John Watson had finally done it; he had finally asked Mary Morstan, the psychiatrist from the clinic, out on a date. His first night out since…Sherlock. Nearly three months. He was going to pick her up at seven, take her out to a lovely restaurant, and then a movie. It was going to be easy. And she wouldn't ask about Sherlock. She was an American and they hadn't covered his death that much. The press in Europe had had a field day with it. John hadn't read a paper in weeks.

He showed up at seven promptly and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he heard her yell from somewhere in the house.

Unsure John stepped inside. "It's, um, John."

Mary started rushing down the stairs, still putting in an earring. "I'm not late am, I?"

"No, no, I'm early." He assured her and gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

"So where is it we are going exactly?" Mary said, grabbing her coat and a little black hand-bag. "I mean, am I dressed appropriately?"

She wore a medium length black dress that seemed to mold into her body. Her shoes were black and lifted but not too much and John blushed thinking that it was because she didn't want to be taller than him. Her blonde hair was in a simple bun and her ears shined with the only jewelry she wore: two diamonds.

"You look beautiful." He said. And he meant it.

Mary smiled and laughed a bit as she straightened his tie. "Thank you Mr. Watson, I must say, you clean up pretty nicely yourself."

John laughed. He was about to say something funny so he could hear her laugh again when the phone rang.

"Sorry, I'll just turn it off." He glanced at the caller: Mrs. Hudson.

"No, take it, it's fine."

John gave her an apologetic look as he put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, John, I know you have a date tonight, but…I've locked myself out of your old room."

"Doesn't Mr. Thompson have a spare?"

"No, Sherlock made me get it back from him because he didn't trust him with it."

John was silent.

Mrs. Hudson realized what she'd said. "Oh, John, I'm sorry."

"Do you need the key right now?"

"Well, I'm supposed to show it in an hour."

John sighed. "Alright, it's on the way, I'll be there in about five minutes."

"Oh, thank you John!"

John hung up and gave Mary another apologetic look. "My old land lady needs my spare key, do you mind if we stop there? It will only take a moment."

"No, of course not, that's fine." She seemed to mean it and smiled as they entered the black cab that was waiting for them out front.

"Mrs. Hudson, she sounds like a grandma."

John laughed. "Well, I wouldn't use that to describe her, but…she took care of us."

"Us?"

Damn it. "My old flat mate."

"Oh." She smiled and waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, she looked out the window and watched as they past shops and restaurants.

A few minutes later John informed her that they were there and he would just run the key up there.

"Would you mind if I saw your old place?"

How could he politely say no? He smiled cheerfully, trying not to let her see how much he hated the idea. "I don't see why not, if Mrs. Hudson doesn't mind."

John didn't bother knocking on the door, but just stepped right in 221B and called out for Mrs. Hudson who came out of her rooms with a smile.

"There you are, the potential renters called; they can't make it."

"Oh, that's a shame." he gave her look which she just brushed off.

"And I found my key."

John laughed. "Of course you did."

Mary gave him a confused look at his attitude but then smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she introduced herself. "Hello, I'm Mary Morstan, John's friend."

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, his old land lady." She gave John a look. "Not the housekeeper, no matter what he's told you."

Mary laughed. "Would you mind if I saw the old room?"

"No, no not at all." She led them up the familiar staircase and unlocked the door. Mrs. Hudson stepped in, then Mary, and with a deep breath, John followed.

The room was cold and stale. Most of the furniture was still there, to give it more of a "homey-look" said Mrs. Hudson.

"You don't mind, do you John?"

He shook his head.

"Are those bullet holes?" Mary asked, pointing to the yellow smiley face on the far wall.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I will have to get that fixed, won't I?"

"I could pay for it," John began but Mrs. Hudson cut him off.

"No, John, I can take care of it. It wasn't you."

Mary laughed. "You had one of those roommates, didn't you? The ones that steal your clothes and leaves the empty milk jug in the fridge?"

