A/N I'm not really very good at writing these things, so bear with me! The beginning of this story may seem very cliche to other Sherlolly FanFics, but I promise, it'll get better! Please excuse any mistakes to do with plot-line, I'm actually very new to the Sherlock fandom but already very much a part of it. I am also looking for a Beta, so please, message me if you're willing! I apologise for how all over the place this chapter is... Also, I must warn you, this is my first FanFic in a while. I have started others in the past but never succeeded in keeping them updated, however, I'm going to try very hard with this one! Anyways, enough with my rambling please RRR!

The plan was executed perfectly: the strategically placed bin; the cyclist knocking John over; the blood she'd been able to steal from St. Bart's; the the injection that imitated death.
When he arrived at the hospital and placed on the gurney in front of her she only needed to wait fifteen minutes before the effects of the drug wore off.
"Did it work?" Were the first words Sherlock said, his words slurring slightly.
"Yes, but it isn't over yet. We have to get you out of here without you being seen. We didn't really think about that when we were planning all of this. I think the safest way is to wait until everyone has left and then sneak you out. It's pretty usual for me to stay later than I have to, anyways. I doubt anyone will suspect a thing."
Sherlock nodded, his face staying blank, but secretly he was impressed. This was Molly Hooper, the girl who could barely say a full sentence around him without stumbling, thinking quite logically.
"Someone's going to come through the door in approximately thirty seconds. Act as though you've been crying," Sherlock said suddenly, closing his eyes.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Lestrade came in, wrinkles between his eyes.
"Is it true? Did he actually- is he actually dead?"
"Greg- I- I'm so sorry," Molly said and flung herself onto him, hugging him tightly so he wouldn't notice the lack of tears in her eyes.
Lestrade was stunned but slowly put his arms around Molly.
"It's okay. It's not your fault. You didn't know he was going to- going to jump off that building."
Oh, God. But I did, Molly thought.
Before pulling away from the hug she desperately started rifling through her mind, trying to think of something that would make her cry… She started thinking of her dad, when he had first told her family that he had terminal cancer.
She could feel the tears stinging in her eyes but not enough to spill… Then all those horrible things Sherlock had told her over the years and how she used to go home and cry over them. Yes, that did the trick. Tears were sufficiently spilling down her cheeks now.
Molly pulled away from Lestrade and looked up at him.
"Look, I should probably leave you to, um, do your job, but if you ever need anything you know where to find me. I know how much you cared about him."
"Wait! Before you go… I don't think I'm going to have enough time to check on John, so, could you please, just… I don't know- try to talk to him? He was Sherlock's best friend, after all. I don't- I don't think he'll be handling it very well."

Lestrade nodded. "Of course, Molly."
He turned around and walked out as Sherlock sat up.
"Finally. I thought he'd never leave,"

"What do you mean? He was barely here five minutes."
"Yes, but when you have a mind like mine five minutes goes rather slowly when there's nothing interesting to focus on."
Molly sighed and grabbed some wipes to clean off the fake blood off of Sherlock. As she reached up to his forehead he grabbed her wrist.
"What are you doing?"
"I- I, um- I just thought that I should, um, clean up some of the blood and… there isn't a mirror here to wipe it off yourself- and- and, the only place where there is one is the bathroom, and you can't go in there in case you're, you know, seen."
Sherlock internally rolled his eyes. So, stuttering Molly was back. He let go of her wrist and let her clean off the blood.

She dabbed at where the blood had dried on his forehead softly, almost warily. This intrigued Sherlock. It wasn't like he'd actually hurt himself; there wasn't any need to be overly gentle.

"There. It's cleaned up now," She said as she placed the blood-stained wipes in the bin.

"Molly; thank you," Sherlock said, his piercing blue eyes looking right at her.
Molly blushed slightly, looking down, away from his gaze.
"Well, I'm sure you'd draw attention to yourself if you were to walk around with blood on your face so-"
"No, not the blood, but all of this. Faking my death- illegally might I add… You could get fired for this."
"I- um… It's okay. It's no different to any other time I've broken the rules to help you," She stammered, looking up to meet his eyes for a fleeting moment before looking back down at the floor. Damn her insecurity.
"By the way, well done on the acting. The actual tears were a nice touch,"
"Yeah, well, um, anyways, you're going to be stuck in here for a couple of hours," Molly said quickly, changing the topic. "Do you want anything to eat? You can't have eaten since early yesterday."
"No, but a coffee would be nice. Black-"
"With two sugars," Molly finished for him with a nod before rushing out.

By the time Molly and Sherlock got back to her apartment it was well after one in the morning and Molly felt like a walking corpse. She figured she hadn't slept in over 40 hours as she'd stayed up all night the night before preparing for Sherlock's 'death'. The only thing that had kept her going was adrenaline and coffee.

"Um, Sherlock, I'm just going to have a shower, so, um, yeah. Make yourself comfortable."
It didn't seem like Sherlock was listening. He was walking around her apartment, examining all the things she had lying around; what book she was currently reading, what movie she had last watched. Molly sighed.

When Molly had finished her piping hot shower and put on her least shabby pyjamas she stepped into her bedroom, ready to snuggle into her warm sheets and finally get some sleep, only to find a tall figure already lying in her bed, asleep. Molly hadn't thought about this. She only had a single bedroomed apartment and she knew that Sherlock would be way too vain to sleep on the loung. As tempted as she was, she just couldn't sleep next to Sherlock.

She pulled out one of the old blankets from her cupboard and grabbed the other pillow that was on her bed and dragged them out to her lounge room where she tried to set herself up so that she was as comfortable as possible on her tiny couch- which wasn't very comfortable. She had to curl up her legs so that she was almost in a ball so as to not have her legs hanging off the lounge.

Despite the uncomfortable position, the overwhelming tiredness had Molly asleep in minutes.