Apologies

Chapter 1

Molly...can we talk? -SH

What do you need? -MH

I just came back from Switzerland now and need lodgings how is he? -SH

He's not doing well. I'm sorry, Sherlock. He's a broken man now. -MH

Hm... I'm in a cab, you at Bart's or your flat? -SH

Bart's. I had to work late. -MH

I'll be there. Help you out. Three minutes. Ok? ...Unless you don't want to see me...or if inconvenient. -SH

No, that's fine. I'd love to see you. It's been awhile… -MH

Yes, coming round the corner. -SH

The cab pulled up in front of the hospital, Sherlock paid, and stepped out, glancing around to be sure no one saw him. Out of habit, he light a smoke and preceded inside, no one noticing.

Knowing she only had about a minute before he showed up; Molly checked the mirror and fixed her hair. Even after all they'd been through, she wanted to look her best for Sherlock. There was just something about him that was so...fascinating.

Walking up the stairs and past a few lab windows, he saw his reflection. 'Different' was the only word he could think of. Green contacts, ginger brown hair cut slightly shorter than before, though 'same cheek bones', he thought slightly smiling in his own amusement though his face fell again.

"Molly?" he knocked on the lab door at the end of the hall, "No one else?"

"Just me in here," Molly answered, her heart inexplicably beat faster. It was stupid, and she knew it. He didn't care for her like that.

"Come on in."

Entering, his coat swept behind him, Sherlock crushed the cigarette in his glove and tossed it in the rubbish bin.

"Hello Molly, fairing well?"

"As usual…" Molly started slowly until she picked up her head from a microscope. 'He looked so different!' Not just in appearance, she knew he'd had to disguise himself, change his hair, eyes etc, no this was more than that. He looked older. Like someone who'd lived lifetimes of hardship. With effort she tried to push the thoughts aside and pretended like she hadn't noticed.

"How was Switzerland?"

Sherlock walked in heaving a sigh, removing his gloves to shove them into his pockets. He walked over to her and sat on a stool, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and then scratched the back of his head.

"Another dead end. The web certainly stretched far and wide, but his roaches hide just as well."

"Damn. Well, what's next then? Are you staying here long?" Molly turned back to the microscope, through which, she was studying blood samples before Sherlock had texted her.

"Not sure... might see Mycroft I suppose, see if he gathered any more evidence and to observe if he has become any rounder," Sherlock chucked, wanting to relax her. Under observation he saw her twitch when he entered the room. It was the smallest of twitches but he knew she could see something. The idea made him curious, for what was it she saw? Maybe what she saw was pathetic? Pitiful? Or dark?

"Do you mind?" he indicated to the remaining blood samples and the microscope next to her.

"Of course not. Be my guest." She stepped back from the microscope and gestured him forward. 'Now for the tricky part.' Sherlock had never been one to talk about anything personal, especially not in person, but she had to ask.

"Will you be... uh... seeing John at all?"

The Petri disk almost slipped from Sherlock's hand, though he controlled himself not to. He placed the specimen under, watched it, but not deducing with full attention.

"No... I know you say he's broken, but I think he is strong enough to eventually pick himself up. I felt he had the potential to find a partner of sorts, someone for distraction. I sort of just wanted to see you really..." Sherlock answered as he tilted his head slightly from the scope, eyes turned to Molly.

'Me? Did he say me?' Molly felt that same, rare rush of warmth through her like it did whenever someone acknowledged her existence. She knew they could be considered almost friends. After all, who had he gone to when he needed help faking his death? Little Molly Hooper, of all people. It was baffling for her to move past that feeling that he saw her as special.

"Why though? Why me?"

"Because- Because I just did" Sherlock had no real logic behind it, not entirely sure himself.

"Loneliness maybe? Plus let's not forget you are one of people I trust most in, I guess the world," he responded matter of fact and returned his attention to the sample. Not only had a few seconds passed when he picked up the pen and paper on the table, writing something down. Quickly he checking the others he found the same result.

"Done. Alcohol poisoning most likely."

In the time it had taken for Sherlock to deduce the cause of death, Molly had calmed herself down and stopped smiling enough to make her face look normal. With him back she couldn't help feeling plain giddy by how much trust he put in her.

"Thanks. That was all I had left tonight. I suppose we can go now," Molly said, with the tiniest hint of a schoolgirl smile left in her voice. Giving her a wink, Sherlock grinned a little, happy to solve something other than his personal case. Something for a friend. In a way he felt at home. Before he could lose himself in though, he stood quickly, adjusting his coat and moved to the door, opening it for her.

"Lead the way stranger."

Molly grabbed her coat, shut the lights off, and started down the hallway. It was silent for a few moments as they walked together then she brought it up once more.

"It's just... he needs you, Sherlock and don't pretend you don't need him too. Are you ever going to tell him you're alive?"

Sherlock bit his lip and then clicked his tongue.