"Well he never left empty milk jugs." Mrs. Hudson said.

"And he never stole my clothes."

"So, he just put bullets in the wall?" Mary smiled.

"And left the oddest things in the fridge." Mrs. Hudson shuttered.

"My old flat mate was a bit of a scientist."

"Chemist," Mrs. Hudson put in.

"Addict,"

"Consulting detective,"

"The world's one and only." John finished.

Mary was smiling as she watched the little banter between the two. "You two cared about him very much, didn't you?

They didn't say anything.

"Well he sounds interesting. Hopefully I will get to meet him."

Mrs. Hudson was merciful enough to be the one to say it. "I'm afraid he's passed."

Mary paled. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. What…I mean, I'm sorry."

Mrs. Hudson put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It's okay, you may ask what happened."

Mary glanced at John quickly, who seemed to be focusing on something on the floor.

"What happened?" she said quietly to Mrs. Hudson.

But it was John who answered. "Suicide."

They were all quiet for a moment and as if by some magnetic force, they found themselves all looking at the yellow smiley face on the wall.

It's as if he's mocking me, even now. John thought. "Perhaps we should go to dinner."

"Well, I've made lamb." Mrs. Hudson said quickly. "I still make too much. You two would be welcome to stay for dinner. It gets so lonely without the two of you stirring up trouble, John."

Before John could say anything, Mary said "We'd love that, thank you!"

Mrs. Hudson led them down the stairs. As soon as John shut the door behind him, he felt a part of him come loose again. As if his heart thought it had the right to beat now.

"You really don't have to do this Mary." He whispered to her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, I could come out tomorrow and see her."

"John, honestly, a night in might be good. Besides, we've both been working so hard, a nice home cooked meal would be nice. No more Chinese takeout."

John smiled. It was true, he had had more than enough takeout for a life time in the last three months; though his fridge was full of casseroles and meats that Mrs. Hudson always brought over. He let them go to rot.

John dismissed the cabbie who was waiting for him outside and met the others in the dinky kitchen. Mrs. Hudson set two more places at the table in her small kitchen. She looked around the room with her hands on her hips. "We could always turn the heating on upstairs and eat up there; it has so much more space."

"Here is fine Mrs. Hudson." John said and pulled a chair out for Mary. She sat down and he pushed her in.

"Very well."

During the beginning of the meal, Mrs. Hudson asked Mary a few questions: where in America was she from, California; did she enjoy living in London, yes she did very much; Was she planning on staying long; yes, as long as possible. So on and so on.

And then John's mobile rang again. "Damn, sorry, I thought I had turned it off."

It was Lestrade.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

He told her.

"Maybe you should pick up; it could be something important."

"He wouldn't need me for something important."

"That's not true."

"He can leave a message." John turned the ringer off and put the phone on the counter.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment until Mrs. Hudson spoke again. "It could be something important." She said again.

"I don't work for Lestrade anymore Mrs. Hudson. It doesn't matter what it is, I couldn't be of assistance. He probably accidently called me." That was a lie.

"Who is Lestrade?" Mary finally asked.

"My flat mate's old boss."

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Boss?"

"More or less."

Mrs. Hudson laughed again. "Pass the salt."

Mrs. Hudson and Mary talked some more about this and that. She laughed at Mrs. Hudson jokes and smiled a lot, but that could have just been out of politeness. John hoped she was really enjoying herself.

Suddenly there was a bang at the door as it opened. Mrs. Hudson and John were up in a flash. Mrs. Hudson pulled a pistol out of a cupboard and handed it to John who had it cocked in a second and pointed down the hall where the approaching footsteps were coming from. Mary hadn't even set her fork down yet.

Anderson stepped into the room and then jumped back when he saw the gun pointed right at him.

"What the hell?" he yelled.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" John asked, his gun still trained on him.

