In Molly Hooper's opinion, the problem with Sherlock Holmes being dead was that for a dead man he certainly needed a lot of stuff. She glanced over at her shopping bags to discover that other than the cat food and some bottled water, everything else that she'd bought was for him.

Molly hadn't expected to meet Greg Lestrade at the grocery. She wasn't a very good liar, and she had been mortally afraid that he would look at her and know everything. Sherlock had grilled it into her that absolutely no one must know that he was still alive. She had done okay, so far, but when someone said straight out that they needed him, It was hard for her to stay silent.

She turned off of the main road, winding through a series of back streets before pulling into a dark alley to park beneath a broken streetlight. She turned off the engine and waited. The knock on her car door startled her even though she was expecting it. Molly rolled down the window to see a grizzled brown face with a large gray beard.

"Hello Joe," she said, "Two cans of cashews and a bag of jelly babies, just as we agreed."

Joe reached through the window and took the bag looking inside and smiling before taking the other items that she passed to him. His white hair made him look very old, but his hands told her that he was no more than forty. She'd seen enough of them in the morgue to be able to tell age by the fat deposits in the skin.

"There's milk in that, so don't dawdle."

He nodded, saying loudly "Thank you, Miss. Very generous of you!" He even tipped his cap at her, the movement distracting from the note that he slipped into her hand before turning away. She rolled the window up before opening it. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching her as she read:

2 dozen Helianthus annuus. Tonight.

Sunflowers? He wanted sunflowers this time of night?

It was late, and her favorite show was coming on the telly in an hour. It was hard enough working full days at the morgue without having to run Sherlock's errands at night. Surely he could wait till morning for a few flowers, couldn't he?

On the other hand, buying the flowers would mean going to see him in person. She could spend the evening with him instead of sitting alone in her apartment with only her cat, Toby, for company. Sherlock was demanding and irritating at times, but somehow seeing his handsome face made all the trouble she'd gone through seem worthwhile.

Molly backed out of the alley, and drove slowly down the mostly deserted streets looking for a flower shop. This wasn't really the kind of neighborhood to find such a store, so she drove around and around looking at the mostly closed buisinesses. She was just about to give up when she spotted one. The sign was old and faded. A dusty glass window showed a display of what looked like funeral wreaths. She parked the car and stepped out, rushing up the stairs to try the door. It was locked.

She knocked on the glass, but no one answered despite the fact that the light was on. She peered through the window, but in the end, she had to admit defeat. Turning back to face the street, she saw her path blocked by a man in a red hoodie. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, staring up at her.

Where had he come from? The street was as deserted now as it had been when she had stopped the car here moments ago. She hadn't heard another car, and none of the other buildings showed signs of life. It was as if he had appeared by magic.

He stood perfectly still underneath the flickering street lamp, his hands hidden in his pockets. The light streaming from the dirty store window cast a shadow on his face that hid his eyes from view.

Molly watched a car pass by on a side street, the Doppler shifted sound of its passage rang out clear, emphasizing just how empty the streets were. There was no one else in sight, and the only way back to her car was to walk past the man.

"Hello," Molly said, unable to keep her voice from cracking.

The man tilted his head to stare up at her, and she could finally see his eyes. They were pale brown, almost gold.

"Lookin' for flowers, miss?" the young man asked pulling off his hood to reveal high cheekbones and straight raven black hair. His golden eyes glowed bright in the dim light.

"Um, yes," Molly said, "for my grandmother. It's her birthday. I left it a bit late, but I'd really like to get some tonight. You don't know of a place that sells flowers that is still open, do you?"

The man didn't smile. He looked her down and up. His face without expression as he appraised her. "I might know of someplace," The man said. His hands back in his pockets. "What kind of flowers do you need?"

"Sunflowers."

"Sunflowers. Nice. Very pretty. It might help me to suggest a place if I knew where you were going. Does your grandmother live nearby?"

"She lives near the river, about three miles that way. Do you know of any places along the way?"

The man shook his head slowly side to side. "Not between here and the river, but there is a twenty four hour flower shop that I know of. It's a bit of a drive, but they will definitely have what you are looking for."

"Really, are you sure?"

"I'm certain. You see, I'm a bit of a pro at finding things. Here's the address," he said reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a pen and a pad of paper. He wrote the address down, then held the sheet out to her.

