Hi dears, Thanks for all of you who read the first chapter and are ready for the next one. It's a kind of preparation for the rest of the story, so this is not the most exciting chapter, but I think it was necessary. I'll post the next chapters soon, hopefully.

Thanks for you who follow this story, it means a lot that you are interested in the continuation.

This chapter is dedicated to Rocking the Redhead, who always has time to write some kind words to everyone. Thank you again.

Seven weeks earlier.

Molly was curled up in her armchair in her small flat and was holding her phone tight. She just had been speaking with John who told her how his best friend had died in front of his eyes that day and now he hadn't known what to do. Molly couldn't say anything but sobbing. Her heart was breaking into pieces for her friend, John. He thought she was crying in her grief and that was all right for now.

She was waiting for Sherlock to arrive. After he had jumped, she made his fake autopsy papers Molly took him into a closet which had been out of order for ages and Mycroft took over a closed but empty coffin, Molly was let to go home earlier as she had just lost a very close friend.

Friend, yes. She had been in love with that bastard for ages now. But after that significant Christmas party she really gave up every hope. Now all that she wanted was to be one of his few friends. Someday this unrequited love will fatigue, and maybe she will be able to have a normal relationship with a nice guy. In the last year she tried to get far from him, not to be involved every case he was on, not to be always available when he needed something. Seeing the current situation, that she was the only one knowing he was alive she really screwed up that 'let's not be too close to him and focus on real life' thing.

Yeah, that went well. Congratulations, Molly Hooper.

...

Sherlock waited for the night shift when there were only a few of the stuff. He had changed his clothes to casual wear. Molly brought him light jeans and, short brown jacket, fake glasses and a textile hat. These were totally not what he would wear and that was why it was perfect.

Surprisingly good job, Molly.

...

In her one bedroom flat Molly was sitting in her armchair and was besetting her half empty mug with cold tea when she heard two light knocks on her door.

Oh thank God, he did it.

She sprang up and placing her mug on the small table quickly stepped to the door and opened it wide to let Sherlock in.

He stepped in with long paces and stopped in the middle of the flat. Molly was still standing in front of the now closed door fidgeting with her fingers smiling in relief, looking up at Sherlock from above her long lashes.

He turned around quickly to measure the place and frowned.

'You've got quite a small flat, Molly.'

Molly faltered towards the kitchen and switched on the light staring to fill the kettle with water.

'Yes...uhm... you know... I don't really need a bigger one. I am always at Bart's. My Mum says if I had... ohm ... Sorry, I stop platting. Tea?'

She turned towards Sherlock who was now lying on her short couch with stretched legs crossed at the ankles on one armrest and hands under his head. He was watching the ceiling with serious expression and seemed to be somewhere else so she didn't even waited for the answer.

Molly rolled her eyes and turned back with a small smile on her face.

Typical Sherlock Holmes, he can behave everywhere like he owned the whole place.

She sighed.

'Yes, please. Two sugars and milk.'

Molly made their tea, placed his on the coffee table and sat down onto her armchair.

'And what...I mean... when will you leave? Oh, not that I want you to leave. I mean ...not that I would think you're staying with me...I mean in my flat...but...' She was interrupted by the now sitting Sherlock who was holding out his right hand.

'Give me your phone.'

Molly desultorily took her phone out from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock without a word. He clicked the back of her phone and with quick movements inserted a small item in it.

'This device sends information on your current location to Mycroft and a false one to the central database. So if Moriarty's men get suspicious, you will gain time to get in touch with my brother. You've risked a lot when you helped me, I assume you know that.'

Molly silently nodded and looked down at the mug in her hands.

'If anything goes wrong, if I won't be successful and they discover me, you will be the first one, who they want to find. If anything happens out to normal, if anybody wants to get close to you too fast, you feel followed contact Mycroft immediately. Understand?'

'Yes,' Molly muttered under her breath.

If something wrong happens to you, I will definitely have one less reason to live.

Molly thought with sudden sadness. Until now she hadn't even had time to think about what would happen after his fake death.

Of course he has to clear his name and prove that Moriarty was real. But will it be so dangerous?

Sherlock placed his elbows onto his knees, dropped his head between his shoulders and growled in frustration while he ruffled his dark curls back and forth. When he stood up he straightened himself, his face was expressionless when looked at Molly.

'I stay here for a few days till Mycroft prepare everything to me to leave the country unnoticed.' He nodded for himself wincing and added, 'I need a towel.'

'Oh, of course. They are in the case right under the washbasin. The bathroom is over there' and she pointed at one of the two doors.

'Yes, obviously,' he answered passing towards the bathroom.

Molly heard him showering but she wasn't able to move from her chair.

You should go to bed Molly Hooper. Of course he will sleep in your bed it's the only reasonable solution since your couch is short even for you. You are an adult; sleeping beside each other is really not different from standing in the queue in the canteen next to each other.

With that Molly stood up and went to her bedroom, took down her dressing gown and slipped under the duvet. She was waiting for Sherlock with racing heart trying to pretend being asleep. But he hadn't come. Slowly she sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

Hours later she woke up to the sound of heavy gasping and tossing about in the bed. When she turned she saw Sherlock sitting on the bedside on his side in nothing but his pants with his elbows on his knees, head dropped among his shoulders. His bare shoulders were lifting to the rhythm of his loud wheezing.

Molly slowly rose to her knees, reached out and touched his bare shoulder whispering in a calm voice. 'It's all right, Sherlock.'

To her touch he stretched and hissed.

'Don't...!' he barked and Molly jerked her hand back immediately and whispered a mute 'Sorry' but Sherlock was already on his feet and without turning back he rushed out of the room.

When Molly woke up in the morning she was sure that she would just find Sherlock vanished, but stepping out of the bedroom she saw the man sitting on the couch in the clothes Molly had bought him the day before. Molly was not a morning person so she just murmured 'goodmorning' and headed towards the bathroom.

When she came to the main room ready for leaving to work, Sherlock was still sitting on the couch with closed eyes but he wasn't asleep.

Molly grabbed her bag and coat and with a tired sigh said, 'There is food in the fridge, help yourself.' She waited for some reply for seconds but since it hadn't arrived she opened the door and stepped out of the flat leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

The next few days went by without anything interesting. They spent the time together when Molly was home in convenient silence. They shared meals and Molly's bed, but Sherlock hadn't had a night terror again. Everything was calm and silent, just like the air before the storm.

On the sixth day when Molly entered the flat she knew exactly that he was gone. She wandered into the kitchen with the huge packages she carried home from the supermarket. Sherlock ate extremely huge amount of food, she had had to keep up with him.

She collapsed onto one of the white chairs and sighed shakily burying her face in her palms.

Only hours later, when she decided to go back to the bed which surely still had his scent, she noticed the small note on her pillow.

Thank you, Molly Hooper.

So talk to me, dears. I am desperate to read your opinion. Once again, sorry for the mistakes, I try my best.