"Not intending to sound cruel but there is a population of seven billion in this world. I would rather he find someone to be safe with, another friend who could protect him properly. I miss him I do. I miss the old life, running about and solving cases...visiting the hospital- for the bodies I mean," he ended promptly.

"Come on, I'll get the cab," he strode ahead of her until outside his fingers itched for another smoke, but he restrained himself. Behind him Molly sighed heavily because she knew there was no talking him out of it and she just hated seeing John so broken. Being one of the very few who knew of Sherlock's continued existence; she had tried to distance herself from John. In hind sight Molly did not want to accidentally let anything slip to him, though it was the wrong choice. John needed a friend at that time and she should've been there. Ever since, there was uncontrollable guilt whenever John was mentioned, and she was trying as hard as she could to make it up to him by reuniting him with Sherlock. But it didn't look that would be happening any time soon.

A cab noticed Sherlock's gestures and pulled up in front of them. Molly slid silently through the door Sherlock held open for her, lost in thought even when she mumbled her address. The cab sped through London, past the crowds of the common people, a burst with the noise and hustle, bustle of the city. Silence hung heavy in the car and Sherlock felt the weight. He glanced to Molly, trying to read her emotions. There was only one way he could think of to snap her back to reality.

"Any new men in your life?" Sherlock asked quietly.

A bit startled, Molly gave a short laugh.

"Of course not. When you accidentally date the most dangerous criminal mastermind in the world, you tend to become overly cautious... not that I ever dated much. I mean... look at me," she blushed heavily, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to get all pathetic. Just... no. No, there's no new man in my life."

"Don't cut yourself short Molly, you're not pathetic," Sherlock stated, giving her a small smile.

"Oh, you're just saying that because I'm letting you stay with me," the mouse tried to say this in a teasing way, but she honestly believed it to be true.

"O really? So your courageous help was only carried out by my intimidation?"

"Don't be thick, Sherlock. I helped you because we're friends and I care about you."

She was feeling more ridiculous by the second. Why was she telling him these things?

"I wouldn't lie to you Molly, not after everything that's happened. So what I said before- ah ha! Here we be!" Paying the cabbie, he stepped out, offering her a hand. Her keys were in her bag but Molly didn't want to let go of his hand, yet after a couple seconds, she had to. 'No need to freak him out by touching him longer than necessary.'

"Anyway, you were saying? In the cab, just a minute ago?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, just that what I said before is truth, very brave Ms. Molly Hooper. Especially ending a relationship with a psychopath murderer." Sherlock clenched his fist, trying to preserve the warmth she left behind.

"To be fair, I didn't know he was a psychopath at the time." With keys found she led him up the walkway, Molly found the right one but it took a minute to unlock the door. Her hands were shaking nervously and she tried desperately to hide it from Sherlock.

"Damn keys," with an attempt at a laugh so that perhaps he wouldn't notice.

He smirked, adoring her eccentricities. "Of course you didn't, he fooled the best of us, and I even had some small doubt that I might be going mad."

"That's right!" Molly said, remembering and getting the door open at the same time, "Someone fooled the great Sherlock Holmes" Luckily she actually managed a real smile and widened the door to let him in.

"Thank you," giving a bit of an unnatural shudder as he stepped in, "Right. Cozy..."

A couch and small overstuffed chair. Lamp beside it and telly in front. He noticed the small hallway that led to what he guessed was the kitchen and her bedroom. Some small clutter had apparently invaded the furniture.

"I'm sorry, if I'd known you were coming I'd have tidied up a bit," the mouse squeaked, clearing off the armchair of a spare coat and straightening the pillows on the couch.

"I'll sleep in here and you can have my room, once I make the bed and all. I'm sorry that I'm so disorganized."

"No, no, your flat, your bed. Please its fine, no worries? I'm the rude one for not properly ringing first," Sherlock moved to the chair and sat comfortably.

"Don't worry about that. You know you can come by any time you need to."

Scurrying here and there, Sherlock watched Molly with interest and let his head back to close his eyes, enjoying the peace. After this and that were fixed, until the room was as perfect as she could make it,

"Hungry?"

'When did I last eat?' Sherlock felt his stomach searching his mind for the last meal and then decided he probably should. "Guess so, need help?"

Molly looked at him with raised eyebrows, smiling "Like you cook. What shall I make you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oi I have been taking care of myself", 'Sort of…' he thought, "Anything or maybe even order in. Please, whatever is most convenient."

"Let's see what we have, then." Her disbelieving smile continued at the thought of Sherlock cooking anything without setting it on fire, so Molly walked down the hall to the kitchen with Sherlock in tow.

"Something simple like a sandwich? Or I have some lasagna from last night that we can heat up. Your choice."

"Sandwich is good enough. Don't think I can't hear your doubt; I learned to cook from the maids when I was a child. I think they put up with me more because while I helped them, Mycroft ate all the cakes and sweets!" he laughed heartily and even startled himself, having not heard himself sound joyful in awhile. 'This was all too good to be true', Molly thought. Sherlock was back, he was here and above all, he was laughing. 'Allowing himself to show emotion...' Unsure what to say, she kept quiet, so as to not embarrassing him about showing his joy, and busied herself with the sandwiches.

