Before I start rambling on about pointless stuff to you, I just want to say to the guest who posted that review- you made me laugh so hard! That was generally the highlight of my day. Good idea though, maybe another time we can make Molly evil and Moriarty nice…? Bit strange but hey…

THANK YOU SHERLOCKED MELON FOR THAT AWESOME REVIEW! I must admit when you said let's 'start' with the positive feedback, I got a bit worried on how much negative there was going to be… Don't scare me like that again! /Not referencing to our embarrassing German lesson there…/
I was thinking about writing that kind of scene but I am absolutely terrible at writing John- I actually find Sherlock easier because he doesn't have all those mixed emotions and everything- but yes, with your help I shall write it for chapter 8 (let's make use of our German lessons ;) )
So many ideas you have! I love them! But I shall get everything mixed up and then no one will read my story any more- so yes, I am again asking for your help that you keep refusing to give me…

Dancing eyes-
You are my loyal reviewer- you have to keep it up if this story's going to get anywhere… ;D I'm glad someone likes the whole no Sherlock/Molly thing. With this whole Moriarty idea, I'm definitely going to bring him in some more because once you tamper Moriarty in a story, he takes over- burns everyone in his way… (Sorry, I make really bad jokes when I'm tired) I do like this idea of Molly/Moriarty, I think it would definitely bring out his character more but it's going to have to be well written for it to work properly so I'll need time (a lot of it) to make sure it's not going to mess up the structure of the story. Uh, I sound like an English teacher now, what I mean is, I'm not a great writer and it's very possible if I try writing it in less than a week, it'll lose all my readers, which wouldn't be so great. I shall try my hardest though Thanks for the amazing reviews!

Forever-young- Are you completely evil? I think, if you actually met Mary you'd kill her with your glare straight away! Calm it! She's going ;D Thanks for the review Gregoravich, it was much appreciated! I've just added 'Gregoravich' to my dictionary, I can't believe it didn't recognise it!

Sorry everyone, I just find it rude if I don't reply to reviewers, but back to the story…

Chapter 8

"Tea dear?" Mrs. Hudson called from the door.

John was sat back in his usual spot, holding onto the stick that had recently returned after Sherlock had gone. He looked over to the old landlady with no sign of a smile on his face. Mrs. Hudson hadn't seen John smile for over a year now, but she had heard him sound almost gleeful when his girlfriend came over to visit, which, in her opinion, was getting quite rare, but at least it was something. John sighed in despair before replying to the weary lady at his door.

"No, don't worry Mrs. Hudson; I'll get it this time." He said, as he attempted to stand up, his hand wobbling on his stick.

"But John, your leg?"

"DAMN my leg!" He shouted, but again, regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry, I just… Tea would be nice Mrs. Hudson, thanks."

"Okay, is your leg getting any better?" She asked politely.

"I don't know- it's psychosomatic and Sh- Sherlock was the only one to ever prove that so I guess unless he miraculously shows up I'll always have this blasted stick."

"John, have you…" She paused, "have you moved on from Sherlock yet?"

"I wasn't in love with him for God's sake!" He protested.

"I never suggested that. You two were very close, so I know it's hard for you to admit he's gone. It's hard for all of us-"

"Well it's not hard for him is it? He's dead, he's gone! Nothing affects him- it just affects us. All of us! Doesn't it make you wonder if he even cared?"

"John! Of course he did! You know that very well." She snapped, causing John to sink back down in the old arm chair.

"Yes-of course- I'm sorry. I think I better go…" He mumbled, embarrassed of his actions.

"What about the tea dear?"

"I'll pass." John said, standing up and steadying himself. He winced- he was no use to anyone anymore, not even Mary. Mary was slowly breaking it off with him- he knew it- it was so obvious. She was a lovely girl, but even she could only stand so much of hearing about Sherlock and he knew that.

He walked out the door, brushing past Mrs. Hudson carefully, making sure not to bump into her hip.

"Bye dear; say hello to him from me as well." She called as he made his way down the stairs. John looked back at her with an expression of a startled deer, he soon relaxed though. Of course she knew where he was going- where else did he have to go?

"I will." John replied, walking out.

Sherlock watched as John approached the grave, he knew he would be there- he always was. He left notes in little brown envelopes on Sherlock's gravestone, pinned down by the new flowers he had bought for his friend. John had started talking to the gravestone and Sherlock was just able to hear what he was saying.