Molly walked down the steps toward him and reached out, taking the note with a shaking hand. The man stared down at her. His golden brown eyes following her with curiosity as she stepped around him, pulling her keys out of her pocket and unlocking the door.

"Thank you," she said, quickly climbing into the car, and closing and locking the door between her and the man who was standing on the curb watching her still. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and it was only after she pulled away that she started to breathe again. When she looked into the rear view mirror, the man was gone.


The building where Sherlock was hiding out was situated on a lesser used street abutting the river. Once, it had been a textile mill, but decades ago it had been converted into luxury flats, that later became a home for the elderly before falling completely into disrepair. The building was abandoned now, except for one wing which still had water and electricity, making it a convenient hide out.

The flower shop had been everything that the man had said it would be. It was attached to a warehouse, and trucks of plants kept arriving throughout the night. She had bought the sunflowers, and violets, and roses as well. She'd spent much more time there than she had expected to, so that it was well after midnight by the time that she arrived.

She drove into the empty lot, through a gate bearing a large sign reading KEEP OUT! She parked beside a scrawny tree which had thrust its head up through a gap in the broken pavement. Turning off her lights, she took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could see the lights of the city reflected on the surface of the water. She pulled out her phone to check the time, but as soon as she opened it, the screen went dark.

Cursing aloud, she plugged the phone into the car charger and tossed it down onto the seat, but it bounced and landed on the floorboard. She left it there, along with her bag of cat food, and walked across the lot to the door. She entered, quickly closing the door behind her so that the light wouldn't be seen from the street. The industrial kitchen had been painted in shades of aqua blue and ivory, but years of cooking and neglect had caused the walls to stain and the paint to peel. She saw the bags of groceries that she had bought laid out on one of the stainless steel tables. Frowning, she picked up the milk and put it in the nearby refrigerator.

"Sherlock!" she called, but no one answered.

She placed the flowers on the table and walked through the kitchen, opening the door to peek into a dark, deserted hallway. The light spilling out through the door didn't illuminate much beyond the section of hall that she was standing in. To her right, the closed doors of a dozen abandoned rooms peeled off. To her left, a pale light was coming from a room at the end of the hall.

She turned left and walked toward the light, pushing aside a half-open door to enter an empty recreation room. It was as large as a gymnasium, with a low roof, and a row of small windows that faced toward the river. Folding tables sat at odd angles throughout the room, deserted by the white metal chairs that should have surrounded them. The chairs were stacked in rows against the wall near a torn poster advertising vacation trips to Italy. One broken chair lay like a dead thing under a flickering fluorescent light. The plastic panel of another light hung open revealing the gap where the bulbs should have been. Across the room, where the ordered lines of nonworking lights ended at a row of dark windows, a man stood in front of a yellow floor lamp. The warm glow of its bulb cast a circle on the linoleum floor interrupted only by his dark silhouette.

"Sherlock," Molly said rushing toward him. "I brought the flowers you asked for."

His thin figure cast a long shadow. She stepped onto the edge of it and stopped.

"Sherlock," she said walking forward more slowly. "You forgot to put up the milk again."

The shadow covered her almost completely now. He still faced away from her. She walked up behind him reaching out to touch his back, then she hesitated, lowering her arm to her side. "Are you losing weight again? You should eat more. That coat is hanging off of your bones."

He was so still.

"Sherlock? Is everything alright? Are you… shorter than I remember?"

The man in the coat turned to face her then. He was wearing a paper mask printed with the image of Sherlock's face. Molly froze watching as he slowly removed the mask to reveal high cheekbones and golden brown eyes. It was the man that she had seen on the street. The man in the red hoodie. He dropped the mask at his feet and stared at her without smiling.

"Where is Sherlock?" Molly asked.

"Funny," the man said, his voice smooth, deep, and menacing. "That's exactly the question that I was going to ask you, Miss Molly Hooper."

Molly sucked in a breath and stepped back. Then she turned, and began to run across the room. Her footsteps echoed loudly off the walls, but the softer echo of his trainer-clad feet had a faster rhythm. She sped up, her heart and lungs pounding, but before she could reach the door, her feet slipped out from under her and she fell forward only to be caught by strong arms that pulled her back against the man's hard chest. He turned her around so that she was looking straight into his golden eyes as he pulled out a knife and placed its sharp point against the skin of her neck. Only then did his lips turn up into a smile.