Author's Note: My first try, so please bear with it.

Molly Hooper was ready to go home after a hectic day. All she wanted to do was to sit in her bathtub, finish reading the Greek play Antigone and sip that wine her friend bought for Molly's birthday a month ago. Though she loved her job, seeing all these corpses do remind her of the cruelty in this world, and how she wished, especially in her bad days (and you can call her selfish for wishing this), that people would just stop dying.

But she'd be out of a job. The ultimate Catch 22.

She sighed, and grabbed her bag out of the drawer. Nice bath, here I come.

As she got close to the door, about to turn the lights off and lock the doors to the morgue, she was startled by a quiet, yet familiar voice.

"You're wrong, you know. You do count."

Molly whirled around and found the consulting detective standing against the counter solemnly. His eyes stared towards the wall, not facing her.

"You've always counted, and I've always trusted you."

Molly took a silent gasp, surprised at this declaration. In the years of knowing Sherlock, she never thought she'd lived to the day to hear this.

"But you were right. I'm not okay." He turned around, facing Molly. Molly had seen him in a vulnerable state only a handful of times, but this time, it has beaten all the other records.

Without hesitation, Molly said, "Tell me what's wrong."

"I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything you think I am, or I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

Despite the lack of lighting, Molly could see the sadness and desperation written across his face clearly. It reminded her of a frightened little boy she knew years ago with the broken toy. Her heart ached. Making her voice stronger this time, or maybe it was an attempt for her to be stronger for the both of them, she asked again, "What do you need?"

"You."

"It's done." she told Sherlock quietly when she entered into her office the following morning. It's official, the world's only consulting detective, or rather, a con man, was now dead in all the records. Completed with his best friend's statement and the pathologist's examination of the body.

Once Sherlock told her his plan the day before, she's been running around on a rampage to get all the essential necessities. From the untraceable mobile phone Sherlock had hid in the ladies room on the 7th floor (now she knew why that stall had always been out of order, for as long as she remembered since she started working there), to running around London trying to get Sherlock's homeless network to act in this staged suicide and passing a word to Mycroft discretely via a bouquet order, with 3 pink roses and 1 white carnation, sent to the Holmes Estate.

Then, Molly spent the night in the morgue pretending to be doing the autopsy of the body, and creating false documents necessary to obtain Sherlock's death certificate. She was fully aware what she's doing was highly illegal, but for that man, for Sherlock Holmes, she was willing to do anything.

John had come in, demanding to see the body, but she was able to persuade him otherwise by using the usual excuse ("You don't want to see him that way, John. It's better for you to remember him as he used to be, not like this. Just trust me"). Lestrade came in as well, trying to pay his respects, and Molly was able to fend him off, with a "I can't let you see the body without the consent of the family, Greg. I know you are-, were friends, but it's policy and Mycroft has already informed me that no one is to see Sherlock until he gets here. I am so sorry.", leaving Lestrade devastated. She supposed he was planning to apologize to the body, trying to ease his guilt.

Molly doesn't know whether she's lucky or not, to be the only 2 people in the world to know Sherlock is still alive. She had never been good at lying, and this time, she would be at her wit's end to pretend Sherlock is actually dead. Despite what Sherlock had told her about how she counts, she's glad that she doesn't, not really, by the fact that all who had come to see the body never bothered to inquire about her after the detective's supposing death (everyone was too busy dealing with their own grief or guilt). It had been a very long day; if anyone asked her how she's doing, she might just have a complete breakdown in front of said person, no acting skills required.

What's left of the plan now was for Mycroft to come collect Sherlock in the morning, and Sherlock will be on his way to dismantle Moriarty's network, one by one.

Molly set down a cup of hot coffee on her desk for Sherlock, who didn't seem to have moved an inch since he first sat down at the chair hours ago. "Mycroft called. He should be here in about 30 minutes."

Sherlock didn't answer.

Molly sighed. "Do you need anything else, Sherlock?" And when she got no response, she continued, "if you need anything, I'll just be in the next room."

She was about to step out when Sherlock finally opened his mouth

"How did John take it?"

Ah. "As well as expected, he did see his best friend jumped off the roof. Sherlock, I know it's none if my business but it might be -"

"No, absolutely not." Sherlock interrupted, with a fierce voice. "I have no wish to harm another person unnecessary."

Molly's heart dropped, plunging into the deep cold, like she was going to be sick. What about me, she thought to herself, you're willing to protect John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, but what about me? Instead of voicing her thoughts, Molly nodded quietly. Because she's Molly Hooper and she doesn't argue with the consulting detective.

