Why yes! It is an overdue update. Hoping to get one more chapter done before I'm on holiday for a couple of weeks, so there will be a hiatus. I'll probably write on holidays but not post. Hope you're enjoying the story and thanks for all the nice comments. Positive reinforcement rocks.

Shit!

Was Molly's first thought. Her second saw her leaping up, putting her shoes and coat on and making for the door. Then she paused. Who was watching her building? If it was the police, they'd recognise her. If it was someone else…well, she didn't even want to finish that thought. She needed some sort of disguise. Where was Sherlock when you needed him? Oh yes, this whole thing was his bloody fault!

She strode into her bedroom and flung open the doors of the wardrobe. What would be a good un-Molly disguise? She ran her fingers along the rail, disregarding almost everything as ordinary and comfy. Her eyes glanced past and then back at….yes, that might do. It would require a lot of make-up, but it was different enough that a police person who'd never met her before might not recognise her. She got to work. Lucky it wasn't too late. Would she ever have a normal night at home again?

Molly stumbled in the stairwell, cursing her stupid high heels. She would have blisters tomorrow. Some looking out the window with the lights off had shown her which car was the unmarked detectives and she walked quickly in the opposite direction.

**oo**

It might not have been late but Sherlock's time spent indoors doing nothing much meant that he succumbed to sleep a lot more than he had when he was "alive". When Molly opened the door to his safe house, it was all in darkness, despite being only 11pm. And there she was again, out here on a work night. It was really starting to piss her off, so she didn't hesitate to stalk directly into his bedroom, snap on the light and shake him awake.

Sherlock had been having a lovely dream. He was at home in Baker St. John was typing up their latest case on the blog and Sherlock was deriding it as not having been worth getting dressed for. Suddenly Mrs Hudson was shouting at them to get up for school and Sherlock found himself waking up.

Molly Hooper stood towering over him as he blinked at the sudden harsh light. At least, it resembled Molly in size and shape. As he woke up properly, he noted her appearance properly.

Dress from the Christmas party

Nothing on underneath it

Stockings

Hair pulled into a high tight bun and gelled

Dark eye make-up and red lipstick

Very high heels

It was both horrifying and fascinating.

Meanwhile, Molly seemed to be saying something about a postcard, he should probably pay attention.

"Sherlock, are you listening to me?"

"Say that again?" He sat up in bed.

Molly temporarily lost her train of thought as she caught sight of a half-naked man in bed. She stared for a minute until Sherlock, suddenly uncomfortable with scrutiny said;

"I don't know what you're staring at. I'm not the one who looks like the hostess at a goth club circa 1999!"

"I was going for Robert Palmer girl. I had to disguise myself to get out of my flat. The police are watching me. Lestrade made me have a bodyguard and he's horrible. He tried to attack John!"

"What? Your police escort attacked John?! Explain properly, you are making no sense. And who is Robert Palmer?"

Molly threw the postcard at him, ignoring his final question.

"I see. This came today?"

"Yes," her voice strained. "I – I was in John's as requested. Simon dropped me home and I opened my post. I've been at the end of my tether all day wondering how I could give him and police watching my place the slip for tomorrow night, and then when I saw this, I knew I had to come to you straight away, so I thought what was the most unlikely outfit I could up with so they wouldn't recognise me when I left the building. Do you know how cold it is outside? Without a coat? And in this dress?"

"Well done. You did exactly right. It certainly leaves….nothing to the imagination. I almost didn't recognise you for 2 whole seconds. Next time, you could just go for looking old – you know powder your hair and stoop a little while walking slowly…but you've done well. Go back to the part about Sean attacking John."

"Simon. He's a police detective assigned to look after me. He's ok but John went to retrieve the Cluedo board and Simon tackled him to the ground for having a knife. It was ridiculous."

Sherlock nodded. "Ok, well, this postcard settles it. We need to draw Moriarty out into the open. He's clearly not in Switzerland. Lestrade hasn't seen this yet?"

She shook her head, gesturing to her outfit. "You think I stopped to chat – it took me ages to put this stupid look together. I'm really very uncomfortable and cold."

"Yes, so I see," his eyes doing their best not to notice her nipples through the dress.

Unfortunately, sleep had dulled his reflexes so he wasn't quite quick enough.

Molly fake punched him in the shoulder and quickly crossed her arms over her chest. With a half smile, she said, "your powers of observation are undiminished, I see. What were you like as a teenager, I would love to know."

"Luckily, you will never know. Why don't you put my dressing gown on and go make some coffee? I'll join you in a minute."