"Here we are! I hope it's to your liking," Molly announced and took one for herself. Pulling out a chair and seating himself, Sherlock tasted it, and then really began to eat.

"Pretty good Chef Hooper!" 'Must have been hungrier than I analyzed...' He gave her a smile because he felt more relaxed around her. Sherlock was always glad to have Molly in his company; someone to accept his behavior even during the times he had abused her.

"Thanks," Molly was so pleased that he didn't take this opportunity to intensely analyze the sandwich, the room or, worst of all, her. No matter how long it had been, she was always reminded of that Christmas years back where he'd deduced her to the point of tears, but then apologized and kissed her cheek. That had become the worst and best night of her life, sadly enough. But, Molly then realized that she'd been silent for much too long and pulled herself back onto reality.

"So, what to do now?"

He'd finished his sandwich and she was munching on the last bite of hers.

"Hmmm, well I guess whatever it is you do on a Friday night, if you want to go out you certainly can. I just need to...loaf around? Sounds so silly really..." Sherlock sat up, took the plates, and moved to the sink. He started the wash for her because he began to feel like such a burden, having dropped out of the sky on her doorstep.

"Me? I never do anything…" Molly answered in disappointment. This was quite true. Every night consisted of eating then watching the telly or reading a book until boredom overtook her and then to bed.

"I was hoping you might know of something normal people do for fun." After she said it, she remembered this man was far from normal and things that would entertain little Molly Hooper would bore him till no end.

"Nothing? No way you can do nothing Molly. Normal... don't people just watch telly sometimes when trying to 'unwind'?" Sherlock questioned as he dried his hands and stepped lightly back into the living room.

"I got the remote. Please tell me you don't watch celebrity gossip rubbish," he said darkly when he sat on the couch and flicked on the box to some channel.

"Not often… Sometimes, it dulls the mind…" she said ashamed, "If it's the only thing on." Molly did not know how he was going to react, but she wanted to know something. "Sherlock, was it hard to become a new person? After you faked your death?" Many times she tried imaging herself starting new, becoming a different person and the pain of it all.

Changing the channel to some game show on, only for the sake of background noise, Sherlock gave pause, thinking. "Well yes and no. Chasing after Moriarty's men allowed me to remain on the move, so I did not have to change too much. Although, I have a fair bit of acting skills and my disguises and all."

Eyes stared blankly at the T.V, and still puzzled what to say or if she should ask Sherlock anymore questions about his trip. He glanced over to Molly, who appeared clearly phased out, he leaned forward a bit.

"You alright, seem a bit quite...not like you at all Molly Hooper... no," he trailed off and rested an arm on the top of the couch, drumming his fingers.

"I'm fine...thinking that's all, you're not the only person who does that, Mr. Holmes," she joked.

Sherlock chuckled, "Yes, yes I know."

Not long, it became unsettling quiet between them as the sound of the game show continued on.

"You know, you've changed quite a bit yourself," Molly said warily. And so he had. It wasn't a terrible change, he laughed easier and more brightly, but there was still a dark part that was so very Sherlock.

"Oh maybe? Just... seen a lot is all... going after them, evading them..." Sherlock's face fell and his hand quivered at the thought of it. He shifted a bit uncomfortably, attempting to sit normally, and trying to hold himself together when the images flashed.

"Oh God...I'm so sorry!" Molly noticed his change in tone and realized she must have touched on a sensitive topic, "I didn't mean to..." she trailed off, not quite knowing where she was going with the sentence. To avoid the awkward in the room, she gazed blankly at the mindless droning coming from the telly.

"No...it's ok...just that...I did get caught once...I escaped but it was three days..." his voice shook slightly, "just...three days of hell..." he rubbed his right shoulder. In the past Molly felt she had never been good at comforting people but she thought this would be a logical time to do so. She stood up from her seat in the armchair and sat next to Sherlock on the sofa. Unsurely, a hand was placed on his other shoulder and gave it a small, light squeeze. Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin, forgetting that she was there for the moment.

"Sorry," he muttered watching the hand holding him, it was warm and he didn't mind the touched. Hoping to not deter her, Sherlock tried to show his appreciation with a weak smile.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you. I just thought you could use some comforting..." Molly mumbled, looking down. Though she wasn't sure if he appreciated it or not, she didn't remove her hand.

"No, it's fine," he said quietly before he took the arm that was bothering him before and rested his palm onto of hers, "You really do know how to help me, don't you Molly?"

"I hope I'm helping," she whispered. Never before did she experience anything like what he'd gone through, so she hoped that her presence alone could, in some way, mean something to him.

Sherlock actually blushed, despite his efforts not to. Carefully he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, scratching the skin lightly with his index finger.

"Yes... you really are..." he whispered back.