"I will need you to keep an eye on him, Molly Hooper."

"Of course." She replied, trying not to betray herself. "Anything else you needed?"

"No."

"Okay, I will be in the other room then." She was about to exit the room when Sherlock said,"Thank you, Molly, for everything."

Huh? This maybe the first time he genuinely meant something since he apologized to her during that disastrous Christmas party.

"No need to thank me. Just maybe next time, try asking first instead of manipulating me?" Molly added offhandedly.

That got Sherlock's attention. "Manipulating you? What do you - oh, you still don't believe you count, do you?"

"I know it as a fact." Molly replied, trying not to panic and hoping she had put on a calm face. Stupid Molly, she scowled at herself, for being so self absorbed to spill out that comment. This wasn't about her, it's about him. So she quickly added, "I'm okay with it though, I've accepted that long time ago." She gave him a smile, a forced, bitter smile, but she tried her best anyway. Not that he would care, he was never one who cared much when it comes to emotions.

Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, but closed it quickly after decided against saying anything. An awkward silence fell in between the two. And when the silence was too much, Molly was the one who broke the silence first. "Like I said, I'll be in the next room." With that, she quickly exited.

She spent the next 30 minutes lost at the morgue, performing another autopsy. The body in front of her right now had been a healthy 50 years old male, who out of the blue, passed away in the middle of the night during his sleep with a sudden heart attack. No foul play was suspected, but it was procedure to perform the autopsy anyway.

Her thoughts started to wander a bit as she was putting her hands deep inside the organs and feeling her way around. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor wife who woke up the next morning and found her dead husband lying next to her. She knew firsthand how that would feel: she was the one who found her mother dead the next morning, who had accidentally overdose herself on the medications she was on due to the doctor's negligence and prescribed the wrong medications. She supposed that was part of the reason why she wanted to become a doctor, to make sure none of this would happen again. But she was never good at dealing with the living. The dead, on the other hand, was much easier to deal with, and Molly felt that her job brings closure to the deceased family.

"Despite the numerous of times you have done this procedure, it's probably best to pay attention when doing an autopsy, don't you think, Dr. Hooper?"

Startled, Molly looked up and found Mycroft Holmes was standing opposite to her, looking down at the body. "Even if he died of a heart attack with no suspicions." Mycroft added dispassionately.

"Hello Mycroft, you are early! Let me go get Sherlock for you." Molly started to snap off her gloves and heading towards the rubbish bin.

"A word please, Doctor Hooper, before you go fetch my dear brother."

"Of course, Mycroft." Molly replied, a bit confused. In the years she'd known the elder Holmes, the two rarely had any conversation, let alone Mycroft being the one who was initiating it.

"Mummy has always complained about Sherlock being in loads of trouble when he was younger, and in truth, he's been a difficult person since he was born. I am sure none of this is news to you, seeing that you've known him since you were eight.

Dealing with him has never been easy, and it got more difficult when he got older, especially during his time in uni. Truth to be told, I did expect to get a phone call in the middle of the night, asking me to identify his body in the morgue with a suspected overdose. That phone call never came, well, until last night, obviously, but imagine my surprise when my brother checked himself into a rehabilitation facility by himself all those years ago. I can only say it's all because of you.

Despite all the harsh treatments you have received throughout the years, and all those unreasonable demands he has asked of you, you have helped him every single time, without hesitation. I'd suspect your motives if I didn't know better - your sentiment for him outweighs everything you have ever done, including your choice of university and the numerous failed attempts at any sort of relationships."

Molly interrupted, "How did you know I -"

"The reason you decided to go to King's college instead of Cambridge? Doctor Hopper, please." Mycroft raised his eyebrow, and giving her a knowing look.

Right, the British government.

"Contrary to your belief, Dr. Hooper, I have always kept a close eye on you, ever since you and my brother met. At first, I thought you would be a bad influence, distracting him from what is important. But time and time again, you have proven me wrong. Whatever you have with Sherlock, you have only helped him to become a better person, even at your own personal cost. I can't fathom why one would sacrifice so much for a person he or she claims to loves, and perhaps one day, I might get to experience that as well.

With all that been said, I just want to use this opportunity to express my gratitude."

Wait, what?

"Thank you for always being there for Sherlock, Molly. You have not saved him once, but twice. The Holmes family will always be in your debt." Mycroft had used this opportunity to walk over to her quickly, and held out her hand to lay a kiss on it.

