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Three months later, Molly Hooper was still guilty about the lie she had volunteered to be a part of. John and Lestrade continued to show remorse and guilt at not having done enough to spare Sherlock what must have been a terrible confrontation on the roof. It was better to limit her contact with them rather than to risk blurting out the truth that he was alive rather than buried in a cemetery as they supposed. John and Mrs. Hudson went routinely to visit his grave, and Mrs. Hudson had told her about John standing at the end of it, head bowed and fighting back tears. It seemed horribly selfish to remain silent when a few words from her would have spared them their pain.

Lestrade and John had done some investigative work, trying to determine without any success the exact nature of the confrontation or the events that had led up to it. Moriarty had seemingly disappeared without a trace, although there was evidence that a substantial amount of blood had been shed by him. The rooftop was otherwise a clean crime scene that no-one but Sherlock could have learned anything from, but day after day it was apparent that John got out of bed only because he was determined to find the one clue that would lead him to discovering the truth and clearing Sherlock's name.

Since the day of the funeral, she had received emails from "Arthur" pretty routinely, with anonymous packages showing up at work, not always from inside the UK. They generally involved a request to do some research for him in the lab, and send the results to whatever email address he was presently using. He had warned her early about how she would know it was from him, and to be cautious about anything she didn't recognize. She didn't know whether to be comforted to hear from him, or to sigh at his indifferent behaviour. Some of the requests were unusual in their own way, as she had never been asked about anything to do with the field of infectious and airborne diseases, the lab not really being set up for any form of bio-hazard. She had a lot of leeway at work though because of her years of dedicated focus to it, and before long she found herself spending a fair amount of time in becoming knowledgeable about it.

On bad nights alone, she would listen to her playlist, songs like "True Colours", "I'll Stand by you" (Pretenders), and " Feel my Love"(Adele), amongst others, Toby lying consolingly beside her.

Sherlock also seemed to be doing some deductive work, judging from the nature of some of the requests and she wondered if he was actively involving himself in the work that had made him famous. It seemed a dangerous thing to do, but as time passed with no alarms, she also came to realize through Lestrade that an unusual amount of accurate tips were being passed through the anonymous hotline the public had access to.

It came as a surprise one Saturday morning to open an email from Arthur Bright and to read the following message:

Come at once to the following address on Falmouth Rd. Stop at the hospital and grab an infectious diseases medical pack. Bring two coffees and crisps if you wish

AB

She smiled at the grudging tone to the last part of the request, dressed hurriedly and headed out the door to catch a cab to the address he gave her, stopping at the hospital and the cafeteria first. Getting out she found an older block of flats, and the number he gave her led to a small basement flat in the back. She was terrified she would find him badly hurt, and she rang the bell anxiously.

At his voice telling her to come in, she entered the flat, moving forward to the living room, and found him standing at the door of what appeared to be a bedroom. Thankfully, he seemed unharmed, though thinner than when she had last seen him. He was wearing a blue hoodie and gray canvas pants, otherwise his disguise had remained the same.

Motioning her to sit on the couch, he took the medical pack, and relieved her of a coffee, leaving her to place her crisps and coffee on the coffee table, eyeing her speculatively,

"Been a while since I had a good coffee. I hope you took precautions to avoid being followed."

"What's wrong?"

He came to sit next to her and opening the bag of crisps, took a few out,

"Our friend appears to be dying of something that seemed to be just flu mid-week. When he didn't show up as planned, I took the liberty of checking his place. I don't want to alarm you but I think I should get you to take blood samples, mouth swabs, and the like. We might be looking at anthrax, judging by the bruising that seems to be evident. He's got reasons for staying hidden, I obviously can't tell you where I think it came from, but once we do the samples, can you take them to St. Bart's, do the analysis and email me when they're done?"

"Yes, but it'll might take at least a day or so for some of the tests to be completed,"

"Of course, and if it does prove to be anthrax as I suspect, I want you to contact Ludmilla Dyachenko, presently here in London for a WHO conference on Public Health and Safety. She's a guest speaker of the conference and I think she might be extremely interested in this case. Arrange a time for her to come and then let me know about that as well."

"You'll be here the whole time?"

"He needs looking after, don't worry I won't touch him without gloves. I hope you brought yours."

After finishing their coffee, they worked together to gather the necessary specimens. The man appeared to be in his late 30's, medium build with reddish hair and beard. He dozed fitfully, as they tried to complete their tasks without disturbing him. Sherlock continually glanced over at her during the process, and she thought he looked happy to see her. As they gathered the specimens, Molly labelled them, Sherlock packing them into a sturdy bag.

Returning to the living room of the small flat, Molly began to tidy away the styro cups and the empty bags. Sherlock had wandered to its high windows, as she finished and started to grab her coat and bag from the chair she had placed them on.

"Going so soon when we haven't seen each other for three months? Do I dare attribute your weight loss to the fact you missed me?" He spoke softly, turning slightly to look at her.

She approached him slowly, and as he analyzed her reaction to him, she made an effort not to hide her heart from him.

"There's no reason why every email from you must be only about cases or your research, you could end it with ... non-work subjects. You wouldn't miss me so much, either," teasing him.

"And there's no reason why every meeting must be only about work, we could end them with..." his voice rasping, as he stepped toward her.

"This"... Gracefully he moved nearer, his hands encircling her small waist, tugging gently until she rested against him, her eyes fluttering shut. His mouth found hers hesitantly, but unerringly, and her hands went up to his shoulders, caressing as she pulled him in a little closer. As the kiss deepened, the gentleness of his touch overwhelmed her.

Relaxing their embrace, they looked at each other for a long moment; Sherlock smiling warmly, his eyes shining brighter than she had ever seen. She turned to get her coat and bag, as Sherlock turned again to the window.

Moving to the door, his words behind her halted her momentarily,

"I think I'm okay now..."

She hesitated, then determinedly opened the door, and left for the hospital.

Much later, she had returned home, she opened his email,

"Be careful what information you pass to Ludmilla. Only mention the case and the research, tell her the patient's name is Thomas Leland. She can email me, Edmund Bright, for more details. Be vague and like this is just any other lab work, there must be no way for her to connect you and I. What non-work subjects did you specifically have in mind?"

Smiling, she clicked reply, and began to type.


I had an idea to connect this with one of Sir AC Doyle's stories, I could crash and burn on this idea, we'll see...