"Ah yes, I see how you returning to life puts me back in my traditional role as coffee maker…" she shot back, grabbing his suggestion from the end of the bed.

He soon followed her into the kitchen, having failed entirely to get dressed.

"I think I might need a third sugar for this one."

Molly turned around to face him and saw that he hadn't bothered to put a t-shirt on. Despite the impending confrontation, or because of it, she allowed herself to admire openly for a minute before saying'

"Couldn't you cover up? You're very distracting."

"I'm distracting? You have no underwear on! Besides, you're wearing my dressing gown."

Molly was going to win this argument.

"You don't get to be distracted by my appearance now, when I look completely out of character. It's not fair Sherlock and now is not the time for you to develop a libido."

"It was already quite developed, thank you very much, but now is not that time. You're right. We can discuss it after we get Moriarty."

Damn him anyway, thought Molly. I was all geared up for a big argument and he lets me win on the first round.

"Right, so, I'll call Lestrade first thing?"

"Better now."

"Really? Will I ever get a night's sleep again?"

"Sleep is for the weak…" Sherlock retorted rather primly, ignoring his recent somnolent state.

"Well, I'll have to go home and change if I'm going to see Greg."

"He might have a heart attack if he saw you like that. Or an affair."

"Oh shut up will you. My plan worked. No one followed me. How will I explain the time lag in getting home and ringing him?"

"Don't explain. You don't need a reason why you opened your post late."

"How will I explain my secret keeping?"

"Tell him, I'll have to come out of hiding soon anyway. In fact, I'm going to come with you. I really don't think it's safe over night."

"Sherlock, Greg will be over as soon as I call…there's no need."

"I can't just sit here doing nothing, Molly, it's killing me," he used his quiet, dangerous tone to show he meant business.

"Yeah, well, you survived the last time…." She took one final sip of her coffee, removed the dressing gown, treating Sherlock to one last glimpse of a great figure usually kept hidden, ruffling his hair as she walked by, and left.

*ooo*

Sherlock was right about one thing: Greg did come straight over. Luckily, Molly had time to de-goth. She was not looking forward to this revelation. The door bell rang and she buzzed him in.

Opening the door to anticipate his knock, she discovered it was a bad mistake to be so trusting. Sherlock was standing there, wearing his beloved coat for the first time in several weeks. They both spoke at the same time.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here?"

"You should be more careful, Molly. I could have been Moriarty or one of his lackeys."

"I should be more careful?! What the hell are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?"

"Please. It was on the postcard. Are you going to let me in?"

"Fine. Greg's due any minute. Now he really will have that heart attack."

"At least it won't be from over-exposure to you!"

Molly scowled as Sherlock appraised her current outfit – jeans and a t-shirt – much better. He much preferred her this way.

She was relieved not to be breaking the news to Greg. Probably best to sit back and watch the row that would develop.

The wait was not long. Greg arrived within 10 mins of Sherlock and was quickly on his way up in the lift. They had decided that Molly would open the door, usher him and Sherlock would just be there.

"Hey Molly, right, what is it that couldn't wait for the morning?" he said, obviously tired.

"Well, it's actually 2 things now…"

She showed him in and stood back as Lestrade saw Sherlock.

"Fuckin' hell! Have you been alive all this time, you bugger? That is not cool, man. Not Cool."

"I'm sorry, Lestrade, it was necessary. A matter of life or death precipitated my first suicide and now, I believe, a related matter will mean my resurrection," Sherlock spoke calmly.

Molly handed Greg a cup of sweet tea. Good for shock. He took it automatically.

"You knew? You helped?" it all dawned on him quite quickly. For all Sherlock's help, Lestrade was no idiot.

She nodded. "I've been his jailor for all this time. But actually, it's this postcard that decided me on calling you over tonight, and Sherlock insisted on being here."

The three of them looked at the postcard. Lestrade immediately saw why there was no point in hiding Sherlock now.

"Lestrade, I want to be clear that I'm letting you in on this now but I don't want anyone else to know yet. Moriarty has obviously figured out I'm still around and we need to use this to get him into the open."

"One important point, Sherlock, what crime has he actually committed here? Faking your death is only a crime where it involves an insurance fraud. We've got 2 vague threats levelled at Molly here but nothing to connect him other than gut feeling. Even with the knowledge of you being alive, we couldn't charge him."

"Yes, we need to bait him. And who better than his ex-girlfriend?" Sherlock's eyes gleamed as he turned to face a dumb-struck Molly.