After watching Reichenbach I don't think I'm capable of coherent thought.

But heres something that needs writing. Because Molly secretly became one of the best characters in the franchise.

He had explained to me about a pill that would induce a death like state. He had explained that he might be injured in some way and seeming like he was dead.

But when they wheeled this body in I almost cried. The side of his face was bloody and bruised. his curly black hair was soaked and sticking to his forehead.

He had told me to give him an injection when he came in and see to his injuries. He said if it was bad I should call his brother Mycroft.

But looking at that still face I couldn't help but wonder if this plan had failed. Maybe he was dead for real. My hands shook as I gently touched the side of his face. Then I went racing off to the counter to pick up the bottle with the chemical that would counteract that pill.

Readying the needle with one hand I dialed the number Sherlock gave me.

A few rings and an answer.

"Sherlock said I might receive a call from you" the voice sounded strangely calm.

"How is he?" I stared at the phone for a moment wondering at this man and his brother. I will never understand how their minds work. But that wasn't important right now

"Get a brain surgeon to the morgue"

When a man showed up with an umbrella standing next to a man wearing a surgeon mask, so I couldn't see his face, I didn't ask questions. I stood aside and let them enter.

The one in the surgeon mask immediately asked for tools. A scalpel and forceps and things like that. I got it all for him and stood nearby in case he needed anything else.

He was muttering about pressure from the brain being swollen and he asked for a drill.

The man with the umbrella didn't move or speak. He just stood there never taking his eyes off of Sherlock.

They had to keep Sherlock in the morgue since there was no safer place for him. We had him set up in the tiny room that was meant to be my office since nobody ever went in there. When I was around I kept the door open.

So he lay like a corpse on a gurney with bloody bandages around is head. Mycroft stopped by on occasion to sit with him. The man in the surgeon mask stopped by to check on him once or twice.

Meanwhile I did like I had agreed to do and found a corpse that would be Sherlock's stand in.

It was goullish and disturbing but there were hundreds of John Does sitting in this morgue. At least one of them got a proper burial. Sherlock's funeral wasn't open casket and John was happy to let me take care of things.

I didn't get to talk to John that much. Not that he was very talkative. At the funeral he was pale and stiff. More like the shell of a person. It was hard to see him like that and not be able to tell him the truth but Sherlock had made me swear.

But watching John stand there with tears silently dripping down his face, it was hard.

After the funeral I went back to the morgue. When I turned on the lights I found Sherlock was finally waking up. He had been unconscious for 5 days.

I walked over to the gurney and I could hear his incoherent mumblings. The only thing that made sense was 'John' he kept saying his name over and over again. One hand clenching the side of the gurney and his face screwed up in pain he just kept saying his name.

There wasn't much I could do…biting my lower lip I reached out and put my hand on his. Then his eyes flew open and I could see he was having a hard time focusing. I stood and waited while that amazing mind of his put it all together. As soon as his eyes found me I could see it all click on his face. His face went a little tight but he said nothing. I decided to be cheerful and simply said

"Morning Sherlock!" something twitched on his face as his eyes flicked from the window to me.

"It's not morning Molly," he stated his words a little slurred, for a moment I thought he was going to say more but he didn't. He sat quietly staring at the wall for a long time. I just stood there because I didn't know what else to do.

Then very suddenly he moved to try and stand. I put my hands on his shoulders to hold him down.

"Sherlock you aren't ready to move around on your own yet." I told him and for a moment he glared at me with such venom I took a step back. But that melted away leaving him empty and grey. He didn't struggle anymore. He just looked at me and said

"I lied to him, Molly" I didn't have to ask who.

"About what?"

"I told him everything in the papers was true and that I'm a fake," bitterness seeped into his voice.

"Why?"

"I thought it would be easier for him to move on if he hated me" Now his face twisted and he turned on his side so I couldn't see his face.

I thought of John standing over Sherlock's grave with tears leaking down his face. Then I put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and at first he moved to shake it off but then to my surprise he didn't.

"Sherlock I think no matter what you said to him John could never hate you." Sherlock didn't say anything for another few moments

"Has the funeral happened already?"

"Yes."

"Did you go?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"Did you see him?

"Yes."

Another long silence. I think Sherlock wasn't sure how to ask so I just told him everything I could. While I spoke Sherlock turned over so he could face me. Probably trying to deduce extra information from my expressions or something.

I told him that Lestrade, Anderson, and John had come to morgue to ID the fake corpse. Mycroft had done good work and the corpse was convincing. After they agreed it was Sherlock, Anderson muttered something to effect of 'good riddance' and John punched him in the face.

That made Sherlock smile, a little.

I told him that Mrs. Hudson had been the one to speak at his funeral. John seemed to have lost the ability to speak when they stood at his grave. But I had seen the day before that he had updated his blog. I pulled up the site on my phone.

"I know he didn't say anything at your funeral but he wrote this on his blog"

Sherlock immediately grabbed the phone from my hand and squinted at the screen. After a few moments of squinting he handed it back mumbling,

"Eyes can't focus very well right now. Read it to me." I stared at him for a moment seeing that hard look in his eyes. Taking the phone back I looked at the screen and read it

"He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him."

This silence was the longest. Sherlock didn't say anything but his face pinched and he bit his lower lip. He turned his back to me again.

This time I stood up and turned to go. I knew Sherlock's pride all too well and I was sure he wouldn't want anybody seeing him like this.

So part 1 complete.

I couldn't think of how he could have faked that fall so I just decided he didn't and somehow he survived. I dunno. There will be more to this.

And seriously I'm not writing this for my 'How Sherlock Survived Theory' I'm aware this one is full of holes it only makes enough sense for the fic which is what I'm concerned with

R&R if you would like to help me recover from my Reichenbach feelings or whatever