"I tried the doorbell."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "It's broken."

"What do you want Anderson?" John asked.

"Lestrade is pulling Molly Hopper out a cab as we speak."

"What?"

"We were walking out of St. Bart's when we saw her: on the roof."

Lestrade stepped inside with a seemingly unconscious Molly Hooper in his arms.

"What's with the gun?" he asked.

John handed the gun back to Mrs. Hudson, who placed it back in the cupboard after taking the bullets out. "You can never be too careful."

Molly's eyes opened a bit. "Would you just take me home, I don't want to be here."

"Set her in here." Mrs. Hudson led them to the cozy little sitting room where Lestrade put Molly on the love seat.

"She was on the roof, drunk, and muttering something about him."

'Him' was understood by all, except the confused and curious Mary, to be Sherlock.

"I wasn't going to jump!" Molly insisted. She paled a bit. "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick."

Mrs. Hudson brought a bowl out of the kitchen and handed it to Molly. Anderson was grinning from ear to ear.

"I told you, when you first asked him for help, that he was just going to screw us all."

"Shut up Anderson." John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and retching Molly said all together.

Anderson turned around and stormed out. Over his shoulder he called "Get your own cab back Lestrade."

Lestrade didn't respond but looked at Mrs. Hudson. "She should probably stay with you tonight."

"Well, wouldn't be the first time." Mrs. Hudson said and put a blanket over the slightly conscious Molly.

"How…how often does she do this?" John asked. He hadn't answered one of Lestrade's calls in maybe two months. He seemed to call at least twice a week.

"Enough times that I think if she did her own autopsy that she would hate herself." Lestrade glared at John. "You'd know that if you would pick up your bloody phone."

Molly tried to sit up but fell over. "I can take care of myself. I not as think as you drunk I am. Don't need a sitter."

And then she puked into the bowl.

On that note, Lestrade said. "I've got to go."

Mrs. Hudson showed him out as John sat in the chair across from the still puking Molly. He heard someone cough and he jumped. Mary was standing off to the side watching Molly.

"Oh, God, Mary, I am so sorry." He said standing up.

Mary stepped forward and pulled Molly's hair back as she started vomiting again. "Could you find me something to tie her hair back with, John?"

Unsure what else to say or do, he found a rubber band on the desk and handed it to her. She tied Molly's hair back in a messy bun.

"I'll call you a cab." John said.

"No, it's fine, I'll stay."

John blinked.

Molly stopped puking long enough to start crying. "He lied!"

"Molly…" John sat on his knees in front of her.

"No, I don't want to hear it John. You don't understand." She said. He could smell the vomit on her breath.

"I don't understand?"

"No, you don't because, you didn't see!"

"I watched the entire thing Molly. I was there! Where were you?" he yelled at her.

Molly, sweet and innocent Molly Hooper, told him to go do something anatomically incorrect with himself.

"That's real grown up Molly." John said, standing up.

"I'm tired of this."

"Of what, taking your feelings out on a few pints or just arguing."

"Both." She put her head in her hands. "God, I just keep seeing him in my head, John."

"Molly, I think it's time you got some professional help." John whispered, touching her shoulder.

Molly pulled away and began to untangle herself from the itchy wool blanket as she spoke. "What, like you? When was the last time you went to your 'professional help'?"

John blinked again. He hadn't seen Ella innearly two months.

"You were his best friend, and you never saw." she said. "He didn't want you to see. But I saw. He was so sad and you never saw because he would pretend that everything was okay."

"Molly, please, don't do this." He didn't understand what she meant. Sherlock was never sad. Maybe depressed when he didn't have work, but never sad.

"But I saw." she repeated. "And I said so."

"Molly,"

"And that day, I should have known. He said it would be okay, but then…I knew. As I watched him walk away. I knew. He promised he would come down off that roof and he never did." Molly laughed bitterly. "But I guess he did, didn't he? In the end."

