A/N: Okay, trying this again. I tried to update about a week ago but something went wonky

Hello,*clears throat and waves sheepishly from the cave I've been dwelling in for the better part of a year* so I know it has been an inexcusable amount of time since I have updated—most of you have probably forgotten all about this fic, and if not you've likely given up on it and I don't blame you. The only excuse I have is that RL got, well, real. Anyway, in case there is anyone out there that is still interested, here is an update! I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I think you all no by now that I don't own anything.

Feedback: Reviews are gratefully accepted!

And now for the actual update...

Chapter 6: The empty morgue

The silence was driving Molly mad. She wasn't used it, this depth of silence. It was heavy and thick, and Molly felt it almost as if it was a physical entity suffocating her. She couldn't stand it. In any other morgue in the world, quiet would not seem so out of the ordinary. But, the morgue at St. Bartholomew's hospital wasn't like any other. Sherlock Holmes' larger than life presence had been a veritable mainstay in the place for as long as Molly Hooper had been employed at the hospital, thus making it much more lively than any mortuary ought to be. It felt wrong that he should be away from the place for so long. Molly's heart leapt every time the doors swung open in anticipation of looking up and seeing the Consulting Detective saunter in and make some sort of request–or demand. And it hurt just as much every time when it wasn't him.

It had been nearly three months now since Sherlock had vanished without a trace. Nearly three months without a word from him. Not that Molly had really expected to hear anything from him once he had gone, but she just wished that he would make contact with her somehow. She just wanted some kind of sign that he was all right.

All right. It was a funny thought. The man was after all only trying to single handedly dismantle the largest and most nefarious criminal syndicate the world had ever known, but he was probably as safe as could be doing so.

Stop it, Molly, she told herself, trying to cut off the onslaught of terrible thoughts that always invaded her mind whenever she thought about Sherlock–which was most of the time. If she had thought his presence in the morgue was distracting, it was nothing compared to him being out there, god knew where. She was more preoccupied with him now than she had been when he was hovering over her shoulder while she was working.

"Ugh!" Molly groaned, frustrated. She tossed her pen on her desk and stood up. I need a break. She gathered up her coat and handbag, thinking a quick change of scenery might help. She went for a coffee at a café down the street and took a stroll. When she returned to Barts she stuck her earbuds in her ears and blasted her iPod as loud as it would go in an attempt to drown out the silence that Sherlock left behind.

xxx

Molly came awake with a start, her sudden movements disrupting the slumbering cat on her lap. Toby leapt off her lap with a disgruntled meow.

"Oh, sorry, Toby," she told the cat. He didn't seem to be in a forgiving mood. He levelled his narrow eyes at her then turned away, leaping onto a chair. Molly yawned, shaking her head. She was still a bit disoriented from sleep and her neck ached from the awkward position she had been in. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed her neck. How long had she been sleeping? She looked at her wristwatch and her eyebrows shot up in surprise; it was after one in the morning. It had only been a bit after eight when she got in. She had fed Toby and had a shower, then settled down on the sofa with a hot cup of tea–which now layon the table, cold and untouched. Molly rubbed her hand over her face. It was no wonder really why she had fallen asleep, she'd been having a hard time getting much rest since Sherlock left. Every time she closed her eyes she imagined him lying dead somewhere–for real this time.

So, she knew why she had fallen asleep, but what had woken her up?

A knock sounded on the door and gave her the answer she was looking for, but begged another; who on Earth would be calling at this hour? Only one possibility came to Molly's mind. Her eyes widened and she sprang to her feet, nearly flying across to the door. Her heart raced and her hands shook as she tried to disengage the doorlock. Oh, Sherlock. She felt giddy at the idea that he could be on the other side of her door. She was practically floating. She fell hard when she finally managed to unlock the door and get it open. It wasn't the Consulting Detective after all.

"John?" Molly said, surprised and trying to school her disappointment. She shook herself, curiosity and concern overshadowing whatever else she was feeling. "Is everything all right?"

The other doctor looked a bit out of sorts. "Er, yeah, everything's fine," he murmured, scratching the back of his head.

Molly's brow furrowed and she stepped back from the threshold. "Erm, do you want to come inside?"

