Chapter 1: Giving In

"What do you need?" Her heart beat faster and her fingers trembled, but she didn't give in to the fear that was spreading through her veins like ice. He had said he was going to die.

"You." At any other time in her life, this would have made Molly's heart soar, but now she felt her heart drop, landing somewhere in her stomach.

Dropping her bag to the floor and taking off her coat, she took a deep breath. "What did you have in mind?"

Sherlock smiled and Molly knew she was going to regret offering her help. Sherlock always asked too much.

…

It had been only a few hours since Molly had helped Sherlock fake his death, but now, staring at John Watson's devastated face, she couldn't help but wish she hadn't. Lying had never been one her strong suits, as Sherlock had pointed out. Ducking her head, she pushed her way into the morgue. When she saw John trying to follow her, she locked the door behind her, not looking directly at him. She couldn't bear to see how hurt he was anymore.

"Well?" Sherlock's voice came out of the shadows behind her. "How is he?"

"Not good," Molly muttered. "But then what did you expect?"

Sherlock was leaning against the wall of cold cubbies. His hair was tangled and his face pail. His hands were in the pockets of his trench coat and his scarf hung loosely around his neck. While he had been leaning casually before, Molly could not see his face. But at her report over John's wellbeing, he stood up straight, emerging from the shadows. His icy blue eyes flashed and his jaw tensed, but he reacted in no other visible way.

"He'll be fine." He paused, as if expecting a reply. "Well…thank you, Molly. For your help."

Molly paused. It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes expressed any sort of gratitude, and she flushed in pleasure. She had helped Sherlock Holmes. All at once, though, she thought of John Watson's face and her mood plummeted.

"Don't thank me," she cried, shaking her head. Her next words were a whisper. "Not for this. Not when…"

Not when she was going to have to see John's face every day and know she had helped to bring about his misery. Not when she was going to lie to everyone she cared about. Not when she was forever going to be watching her words, making sure she didn't slip up.

Sherlock's face remained carefully blank. He knew what he was asking of her, he had to know. Did he not realize how much of a struggle this was going to be for her? How much guilt…? Of course he wouldn't. Sherlock Holmes had no concept of guilt or remorse. A machine, she thought to herself, surprised at the flash of anger she felt towards the oblivious man. She couldn't afford to become angry with him though, there was too much work left for them to do in order for this to work. It wasn't over yet.

"Molly," his voice, usually uncaring, seemed a bit unsure. She turned to look at him. "Can I…I need…May I stay at your place for a few days? Just until things have settled down a bit and I can leave undetected."

Molly remained quiet. She hadn't bet on having to be around Sherlock longer than she absolutely had to, and now he wanted to stay at her house? She opened her mouth to protest.

"Please, Molly," And Molly's words died in her throat. He was looking at her with wide eyes, his face suddenly very young looking. Damn it. Why did he do that? "I…"

Sherlock Holmes at a loss for words was not something that anyone could see every day. Molly even suspected that it was just an act to get her to take pity on him. It was working. She sighed and grabbed her coat.

"Alright," she said, resignedly. "You have my address?"

He nodded, some of the tension leaving his face.

"I have to talk to John, Greg and Mycroft." At his confused look, she clarified." John, Lestrade, and Mycroft."

"Mycroft," Sherlock snorted. "I wouldn't bother with him, if I were you. I'm sure he already knows and cares very little, if at all."

Molly just shook her head and moved towards the door. Looking back briefly over her shoulder, she saw Sherlock with his head hanging and a faint sparkle on his prominent cheekbone. A tear? But she blinked and it was gone. She turned back to the doors, unlocked them and slipped through the small space she allowed herself, relocking the doors behind her. She then went out to confirm the death of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and apparent fraud.