"So did Moriarty."

"I should have stopped him." Molly said through tears. "Or called you. I dialed your number, but I promised him that I wouldn't call you."

"Molly, it's not your fault."

"No, it's his. He lied to me." She pointed to John. "He lied to you too."

Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway with a cup of tea, listening to this, with tears in her eyes. Molly pointed to her and said "And you."

She pointed to Mary, who was watching, uncertain of what to do. "I don't know who you are, but I'm sure, at some point he lied to you."

Mary gave a little wave. "Hello, I'm Mary, John's friend."

Molly nodded. "Molly Hooper, John's dead best friend's…what was I?"

"You were his friend Molly." Mrs. Hudson said, setting the cup of tea next to her.

Molly shook her head and laughed madly. "No, I was his examiner. That's what I was. I was his examiner when he was alive and when he died."

It was true. Molly had done the autopsy on Sherlock. John was suddenly back there, like some nightmare of the war or his most recent nightmare of watching Sherlock jump:

After the medics and pulled Sherlock's body away, John had passed out, right there on the side walk. When he had awoken several hours later, Mrs. Hudson was sitting at his side, sniffing and holding his hand.

"Sherlock?" John asked instantly.

A tear ran down Mrs. Hudson's face. "You should go back to sleep dear."

"Sherlock?" It was all coming back to him; the whole day, their arrest, being so angry at Sherlock he swore he would never speak to him again if Mrs. Hudson died, and then the call that turned into a "note", and the sound of Sherlock's body as it the pavement. His head hurt. "Where's Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson patted her eyes with a handkerchief. "With Molly."

And then John was pulling out his IV and getting out of bed. He pulled on his pants as Mrs. Hudson called for the nurse, who came in and insisted that he lay back down. He just pushed past her, his shirt buttoned incorrectly, and only one shoe on. He ran down to the morgue. He had just pushed the door open when Molly came out of the examining room, her face an emotionless mask.

"Molly?"

She looked up at him, for just a moment, and shook her head.

"No, Molly, you're wrong."

"He's gone, John." She whispered. "He's gone."

John was crying then and he was crying now as he watched Molly start to vomit again. He felt Mrs. Hudson's shaking hand on his shoulder. Molly passed out again. Mrs. Hudson, a silently crying John, and Mary sat there for a moment, listening to Molly breathe, in and out.

John wasn't sure how long they sat there or how he ended up at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a shot of whiskey, but it was better in the small kitchen than in that stale, vomit smelling room, so he didn't really question it.

Mrs. Hudson had retired and it was just John and Mary at the table. She was pouring herself another cup of tea.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

John shook his head but the words just began to come out. He told her all about how he met Sherlock, their various adventures, and his death. By the time he was finished, the sky was beginning to get lighter outside and his he was losing his voice. "He was my best friend. I hated him half the time, but he was my best friend. He was genius, it doesn't matter what they say. What he said."

Molly had remained silent, laughing with John when he laughed, and crying as she listened to the very end. She was holding his hand now.

"He sounds like he was amazing."

"He was. He was a great man." Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and one day, if we're very very lucky, he might even be a good one. "He completely changed me."

They heard Molly vomit again in the sitting room and John laughed wetly. "Some first date."

Mary laughed. "One of the best I've been on in years."

She actually sounded like she meant it. Molly opened the door into the kitchen. She looked awful.

"Is there any tea left?" she croaked.

Mary poured her a cup and Molly sat down.

"I'm sorry." She said after she took a sip.

"You should apologize to Mary; you puked on her shoes about midnight."

Molly gave her an apologetic look. "I swear I will pay to have them cleaned."

"Its fine, Molly; who hasn't puked on someone when they were completely wasted."

Molly nodded and gave an appreciative smile.

John looked into his empty tea cup. "Molly, what did you mean when you saw how unhappy he was? That you saw and that is why he came to you?"