"Uh, sure, thanks." John came in and Molly closed the door behind him.

"So," Molly ventured, putting on a smile. "What brings you by?" And at this hour, she added silently.

"I, uh..." John stammered, then chuckled softly. "I don't really know to be quite honest. I just couldn't sleep so I went out for a walk. I just wandered 'round for a bit with no real destination and just sort of found myself in your area so I thought..." John shook his head. "Jesus, I am so sorry, Molly, I had no idea what time it was," he said when his gaze landed on the clock on the wall. "God, I am such a... I really didn't mean to bother you. I should just go." He made to leave but Molly stopped him.

"No, John, it's all right, really," she insisted. "I wasn't in bed, or anything." Technically, it wasn't a lie. "You're not bothering me. In fact, I was just thinking about putting the kettle on. Would you like some tea? Or coffee?"

John's forehead wrinkled. "Are you sure? I really don't want to put you out."

Molly smiled. "You're not. I would actually really enjoy the company."

"If your sure..."

"I absolutely am."

John smiled. "Well then, all right. I would love a cup of tea, Molly. Cheers."

Molly beamed.

"You don't take sugar, do you?"

"Er, no, I don't," John said. He was sat at Molly's table while she made the tea.

"I didn't think so." Molly opened the cupboard to get some cups. In the back of the cupboard was a bottle of whiskey, left over from when her father used to come to visit before he died. He loved a good whiskey. Molly didn't really care for hard liquors herself, but had never really had the heart to chuck it out. She stood on her tiptoes and carefully reached for the bottle. She bit her bottom lip and flicked a glance over to John. "Er, how about a bit of whiskey?" she asked, sheepishly.

John looked over at her with raised eyebrows, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Why not," he said. "Only if you'll join, that is."

"You know I think I will," Molly said, twisting the cap off the bottle. She poured the tea and added a generous splash to each cup. She brought them over to the table and sat opposite John. She lifted her cup and John clinked it with his. Molly blew on the steaming liquid before taking a tentative sip. The tea had diluted the alcohol enough to take a good deal of the sting out. The liquid slid smoothly down her throat and a pleasant warming sensation spread out across her chest, settling down in her belly. And as she drank she imagined her worries melting away...for a little while at least.

xxx

Sherlock Holmes had never been a fan of having free time. Every second that he was not working on a problem he could feel his brain rotting from lack of use. His magnificent mind was in constant need of stimulation. Unfortunately, at the moment being several miles out to sea he was not having much luck finding any. Sherlock detested sea travel for precisely this reason; the tedium–which was the main reason he gave up on his dream of becoming a pirate. It was too bad he didn't really have any other choice. It was not easy for a deadman to travel these days. Security at airports and train stations were extremely tight. He couldn't risk being caught by the always watchful eye of Big Brother. CCTV cameras were virtually inescapable. Seeing it as his best option, Sherlock had arranged for his passage on a fishing vessel. It would get him where he needed to go well enough. And being as the other men on the boat spent the bulk of their time out at sea, most of them had never even heard of Sherlock Holmes. Of course Sherlock was still using a false identity, and hiding his somewhat distinguishable face behind a fake beard to be safe.

Still, as convenient as his current means of travel may be that did not make up for the fact that it was extremely dull. Though, Sherlock had never been particularly fascinated with marine life, he tried to bide his time conducting the odd experiment here and there on the various aquatic life forms he was able to get his hands on. He couldn't do too much however not wanting to attract attention to himself. So most of the time all he could do to keep from pitching himself overboard was to retreat to the sanctuary of his Mind Palace. Or at least it had used to be a sanctuary, before it had been invaded by one Molly Hooper. Sherlock wasn't sure how it had happened, how Molly had come to take up so much space in his Mind Palace. The facts about the pathologist used to be relegated to a thin folder inside a drawer in a small office. The same drawer he kept mostly inconsequential details about his acquaintances that he thought may be useful at some point. But now it seemed as if no matter where he turned there she was, smiling that smile of hers. She was making it rather difficult for him to go over the data he had about Moriarty's network. Somehow he was going to have to find a way to, if not get rid of her entirely, lock Molly away so he could focus on the task at hand. Otherwise he feared he would never be able to clear his name and reclaim his life.

TBC...