Molly flustered, not sure what to say. "Mycroft, it's nothing, don't -"

"Don't mention it? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. You have gone through all these years without being thanked once properly by my family. I am not a sentimental person, Dr. Hooper, as you well know, and I am not particular good at expressing it as well, but I do wish to convey my gratefulness of having you in his life."

Without thinking what she was doing, Molly wrapped her arms around Mycroft and gave him a hug. Mycroft tensed up immediately, but recovered and hesitantly pulled up his arms to return the favor. Molly would spend the following weeks wondering how awkward Mycroft must have felt at that moment.

She released him from the hug, and gave him a smile. "There's no need to thank me, Mycroft. For him, I would do it all over again."

"Ahem."

Both of them turned quickly to their left, and found Sherlock was standing next to the autopsy tray, waiting for Mycroft.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Ah, that would be my cue to leave then, Doctor Hooper. Until the next time."

"Of course, Mycroft. It's always a pleasure to see you." Molly gave him another smile, as a thank you for his acknowledgment.

She walked towards Sherlock, who seemed a bit anxious to leave. His hands were shoved inside his pockets, fidgeting. Molly gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, too fast for him to react. His hand flew to where she gave him a peck. Molly gave him a quick smile and picked up her courage to say her goodbyes.

"Good luck Sherlock. Come back to us safely."

Recovering from his momentary slip, he dropped his hand to his side, and said curtly, "Take care, Molly Hooper." With that, he turned away from her and headed for the door.

Mycroft gave her a slight nod, and walked out of the morgue with Sherlock holding the door for him. Looking at her one last time, Sherlock gave Molly a tense nod and he was out the door as well.

And when Molly could no longer see the Holmes brothers, that's when she collapsed to her knees and started crying, mourning for everything that had happened and how things would never be the same again.

It wasn't until much, much later that day, after exhausting herself from crying and she could no longer produce any tears that she finally finished the autopsy of the old man. She was ready to just go pick up her bag from her office and take a taxi home, possibly to cry more and indulge herself in the much needed ice cream. She put everything away quickly, signed out of the computer and left for the locker room.

She fought her way towards the locker room, ignoring all the whispers from her co-workers ("You see, that's the girl down at the morgue helping out that fake detective", "Poor thing, can you imagine to being lied to for so long?", "Wonder if she knows why he did this whole scheme?"). If she stopped, she might lose it and start screaming at them to shut up, and the mental ward was only 2 stairs above them. Go on, Molly, you can do this, just keep moving. She had never been so relived to get into the locker room when she shut the door quickly behind her, and let out that breath she didn't know she was holding the entire time.

One battle down, many more to come.

It's only when she was finding her keys that a piece of folded paper fell out of her bag. She picked it up from the floor and let herself into the flat. Immediately, she felt something scratching her leg, and she knew she had been away from home for too long.

"Just hold on a minute Toby, I am getting your food now." She told her cat, who's doing his angry hissing to complain about the mistreatment from his owner.

In the midst of helping Sherlock, she had forgotten to call her neighbor to come feed Toby for her. Her neighbor Mrs. Darren, was an old lady living by herself and from time to time, Molly would bake something for her. In return, Mrs. Darren would feed Toby for her when she's delayed at work. She quickly replaced the water in the dish and put some cat food out. Toby, wasting no time, dived into the food like a starved prisoner. Molly sat down on the floor next to her cat, petting Toby to give him the attention he needed. After some petting and watching Toby finishing up the food, Molly unfolded the paper. A short message was written on the paper, and it took Molly a second or two to realize whose handwriting it is.

I'm sorry for missing your ballet performance. I miscalculated and gave myself chicken box while giving it to Nancy Ridley.

Nancy Ridley? Why does that name seem so familiar? Why is Sherlock going on about chicken pox? He had chicken pox when he was 10 and - oh. Molly gasped upon the realization. In that moment, everything made sense. That's why Sherlock was hanging out with Nancy after practice, that's why Mrs. Ridley, the ballet teacher, recast her as the lead ballet dancer for the performance, just like she had wanted and deserved (she was a better ballet dancer than Nancy, who has only gotten the role because her mother was the teacher) in the first place.

All this time, she had been blind and stupid, thinking she didn't matter. Because she did matter, right from the beginning.

-FIN-

Reviews are appreciated. This actually serves as a prologue for another story I have in mind, which is a story of Sherlock and Molly's childhood together. Not sure if that will happen, and I guess it all depends on how enthusiastic people are with this story.