Molly didn't get much sleep that night, either. True to what Mycroft had said, Sherlock did indeed have a new case; in fact, he had been swamped with cases. It was all very sudden, and as a consequence, Molly found that she now practically lived at the morgue.
It generally wasn't lonely work, though. The consulting detective and John were often there with her, and once in a while Lestrade would pop by to see their progress or offer a lead.
The only time that Molly really had to herself was her lunch hour (sometimes) and the very early hours of the morning, when Sherlock and John would go back to Baker Street and work from there. She wondered if this was an attempt on Mycroft's part to keep an eye on her. Keeping her under Sherlock's near constant supervision was certainly a brilliant move; if something was amiss he would definitely notice it.
A week passed in which no sign of Loki appeared. She figured that he had noticed the increased activity at the morgue and had stayed away out of caution. It was a smart move on his part, but it left her in a constant state of agitation. There was no way of knowing where or when he would pop up next, and if he showed up at the morgue one day while Sherlock and John were there, she would be in heaps of trouble.
Getting into trouble wasn't the only thing that worried her now, though. Neither was being harmed in any way. The times that Molly had run into Loki, he had shown a marked lack of aggression and she still had absolutely no idea what the reason for this change in behavior was. It was all very intriguing, and if he had experienced a change of heart, it was still almost certain that no one would believe it. What would be done to him if he were caught was what worried her.
Loki's case was of interest to her for more than just the circumstances and facts surrounding him. He was more than just a collection of observable objects and traits. He was a person with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams; a life. A life that was seeking a chance at what everyone else sought after. A chance to live.
Perhaps that's what he had always been looking for, but he had gone looking in the wrong way, and in doing so, had spoiled his chance.
It made her sad, thinking about it.
At the end of the week, what she had dreaded began to materialize. About an hour before her lunch break, the shadow fell across the door. Molly saw it, and her heart nearly stopped. Looking as calm as she could, she glanced at Sherlock and John, who were both working with some test results.
To Molly's great relief, neither had noticed. Glancing towards the door again, she saw that his shadow was gone.
Grabbing her pad of sticky notes and a pen, she scribbled down a quick message.
It's not safe. Meet me in the cafeteria in an hour. Bring something to read and wear something that will hide your face.
She glanced at Sherlock and John again. They still looked quite busy. Now she just needed an excuse to go over to the door. Her eye landed on her purse, sitting on a chair near the door. Her phone was in there. Perfect.
Molly walked over and began to search through her bag until she found her phone. She pulled it out, but it accidentally slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor near the door.
"Are you alright, Molly?" John asked. Sherlock just glanced at her and then returned to work.
"Yes, I'm fine," she answered, slipping the note onto the floor as she retrieved her phone, and then sliding it under the door with her foot as she straightened. John didn't seem to have noticed.
As she returned to her place, Sherlock said, "Molly, what was that?"
Fear leapt into throat again, but she tried her best to mask it. "What was what?"
"You slid something under the door a moment ago."
"I was picking up my phone, Sherlock."
He looked at her sharply. "Is that all?"
"Yes," she answered, turning back to her work. She could feel him still staring at her for a moment longer, and then he turned away also. The hour passed slowly, but when it was up, Molly shakily gathered up her things and headed out the door.
The hospital cafeteria was bustling with people when she arrived. The lines were long and there was not much seating available. People were milling about, stopping to chat with friends on their way in or out. After receiving and paying for her meal, she glanced around for a place to sit.
That was when she spotted him. He was seated at a small corner table, the sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a gray fedora pulled down over his eyes as though he were sleeping. A large newspaper lay unfolded on the table in front of him.
She hurried over and asked him if the seat across from him was taken.
Looking up, he answered that it wasn't.
She smiled and slid into the seat, setting her food down and pulling a book out of her purse. "Thanks," she said, opening the book.
"Don't mention it," he answered, picking up his paper.
There was silence for a moment, and then Molly began, without looking up, "It was dangerous to come here."
"I know."
"We could get in a lot of trouble."
"I know."
"You're willing to risk it?"
"Yes."
"Everything?"
His paper hid his face, but she could hear the strain in his voice as he answered, "Yes, everything."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
"I'm just trying to figure you out," she said softly. "Goodness knows that little me can't hurt you."
He looked at her over the top of his paper, and she could see the pained frown in his eyes. She thought he would say something in answer to her comment, but instead he said, "A man who has been wrongly accused and is then acquitted may be allowed to reenter society, but his name will always be slightly tarnished. A criminal who is accused justly will have his name ruined. Even if he is shown mercy, or if he leaves his old self behind him, his name will always bar him from the people he loves. Their names will also be tarnished."
He paused to take a sip of his coffee, and she waited for him to continue.
"Even if my family forgave me, their people would not. Your people would not. The name of Loki will always carry its negative connotation. As long as Loki lives, he is hunted. He is a burden to his family, and to himself. There is no peace while he lives. But if he dies, then they are free, and I am free."
"That doesn't seem quite fair to them," Molly said, although she was beginning to understand things a bit better now.
"They will grieve," he said, "but it will pass, and their attention will be turned to more important matters. It will secretly be a relief."
Neither said anything more for the rest of the meal. As she got up to leave, Molly slid another note to him across the table. This one read: London Bridge. A week from today. I will arrange everything.
Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, but she did not pull away sharply, the way he had expected her to do. She stood, looking calmly down at him with a look of quiet determination and compassion. Not for the last time did he find himself marveling at the appearance of fragility that masked such a strong heart.
After a moment, she turned to go, and he picked his paper up again.
