It's finally here. The sequel we've all been waiting for is here. If you haven't read my first story, Reichenbach Misunderstandings, go do so before staring on this fic. Otherwise you will be all like 'what?'.

You guys were so enthusiastic about Reichenbach Misunderstandings that I was left with some big expectations to meet, so I really hope you guys aren't disappointed.

I will try my very hardest to update on a somewhat weekly schedule. Hopefully every Friday.

Also, big heads up. This is a die-hard Sherlolly story. There will be everything from fluff to post-reichenbach domestic!lock to nerdy debates (because Molly just has be a fangirl.)

Long author's note done.

I own nothing.

Enjoy!

Molly Hooper was in shock.

You would be too if you had just killed a man.

Well, technically, she didn't kill him. She had aided him in faking his death though.

Close enough, right?

She felt a giddy laugh bubbling up in her throat and pressed her lips together in an attempt to contain it. The man you had a crush on just died, she chided herself. This is no time to blow your cover.

Keeping the facade of a mourning friend wasn't difficult. The tears that stained her pale cheeks and the red around her eyes were quite real. Seeing John had been upsetting on its own, but getting a call from Claudette and Max's parents, with the kids sobbing in the background, had opened the floodgates and started up the waterworks.

Molly continued down the street towards her small flat. Sherlock would be waiting there for her.

She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. The last few days had been so hectic and crazy that she had been given practically no time to think about her infatuation.

Or the fact that Sherlock's demeanor around her had completely changed since the explosion at the hospital.

Stop it, Molly. She had arrived at her flat. Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she shoved the ridged metal into the lock and unlocked the door. She slipped inside the room, shoving the door shut behind her and locking it.

"Hello, Molly."

Stifling a scream, Molly whipped around, eyes wide. She relaxed when her mind caught up with her reflexes and realized it was only Sherlock, "Hi."

"Hm, you're tense," he observed.

That giddy laugh finally escaped Molly's lips, but she could already feel the tension being replaced by exhaustion.

"Probably a result of built up stress over the past few days and the overwhelming amount of work you've had to deal with. Easily remedied by a cup of tea."

"Ah, is that so?" Molly asked, half listening and faking a smile. She felt exhausted and, whether or not she liked the man, she did not have th patience to listen to him at the moment.

"I recommend you sit," he continued. "The adrenaline should wear off soon."

"Mm," Molly hummed. She leaned back against the door, pressing her head against the wood and letting her eyes close.

There was suddenly a cold feeling on her elbow and Molly lazily swatted at it. Her eyes shot open as she realized it was a hand. Sherlock's hand.

The detective gently tugged on her arm and she attempted to obey, removing her weight from where it rested against the door. Almost immediately, her legs buckled.

Sherlock acted instinctually, one arm slipping around Molly's waist and back, the other supporting her knees. Molly was too tired to care and allowed her head to slump against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sleep claimed her within moments.

Sherlock uncomfortably shifted the limp form of the young woman in his arms. Molly was by no means heavy or large. It was more the fact that he wasn't used to being close to people that caused his discomfort.

This wasn't the first time Sherlock had been in this position with Molly.

The first time had been at 221B Baker Street. They had just tucked in Claudette and Max, the children of the American Ambassador. Molly had fallen asleep in his arms then, too.

This time, Molly had more than a couch to sleep on. Sherlock carried her to her room and set her down on the bed, one arm wrapped around her back. He gently slid Molly's lab coat off her arms, tossing it haphazardly on the side table next to the bed, and pulled off her shoes, setting them on the floor.

Sherlock removed his arm, allowing Molly to fall back in bed. She turned over onto her side, one hand tucked under her head and her legs curled in towards her body in a fetal position.

A smile settled on her face.

That was when Sherlock decided to keep Molly safe by doing what he did best: pushing people away. All he was going to act towards Molly was distant and uncaring.

Sherlock lingered for a moment, watching his pathologist silently. A pang of guilt tightened inside of his chest as he looked down at his selfless friend. He then turned and left the room. He had work to do.

First chapter done.

Thanks for reading!