance to her if she had of found herself in this predicament prior to the fall. Sherlock wanted to help her now, and Molly liked to think that it wasn't just a result of some sort of gratitude, but because he genuinely wanted to.

Her phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. Molly glanced down at the caller ID. Mike Stamford. Probably calling to ask her to clean out her office until after the investigation.

"Molly," came the cheery voice on the other end of the line. Molly stopped. Her boss was happy to be asking her to leave? That didn't seem right. "Molly, I am going to need to you cover Sandra's Friday night shift. She said she'll exchange it for one of your Saturday nights..."

"Mike!" Molly interrupted. "Mike, I've been suspended."

Mike paused. "No one told you?"

"Told me what?" Molly asked, movement out of the corner of her eye grabbing her attention. Sherlock made his way out of his room, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He busied himself with something in the kitchen, probably an experiment. "Mike?"

"Your suspension was overturned." Mike filled in. Molly, who's gaze still hadn't left Sherlock, almost dropped the phone. "About ten minutes ago. I've been given orders to reissue your shifts immediately."

Ten minutes! Sherlock only been gone about fifteen. She stood, phone still pressed to her ear, and stepped closer to the kitchen. The 'experiement' that she had originally assumed he was doing was in fact tea, and he indicated to a cup on the table just for her.

"So can you? Take Sandra's Friday, I mean?" Mike said in her ear, but Molly hardly heard it.

"Sure." She replied absently. In a quarter of an hour, Sherlock had fixed everything for her. Just as he said he would.

"Thanks Molls." Mike grinned. "Let me know what Saturday you want off. I am glad to have you back, Doctor Hooper."

Molly hung up when she heard the dial tone. "How?"

"Sometimes Mycroft is an asset." Sherlock admitted, stirring sugar into his tea. "Only sometimes."

Molly sat at the (unusually clean) kitchen table and sipped at her tea. Sherlock took the seat across from her. Thanking him seemed like the place to start a conversation, but he cut her off before she could even open her mouth.

"No need to thank me Molly." Sherlock said flippantly. "You looked after me when I needed you, I think it's high time I start looking after you."

Molly, not sure what to say, used her tea cup to hide her smile. Dynamic change indeed.