After Johns visit to Sherlock's grave , he knew he wouldnt be able to return to the flat anytime soon. Instead he got into a taxi and asked to be taken to every place he and Sherlock had gone together. Sherlock watched as John climbed into the Taxi after he composed himself. Tears began to sting at the back of his eyes. 'I don't cry', he chided himself. But he couldnt help it, one tear rolled down his cheek. 'I can't tell him anything, not now. Not while the assasins are still in the country'. A month. He decided. He'd give himsefl a month at least before he introduced himself to the world again.
After John's long Taxi ride, he had to go back to the flat to begin boxing Sherlocks things. When he reached the door he stroked the gold numbers and letter. 221B. He sighed and thought, 'This is where we began, and where we ended'.
His lips quivered as his fingertips met the door knob. "Not in public", he whispered as he pushed through the door. He let it slam shut behind him as he dragged himself up the stairs. His cheeks began to burn and his eyes stung. He felt his body crumble halway up the steps. His body was racked wiith heaving sobs. He let out every ounce of sadness he'd ever kept inside. He cursed Sherlock and his stupid decisions. He cursed himself for letting himself believe in him. He cursed himself for still believing in him.
Feeling hopeless, John fell into bed. That entire night he didn't sleep; no matter what, the fact that Sherlock was dead didnt fit rihgt in his head. The next morning he heaved himself out of bed, but as he did, he was crippled with pain, his limp had returned. He hobbled over to the corner of his room where his cane had been stored months ago, when he'd first met Sherlock. Sherlock really had made his life better. Only one thought passed through Johns head that day, "Sherlock can not be dead".
Sherlock walked through the city keeping to the back roads and alley ways. He stripped himself of his scarf and jacket and traded them to a homeless man for his. Though dirty and disgusting, he could afford to be noticed. He hacked away at his hair with a knife he'd acquired, ridding himself of his iconic black curls. He'd live on the streets until he thought it was safe enough to return to John. QUite suprisingly his homeless network didn't recognise him. He was kind of glad, he got to live in the background, unnotice. He kept catching himself wishing he could return to his normal life. As much as he despised ordinary people, he couldn't help but love his. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John. John. Molly. John. His mind was stuck on those two. Molly and John. That was all he could think. He loved them. More so than he ever thought possible. This was going to be a long, cold month.
Sherlock's mind was incredible, able to deduce anything from anything, but it was not patient. Sherlock needed to let someone know he was alive. But John was in the most danger from the assassins. Molly! He could tell Molly. Slowly travelling through the the allies he found his way to Saint Bart's. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
"This is where I died", he said to himself. He walked up the stairs and through the cold hallways to Molly's office. "What am I going to tell her?" He muttered. "Molly will know what I'm trying to say anyways, she always does".
He tapped on the door three times. A moment passed. Three more. "Yes! I'm bloody coming!" Molly's voice sounded thick and dry, like she's been crying. The door swung open, "What do yo-" She began, but when she saw Sherlock she froze. She was speechless. A first for Molly.
"Hello Molly", he breathed.
"So, you're real then?" Her hand flew up to her mouth, "I'm not hallucinating?"
"No I'm real", he smiled, "Listen, I need to tell you -"
*SMACK*
A sharp pain began radiating from his cheek. His hand brushed over it and he realised what happened. Molly had just slapped him. He looked down into her eyes, they were filled with rage. And happiness. But mostly rage. "Molly..." He started.
"You're an idiot!" She shouted. She looked past him to see a man walking at the end of the corridor, "Get in here before someone else sees you!" She grabbed his jacket and pulled him inside before slamming the door behind them.
"Did you see what you did to John? You should be ashamed!" Molly yelled.
"Molly, calm down! I didn't have any other choice. Moriarty threatened to kill everyone I loved if I didn't die. And don't you ever think that I didnt consider the repercussions!"
"Oh Sherlock. You did what you could. But, when are you going to tell John?" Molly whispered.
"Once the assassins leave the country".
"We missed you so much", she sighed, "I missed you so much".
She stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. His mind went completely blank, for the first time in his life, he couldn't think anything. He wrapped his arms around her too and wrested his head against hers, breathing in her scent. After a little while, Molly stepped out of the embrace and pressed a hand to her nose. "Sherlock. I hate to be rude, but..." She paused, "You smell absolutely foul!"
"I know", he sighed, "I had to trade my scarf and jacket to a homeless man. Not to mention I haven't taken a shower in a week".
"That explains a lot. You can come over to my flat and get washed up. I mean, if you like", Molly said.
"That'd be great Molly, thank you", Sherlock and Molly walked down to her car. All He could think about was John, all alone in their flat.
She opened the door to her flat, "Uh, mind the mess", she half laughed. They walked in and instantly Sherlocks nose was filled with her smell, a mixture of rose and the lily shampoo she uses. A few items were misplaced around the apartment, the coffee table was filled with tissues and sad movies. "Showers through there", she pointed to a door at the opposite end of the flat, "I can wash your clothes if you'd like" she added.
"Oh yes, of course", Sherlock shrugged out of the borrowed jacket and scarf. He began unbuttoning his shirt revealing his pale chest, he unzipped the fly of his pants and he half closed the door of the bathroom behind him. He slipped his pants and underwear outside the door. Molly realised she had forgotten to look away.
While Sherlock showered Molly took all his clothes to the wash. As she walked past the bathroom she heard Sherlock humming his favourite violin song. Her thoughts were a big jumble of 'Thank god he's alive' and 'How could he do this?' Pulling her out of her thoughts she heard Sherlock yelling for a towel. she slipped him a blue one through the crack in the door.
"Thank you", he went back to his humming.
He attempted to dry his hair with the towel, grimacing in the mirror at the wild way his hair was growing back. He wiped himself down and wrapped the towel around his waist, securing it so he could wear it whilst his clothes were washing. He stepped out of the bathroom and took a seat on the lounge. Molly poked her head out of the kitchen, "Would you like a-" she gasped, clearly forgetting that she'd taken his clothes. She stammered for a minute or two, eventually finding her voice, "Would you, er, like a cup of tea?"

