Chapter II

Sherlock set about making up the bed. He liked to pretend he couldn't do these basic domestic chores because other people would do them for him, which was always preferable. Toby, Molly's cat, settled into the chair to watch him. As he bent over, he experienced pain in the fifth, six and seventh ribs on his left side, on which he'd landed heavily, after his 3rd floor, rather than 10th floor jump. He knew if he looked in the mirror, there'd be a lump on the corresponding side of his head. It hadn't needed stitches but already had a large scab forming.

That was an unexpected reaction from Molly. I suppose today was a strain. Hardly more on her though, than me. I'm dead – she just had to do her job. That morgue drawer was much more comfortable than expected. Excellent for eavesdropping. Must try to attend my funeral – best time to hear what people think. Not that I care. This deception won't last too long. I think I'll have some tea.

"Molly? Will you make some tea?"

"Make it yourself!" came the response from the sitting room.

Ha. She should have more crises in life – she's far more interesting. Moriarty killing himself was unexpected. I won't need to keep my own deception up for long, once I've confirmed his network is dismantling and everyone is safe.

Molly flicked through tv channels – nothing interested her. How could she focus on anything other than the man in her spare room? Her reaction to his presence was more remarkable.

I'm not my usual self around him. It's like his faked death has freed me of my awkwardness…

As Molly thought that, Sherlock called her name.

"What now?"

"I require your assistance." Sherlock's voice came from the bathroom.

"Sherlock…?"

"I need your help washing my hair."

"Why?"

"Really, just because you normally work on dead people, Molly... I obviously shouldn't get this head wound wet until it's properly scabbed over. I've already bathed but you'll have to wash my hair for me."

Molly stood outside the door, reflecting silently on what she was about to put herself through.

Ohgodohgodohgod Right. Pull yourself together. You can manage this.

"Are you decent?"

"Of course".

Molly stepped into the bathroom. Sherlock was fully dressed from the waist down in clean clothes – his own clothes but his chest was bare.

Deep breath.

"Where did you get clean clothes from?"

"I left a bag here once in case of emergency."

"You were never here before!"

"Wasn't I? I must have dropped it in when you weren't home."

What? When? I can't think about that now…just be all business-like. Pretend you're a hairdresser. His skin is so white – almost translucent. Wouldn't have expected the light muscles – he's not a gym type. Oh! Look at those bruises. Some of his ribs are broken.

"Oooh, Sherlock – those ribs must hurt. I'll get you a chair to sit on while we do this. I'll bandage them for you later."

Sherlock nodded. He was uncomfortable.

Molly came back with a chair and positioned it up against the bath and unhooked the shower hose. Then left the room again.

"Where are you going now?" said Sherlock with a touch of irriation.

"I'm changing my top – otherwise I'll be soaked too."

Sherlock waited impatiently.

Molly returned wearing a vest top like one would wear for exercise. It was quite flattering, showing off her petite frame. Her arms were toned – when does she find the time to go to a gym? Even when he was indifferent, Sherlock couldn't turn off the observation. Huh. Wouldn't have expected this. Much prettier with clothes that fit her properly. Casual is her best look.

"Alright then, sit down and we'll get on with this".

Molly turned on the water and waited for it to heat up.

"Put your head back."

Sherlock obeyed.

"Are you going anywhere nice on your holidays then?" said Molly.

"What?"

"Ha, ha. You know, that's what hairdressers always say when they're washing your hair. Cos it's weirdly intimate to have a stranger touching your head…ahem, never mind."

Molly very gently moved the hose over his head, dousing most of his hair and avoiding the damaged area deftly. She seemed to hesitate for a moment then turned off the water. Pouring shampoo into her hands, she rubbed them together and tentatively put her fingers into Sherlock's hair.

For the second time in 24 hours, she was living out a Sherlock fantasy. The countless times she'd imagined running her fingers through his glossy curls had not done justice to the real thing. Since it was wet, his hair looked longer. She began to massage into the crown of his head and Sherlock actually closed his eyes. How did it never occur to me that he would be even sexier with wet hair? Of course, in the fantasy, she wasn't washing blood out of his hair…

This is nice, he thought, very different to the sort of hair wash one got with a barber, despite her attempt at levity.. Molly's hands were soft but firm. The configuration of the bathroom meant that she had to lean across his body to wash his hair, so he was confronted with her chest almost in his face. Her breathing was shallow. I wonder if I could somehow take her pulse…no, there's no point. Her heart rate is elevated. She's probably really enjoying this. Ow! "Molly! Be careful." Sherlock snapped his eyes open and glared.

"Sorry! I'm not exactly used to washing other people's hair, well, not while they're alive anyway."

Hey! His pupils are dilated. That's….surprising. I wouldn't have thought he'd be enjoying this at all.

Molly reached for the hose and rinsed out Sherlock's hair. As she turned off the water, she thought she heard him sigh. She grabbed a towel and gently began to pat the heavier wet out of his hair.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"I think I can do that myself, thanks."

Molly blushed slightly and ceded control immediately.

"Sure. I'll leave you to it. I'll make some dinner."

She was gone in a flash.

Sherlock exhaled loudly and slowly. The sensation of being touched so gently had provoked a near emotional reaction. He sat there for a couple more minutes gingerly trying to dry his hair. He regretted sending her away as the effort of raising his arms with so many damaged ribs was really quite uncomfortable. His emergency bag didn't have any of his usually carefully concealed hair products, so despite his best attempts, his curls were going to be much frizzier than usual. At least Molly won't mind that. Interesting food smells were beginning to waft from the kitchen area and his stomach reminded him that it was over 36 hours since he last ate.