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He had been dead three months when he appeared in the morgue. For most people, such a thing would be absurd; but Sherlock Holmes didn't die like most people. He was, in truth, the only one breathing in the room until Molly Hooper swung through the door, back from her lunch break, and proceeded to spill coffee all over herself in surprise.
"Oh! Sherlock!" She squeaked, and then, more quietly, "Should you be here?"
"Debatable," he mumbled, lifting up the foot of a corpse by the big toe, then dropping it back onto the metal table with a thud. There was a heavy silence around the two of them, and among the dead. Molly's eyes flicked up and down nervously, not knowing what to say next, and finding it difficult to look at the long dark coat, those very familiar eyes, the amusingly out-of-character bowler hat which seemed to be disguise enough for Sherlock. She noticed him twirling a fake mustache in one hand, as if he had just removed it.
"What do you need?" she finally asked. He met her eyes slowly and removed the hat, taking a step forward. She noticed how unsure he seemed—entirely lacking his usual disdainful confidence.
"It's good to see someone I know," he spoke quickly, turning away and pacing the room. "To be back here."
Molly retrieved a tissue and began delicately dabbing at the coffee stain on her shirt. "I haven't heard anything from you."
"Been busy, you know. Making a bit of progress. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that," he said, still restlessly pacing the lab, poking at things he shouldn't be.
Molly laughed a little. "Oh, who's gonna come after me? But I understand."
Sherlock eyed her carefully. "You really ought to have that dry-cleaned. It will look terrible."
"What?" Oh, the shirt. "Oh! Oh, yes. Probably." She wrung her hands.
"Molly, the thing is, I need another favor. I need to stay in London for a while, and I cannot risk making contact with anyone else. So, I hope you won't mind. I won't be any trouble. Well, I probably will, but you won't care."
"I don't understand."
"I only need a couch. I don't even really sleep much. Oh god, you don't have any cats, do you?" Molly blinked slowly as comprehension crawled up on her, and Sherlock was prying open the eyelid of the corpse and leaning in curiously. "This one's been poisoned, obviously. Definitely foul play. Look at the spacing of these bruises—"
"Sherlock."
He looked up as if he'd only just noticed her standing there.
"You want to stay at my flat, then?" her voice rose in pitch just a bit and she bit her lip.
"Knew you'd come around," he replied, as if she had just invited him. He flashed a bright, eye-squinting smile at her.
"Well alright then. I'm off work at six. You should really put that mustache back on in case somebody else comes in here, though," she warned.
He sighed dramatically. "It's very uncomfortable. Things have been extremely dull until this past week," Sherlock said, smoothing the false facial hair back over his lip and tucking his untrimmed hair up under the bowler hat. He hopped up onto the counter and pulled his knees up to his chin, and Molly flinched a bit, thinking about how much sterilizing she'd have to do later. "I don't think it's beyond me to be reckless intentionally, but I know there's too much at risk at the moment. How is John, by the way?" He went on before she could answer. "I'm sure Scotland Yard has completely fallen apart without my aid. You didn't even know this one was a murder, did you?" He nodded towards the poisoned corpse. "I noted the surprise when I said so. It figures. Imagine a world without a single intelligent person in it, Molly, just imagine. I suppose it wouldn't be very far from reality. Although—"
"Sherlock, what are you doing here?"
"I missed you," he said evenly.
"You're actually a horrible liar, you know?"
His lips pulled into a half smirk, but he didn't look at her, just studied his hands as he pressed them together on his knees. "I can't tell you. Not now. You've been very helpful to me, Molly." That was all he needed to say, really. She nodded, and pulled her lab coat back on, covering up the stain on her shirt. "Now, get down from there, you." She tried to sound commanding, cute and confident like the girls in movies who get the boy. "God knows where you've been."