"It's been a year now Sherlock. You still haven't come back… Is this some kind of game you're playing with me? Because it's sick Sherlock- it's really sick!" John snuffled and took a tissue out of his pocket.
"What I meant was… I miss you. I know you're still alive. You have to be- you're a genius remember? You wouldn't just die like that and you hated the concept of suicide since the moment I first met you. If you ever had any morals than that was one you were strong about." He wiped his eyes violently before continuing to speak to the empty grave, "One more miracle Sherlock… Please, please be alive."

Sherlock felt a pang of sadness flood through his heart- he knew he had one, but only John made it show to its true value. He missed John badly, he didn't even realise how much. John was his best colleague; he owed him so much for being there for him when he was in one of his moods, for teaching him things he wouldn't delete from his memory and for just being there- as his…friend.

He watched as John covered his face with tissues, sniffling into them- crying into them. He wanted to run up to him right then and hug him tightly and never let go. John would die if he came back though- and that's the only thing that held him back. He caught a glimpse of a black figure the other side of the gravestone- yards away from John. Sherlock could faintly see a gun beside him- a sniper; he peered closer at the mysterious man and then glanced back at John. Snipers weren't good for anything but killing…but a sniper on John? Moriarty was dead and Moran had packed up… Surely he wouldn't still be targeting John…

He observed as John limped back to the road and put his hand out for a cab, still weeping into the disintegrating tissue. A black cab pulled up and asked where John wanted to go, in which John answered "221 Baker Street" as he got in, stumbling a little with his stick- he still wasn't used to having it back. Suddenly a smack of realisation hit Sherlock- he must get Moriarty's inner circle arrested as soon as possible if he wanted John to stay alive. Making sure the coast was clear and that John was gone, Sherlock bolted to the cab that seemed to be taking a break and flew into the back seats.

"Hey! I'm not off break for another ten minutes at the minimum. Get out!" The cabbie shouted angrily into the mirror. Sherlock, however, was ignoring the protests of the man with the slight American accent; his focus was set on the black figure who had been at the grave with John. He was holding his sniper as if his whole life depended on it.

"Surely not…" Sherlock muttered to himself, a little bit dumbfounded. He only had two ideas for this strange occurrence- either Moriarty was alive to order John's death or- and Sherlock winced at the thought- they knew Sherlock was alive and well, living in the flat of Molly Hooper.

"Yes, and it's a well deserved one at that. I've been ordering people around all day, it's tiring work." The cabbie sighed, still clearly agitated, "alright, where do you want to go?"

Sherlock tore his eyes from the figure and stared into the seat in front of him. He told the agitated man where he was heading… Molly's flat. If these men knew he was alive, she'd be on the 'to kill' list, he had to get to her before they did. "…And fast!"

"Alright then." The cabbie turned the mirror away so Sherlock couldn't see him but he quickly dismissed that, leaning into the window, thinking of quicker routes this predictable cabbie could take. He looked around the cab, instantly deducing things about the driver. He made a list in his head to keep him occupied…

Just married.

No kids.

Drinker.

Used to do drugs- sell them as well in fact.

Not religious.

Boring, Sherlock thought, all of it was so boring and so predictable. He took some cash out of his pocket knowing how much he'd need to pay. The cab slowly pulled up on the curve and Sherlock got out practically throwing the money to the cabbie in a frantic rush to see Molly. He started to walk away but got stopped by the cabbie.

"I told you before Sherlock," the cabbie said but Sherlock was thrown by the sudden change in voice. The annoying American accent was replaced with a strong, familiar Irish one. Sherlock whirled around to find the cabbie driving slowly away, throwing the money back at him.
"No charge." Sherlock looked just in time to see the cabbie drive away, glimpsing his face. The face of Moriarty…

Sherlock ran up the stairs, ignoring the beeping of the lift, knowing he could beat it anyway.

"Molly? MOLLY? Where are you?" He shouted. How could he have been so easily fooled? He had just led Moriarty to the one girl he didn't know had a part in my life. Well now he knew, he knew that she was no longer just a pathologist, but a threat. A threat to him and his inner circle. He would have to leave, he searched his whole mind for another option but found none- if he wanted Molly to stay alive, then he would have to stay away from her. Her and John, he thought, he had to leave them for good because he had been fooled.

"I'm here Sherlock," came the soft reply of his pathologist. He opened the door to find Molly sat on the couch, pretending to be reading a magazine. He knew she didn't care for those media things, and especially not after what the media did to him. He tried deducing things about her to occupy his mind from what had just happened, but what he saw on her hit him harder than seeing his old enemy.
Her hair was tangled in her ponytail, her middle parting was back, she wore no make-up and her clothes were ruffled. Sherlock wouldn't have bothered caring about those tiny things that could mean anything if he hadn't seen the worn look on her face, the red bloodshot eyes that were trying to hold back tears and the scar, slashed against her white cheek. She was fresh from a fight.