John was sitting alone on his chair in flat 221B. Even sitting there made him want to cry. He needed to get out of the house. The only place he felt like he could manage was Molly's, someone who could understand what was happening. He walked outside and called a cab. While driving, John called Molly. "Hey, Molly. How's it going? I hope you don't mind if I stop by?" He asked.
"Oh no! That's fine!" She replied.
"Okay, I'll be over in a few", he hung up.
"Molly!" Sherlock yelled.
"What?"
"I can't be here while John's here! He can't know yet! He'll be in danger!" He could feel the worry bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
"But, why can I know and John can't? John's more important than me, he should know the secret!" She dropped her head.
Sherlock lifted himself off the couch and walked over to her. He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her head so her eyes met his, "Molly, you're the one person I can trust with everything. You are so much more than important to me", He looked towards the front door, "I won't have time to leave before he gets here", his eyes flickered down to Molly's hand resting on his bare chest, he smirked a little, "Added to the fact that I don't have any clothes and it's looking pretty desolate".
"Here, um... just go... Hide in the closet. When he leaves I'll come get you". She pushed him towards her bedroom.
"Molly", he turned to look at her.
"Yes?" She breathed. "Thank you", he smiled and shuffled to the closet. He closed the door behind him, it smelled of perfume and new shoes. He walked into a little corner. About five minutes later her heard the doorbell.
"Hey Molly", John smiled as Molly opened the door.
"Hey John, how you holding up?"
"Pretty well yeah, most of Sherlock's things are in boxes, we aren't actually sure what to do with them", he sighed.
"I can alwasy take some of the science equipment off your hands, and God knows we could use some new things th the lab", she pointed out.
They both went quiet for a while, just happy to have company I suppose. When suddenly they just pulled each other into a tight hug. John sobbed silently on Molly's shoulder, while she just held him, happy to help. That was Molly.
Sherlock couldnt take it anymore he had to tell John! Hearing him cry, burnt his heart, just like Moriarty said. Quietly, he walked out of the closet and into the living room. "John..." He breathed.
"Sherlock? WHat the Hell?!" Molly exclaimed.
"I'm not hallucinating am I?" John asked.
"No he's real", Molly said as she glared at Sherlock. "Why the hell did you pretend to die? And why don't you have any pants on... Again?!" John asked, still trying to figure out if he was real.
Sherlock explained his predicament to John while Molly made them all tea.
"So, how did you do it?" John asked.
"Do what?" Sherlock said, taking his and Johns tea from Molly. "Fake your death".
"I can't tell you everything John", Sherlock winked at Molly.
"Oh my gosh! That makes so much sense now!" Molly exclaimed.
"What does?" John yelled.
"All the missing blood bags! She sat her tea on the table, "Over the past or so, we've lost like sixty blood bags!"
"I needed to make sure it would work", Sherlock smiled.
"Sherlock, you're still exactly the same, absolutely insane", John took a sip of his tea, "How're we supposed to go back to our normal lives?"
"Exactly, we don't", Sherlock said.
"I still hate you", John grimaced.
"Oh. no you don't" Sherlock replied in a flirty manner.