Molly swallowed. "I was drunk; I didn't know what I was saying."

"Molly, did you…did you see him before he went up on that roof."

Molly sighed. "When we were working on that last case…I talked to him. I told him he looked so sad when he thought you weren't watching. Like my dad. But I saw because I didn't count. And…I was leaving work and…he was there."

She took a long drink of tea before she continued. "He told me I was wrong, that I did count and I was right; he wasn't ok. I asked what was wrong and he said…he told me he thought he was going to die. I asked him what he need and he asked me if he wasn't everything I believed he was, would I still be willing to help him."

"Let me guess, you asked him what he needed." John smiled. He would have done the same.

Molly nodded.

"What did he want Molly?"

Molly didn't look at him. "He just said he needed me."

"And then?"

Molly shook her head, she looked like she was going to break down. "I just…I comforted him. Until he left."

Mary was the only one who saw it. She had seen a lot of tells on the people she counseled and Molly's tell was the way her eye brows twitched a bit. She was lying.

John said nothing else but looked out the window. "The bakery is opening. I'll run across and get some breakfast for everyone."

He left Mary and Molly alone in the kitchen, sipping their tea. As soon as Mary heard the front door close, she looked at Molly pointing.

"You're lying."

Molly froze. "Excuse me?"

"You said you just comforted him. But that was a lie."

Molly didn't say anything.

"Is Sherlock…God, this sounds ridiculous, but after everything John's told me…is Sherlock alive Molly?"

She still said nothing.

Mary nodded. "Molly, you should say something to John, just…something to make him feel better."

Molly shook her head. "I can't."

"John is hurting, so are you. You feel guilty for all the pain he's in, don't you? That's why you 'take it out on a few pints'?"

Molly's eye brows twitched again.

"Molly, was last night the first time, you'd actually gotten drunk? Have you been faking it?"

"You're like him." Molly said. "He would have liked you."

"What do you mean?"

"You see things like he did, not as well, but enough that you're going to get yourself in trouble Mary." It was the closest thing Molly had ever said that sounded like a threat. She felt sick about it but hoped Mary got the idea.

They heard the front door open again.

"Just tell him something Molly." She whispered. "If he is alive, he would want it too."

John stepped back into the room with a bag of doughnuts and a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee on it.

"Breakfast is served." He said setting the bag and the tray down.

They all dug in, starving. Molly and Mary didn't look at each other.

John looked at Molly over his bear-claw. "Do you believe it? That he was a fake?"

Molly shook her head. She was tearing apart her napkin absently. "No."

John and Mary talked about work a little bit, agreed they should call in today—no matter that people would talk. Molly stood and said she'd better go. He and Mary walked her to the door. She hugged Mary and apologized again. John didn't notice the look the two shared. When Molly turned to John she was smiling. "This is the first time we've talked since that day in the morgue."

"We should do it more." John said, smiling a bit.

"Coffee?" She asked hopefully.

"Black, two sugars please."

Molly and John laughed and he hugged her. She left them alone, with Mrs. Hudson, asleep, somewhere in the house, wherever her room was.

Mary wrapped her arms around John. "We're all alone, you know what that means?" she said seductively.

"We can go to sleep."

"Exactly." she smiled.

They ended up cuddling on the sofa. Mary fell asleep almost instantly, but there was something that was bothering John. He carefully got up from the couch and went into the kitchen to take care of their tea cups as he thought. When he picked up Molly's cup he found a little piece of torn napkin stuck to the bottom of it. He pulled it off and read it:

I LIED TOO.

John couldn't explain it, why he looked out the window at that moment, but he did. On the corner of the street he could see-even through all the fog-a tall man in a hunters cap and long black coat, the collar turned up around his cheeks.

"John?" called a sleepy from the sitting room.

He turned back for a second and then looked back at the street. The man was gone. John slipped the small piece of hope in his inner jacket pocket and went to Mary.

I LIED TOO.