Molly must have seen Sherlock's eyes grow wide in anticipation and fear and was very surprised. She thought he'd overlook it, he never paid any attention to her well-fare anyway, so why should this matter? She felt guilty about him realising what had happened to her and shot up out of the sofa, making excuses to go to the bathroom.

As soon as the door clicked behind her, Molly scrambled through her make-up bag and found the concealer. She knew that she wouldn't be able to fool Sherlock into thinking he hadn't seen it, but it was at least worth a try. After she had finished trying to get the scar to vanish, she looked like a doll, a very ugly doll. Her face was thick with concealer and she didn't like it one bit, but she knew she couldn't go out and let Sherlock find out how careless she was out on the streets so she applied the final touch of lipstick to conceal the cracked lips and made sure her eyes were dried. Then she started on her hair- her thick, messy hair. It had fallen back into a middle parting in the attack when it had been pulled out of her work bun and tangled like knots. She brushed it back into the side parting that Sherlock claimed to like better and wouldn't stop brushing until she was sure it was
knot -free, smooth and shining. She gave herself a final look in the mirror, bracing herself and brushing down her clothes, before unlocking the door and going to sit back in the sofa.

"It doesn't take that long to go to the toilet Molly." Sherlock clearly stated as soon as she walked back in.

"Uh, I know, I just had to do a few things, you know, take medication?" She didn't mean it as a question, but because of her uncertainty it came out like one.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked, not looking up but obviously expecting an answer.

"About what?" Molly asked innocently, "have you managed to get Lestrade to arrest anymore of Moriarty's men?"

"Don't change the subject Molly."

"I wasn't, because I don't know what the subject is!"

"Have I ever told you how rubbish you are at lying?"

"All the time Sherlock…"

"Good- then stop it."

"Stop what?"

"LYING!"

Molly sat on the sofa, her head buried in her hands. Sherlock was pacing around the room in a fidgety manner, his hands were clasped in a prayer-like action- fingertips brushing past the tip of his nose.

"Could be Moriarty's men, of course they'd go after you- you're easily fooled…"

Molly sighed at the insult and brought her head out of her hands revealing very tired looking eyes to the detective. He was still pacing, looking vaguely annoyed- probably at her, she thought- and still holding his hands up to his face. After the initial denial that the comment was meant to be mean Molly thought over what Sherlock had said… 'Could be Moriarty's men.'

"You know about Moriarty being alive?" Molly asked, giving Sherlock a puzzled glance.

"Well Molly, if I hadn't, you would have just told me because all I said was 'Moriarty's men.' I never once mentioned Moriarty as a singular person." He spared a second of his time to glance at Molly, taking in her worn appearance with some of his deduction skills, but of course, he already knew most of it but Molly wouldn't give him the full details. "Wait," he said, "how did you know he was alive?"

Molly looked back down at her hands, looking disappointed in herself for letting something that easy slip from her mouth. "I-I guessed, I mean, you weren't going to come running up the stairs screaming my name because of any old criminal- it had to be a criminal I knew, it had to be something personal."

"Impressive deduction Molly," Sherlock nodded in approval and Molly blushed in delight, "but I already read your blog, and to be honest, it wasn't likely that anyone else apart from his will kill you and have your number, and not to mention 'Jim' was the only one who ever communicated to you through your blog- which needs knew pictures by the way. You're not 5 Molly…"

Molly, who was still staring down at her hands, turned very pale while shock registered on her face.

"Sherlock, I would have told you but-"

"I know why Molly, as much as the world would like to think- I'm not stupid." His face was slightly snarling, and Molly knew that was meant to be an insult to her- her being the one who should be thought stupid.

"Sherlock?" Molly muttered, her voice growing with an unknown anger, "as much as you would like to think… I'm not stupid either." She stood up and gestured to all the framed certificates that were up in the flat, proving her point. Lowering her hands back to her sides, she faced Sherlock, making clear eye-contact with him without flinching, holding it for a few seconds before she walked into her bedroom, closing the door softly.

Sherlock waited for the whimpering- it never came.
He waited for the snuffling- it never came.
He waited for the full on tears- they never came.
He waited for the banging of her head- it never came.

Sherlock stood, unmoving from where Molly left him, that wasn't predictable at all. What was Molly doing if she wasn't acting shameful or girly like she did normally if she stormed out? But Molly didn't storm out this time… She waited until her point was proven, looked him calmly in the eyes and simply walked out, almost angelically.

Ooh… That was my failed version of a cliff-hanger everyone! You have just witnessed me at my worst :) Thank you again for your reviews, and speaking of reviews…

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