"I'm actually surprised you didn't punch him!" Molly said to John.
"Oh, it crossed my mind once or twice", John said through her teeth.
"I was pleasently surprised too!" Sherlock smiled.
"So. Are you coming back to the flat?" John lifted himself up off the couch.
"I can't John".
"Why the hell not?" He raised his voice.
"Our flat is too central I can't risk the hit men still being in town", he paused, "If Molly will let me, I'd be staying here with her for a while".
"Oh um, wait what?" Molly stammered.
"Oh Molly don't act like you don't know. You know the assassins are around and if they know I'm alive, they'll kill you and John." Sherlock replied.
"Why does she know and I don't?! Is she better than me now? Is that it, Sherlock?!" John yelled.
"I couldnt tell you or else you'd have been shot John. Right there, on the spot. I was only told minutes before my 'death'. Why would you even say something like that, john?!" Sherlock screamed back.
"I-I-I don't know. I can't take this. I-I'm going home", John said as he got up to leave, "Thank you for the tea, Molly". Sherlock and Molly just watched as he walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

"Well that was... Interesting?" Molly said breaking the silence.
"You could say that..." Sherlock slumped back in the lounge.
"So you're staying here then?" She sat on the chair opposite him. "Yes, I'll have John bring my things over tomorrow, when he's had time to calm down". "I think you'd better give him more than a day Sherlock..."
"I suppose you're right".
"Well then, off to bed", Molly said quietly.
"There's another room down the hall you can sleep in".
"Thanks Molly", Sherlock replied as he walked off to his room.
"Goodnight"
"You too", Sherlock went into his room without turning on the light. He felt someting he never had before, emotions. Real life emotions. Swimming around wildly inside him. That's new, he mused. He stripped off his shirt and pants, slipping under the covers, he fell asleep almost instantly. Through the entire night vivid nightmares plagued his mind. It just didn't feel right knowing that John wasnt in the room above his. Though it was comforting to know that Molly was just down the hall.
His feelings for John and Molly were oddly similar, he'd put them both of them in danger, but he'd gladly die for real to protect either of them.

He woke up to the sunlight beaming through his window, odd though, he didn't feel like he'd slept at all.
He slipped down the hall, assuming that Molly was not yet awake, but as he stepped into the kitchen she was already awake, doing dishes and making breakfast. "Good morning Molly", he flicked the kettle on.
"Oh", she gasped as she turned around, noticing Sherlock's lack of clothing, "How- uh- How did you sleep?"
"...Fine?" He asked quizzically, why did she want to know how he slept. John had never asked.
"Oh good" She paused, "I, um, heard you in your room shouting last night, I went in to check on you but you were sleeping.."

Now Sherlock felt exactly like John, plagued by lost memories of battles, best left in the past. He slumped down at the kitchen table, lost in thought.
"Do you want breakfast?" Molly asked, "We have toast, cereal or pancakes?"
"Huh? Oh, no thanks", Sherlock said pursing his lips and returning to his thoughts.
"So, what're you doing today Sherlock? Getting John to bring your things around or?" She trailed off.
"I was actually just going to think today..." He shook his head, "What about you? What're you doing today Molly?" That was strange. He'd never asked about John's day before. He'd never really thought much about it.
"I'm off today, so no St. Barts, probably just some shopping or something, watch a movie I suppose", she smiled, sitting at the opposite end of the tableto Sherlock, her hair still ruffled from sleep, her pajamas still crinkled.
"Sounds, uh, interesting", Sherlock cocked his head to the side, where had all of this small talk nonsense come from?
"Yeah, definitely", she scoffed.