A.N. I couldn't find a last name for Tom anywhere. He may actually have a last name, but I do not know it/can't find it. So I just used Ed Birch's last name, since he plays him. So for the sake of the story, he is Tom Birch :)

Molly's POV

Molly gracefully strode down the hallways towards the canteen to pick up some lunch. After a long morning of autopsies and paperwork, she was more than ready for some grub. As she took her place in line, she felt that something didn't feel quite right. Glancing around the room, she couldn't help but notice that everyone she tried to make eye contact with avoided her gaze.

'Odd,' she thought.

Thinking maybe it was just her imagination she continued on with her day. That is until her boss, Mike Stamford popped into the lab to visit her that afternoon.

"Molly, glad to see you're back to work. Been worried about you."

Her face lifted into a smile, "Thank you. It's good to see you too, Mike. Is there something I can do for you?"

He suddenly became very interested in his feet. "And Sherlock...how's he doing?" he asked sheepishly, trying not to look at her.

"Sherlock's good...why do you ask?"

He cleared his throat, "I suppose you've noticed everyone acting a little distant today."

"Yes, I have, actually."

He brought a newspaper from behind his back and began fiddling with it nervously.

"Mike," Molly started, "what's going on? What's with the newspaper?"

"Molly, I don't want to get you upset...but I think you should see this." He held out the paper for her to examine. Flattening it out, she couldn't believe her eyes. There she was! On the front page, snogging Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh no," was all she could get out. The title read:

Hat Detective's Latest Conquest

She began to read the article aloud to Mike Stamford, who seemed to be bracing himself for her reaction.

"Fresh off his broken engagement, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, has been snogging on St. Bart's pathologist Molly Hooper. Dr. Hooper has become the target of criminal mastermind James Moriarty's triumphant return from the dead. Hooper, who was once the girlfriend of Moriarty, is fresh out of her own engagement from Tom Birch. Birch fell victim to Moriarty just under a week ago. Three days after his death, Molly Hooper has been spotted getting cozy with Sherlock Holmes, which leaves this journalist to wonder if there is any remorse for this poor man's death? Don't you think it's a bit too soon to move on, Dr. Hooper?

Article by: Kitty Riley"

Moriarty's words reappeared in her mind, "Let's play I Spy", she felt furious, "He's not the only one. You better watch your back Molly, because I see everything."

She snatched her phone out of her coat pocket to text Sherlock:

'Have you seen the paper today?'

~Molly

"I'm terribly sorry, Molly. I know you feel remorse over Tom's passing...and besides, he wasn't even your fiance when he died!" Mike said hopefully, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Her anger ceased when she looked into the man's eyes. He has always been there for her every time she needed him. She smiled weakly and handed the paper back to him.

"Thank you, Mike. At least I have one friend in this hospital."

"Hell to what those people out there think. You're a wonderful human being Molly and I am happy for you. You've been in love with Sherlock for years. Bout time the guy came round. I know you feel sad that Tom is gone, but we both know your heart was never fully in it. You were hurting him more when you were with him."

Somehow the words stung and helped at the same time. She felt as though tears would begin to fall but they never did.

"Why don't you head on out for the day, eh? Not too much going on here."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, dear. Go on home. I've got everything under control here."

Even though she hadn't been to work in a few days, she felt relieved to be going home. At least before people ignored her for no reason other than she was quiet. Now, they ignored her because they hated her. Hauling on her coat and grabbing her purse she exited the lab. There were a few nurses standing outside of the morgue, gossiping. Much to Molly's dismay, the topic was her.

"Did you see what that Tom guy looked like? He was a total babe. If I were her, I wouldn't have gotten too picky."

Molly cleared her throat and glared at them. "Excuse me," she said quietly as she attempted to pass through their cluster to leave the hospital.

Suddenly a red-headed nurse stopped in front of her with crossed arms. She was the only nurse Molly knew out of the group. Her name was Quinn, and she was well-known for her skills on a mattress. "Hold up, Miss Molly! Where are you going in such a rush?"

"Home. I'm done for the day," she said dismissively.

"What'd you do? Bat your eyes at Stamford so you can go home to your hunky detective?" inquired the nurse with a pixie haircut.

"No."

"Sure. Hard to believe that mousey little Molly Hooper could be such a hussy," chirped the brunette.

"He's not been dead a week, Molly. I'm not even that bad," said Quinn.

Molly, feeling angry, threw daggers at her, "You act as if he were still my fiancé when he died. He wasn't! We had broken up before that and before we broke up, we were distant for months. Don't you dare act as if my romantic life is your business. You're just jealous that you tried your best to flirt with Sherlock but he wouldn't give you the time of day."

"That is not true!" she defended.

"Actually," came a deep baritone, "I can vouch that Dr. Hooper's statement is 100% true."

They were all taken aback by Sherlock's sudden arrival. Molly pushed by the women to stand by his side. He placed his hand on the small of her back and twisted his mouth into a wicked grin.

"Now, if you'll excuse us ladies, we have somewhere we need to be," he whirled Molly around with him as he turned to leave, "oh and by the way," he called over his shoulder, "congratulations on the baby Quinn!" As they exited, Molly could hear the panic-stricken screams of Quinn in the background.

"So," she began as they approached the sidewalk to haul a cab, "do we actually have somewhere to be or were you just trying to get us out of there?"

"We do have somewhere we need to be. I had just finished reading the newspaper when I got your text."

A cab stopped and they got in. Sherlock gave the cabbie an address that she did not know. They hadn't been alone since they had come back to Baker Street to take care of Mrs. Hudson. She felt an internal struggle while she was sitting so close to him. She wanted to rest her hand upon his but didn't want to rush anything.

"Go ahead, Molly."

She furrowed her brow a bit, but eventually just clasped her hand over his as she gazed out the window as rain began to slush against it. His hand was like ice and was rough due to years of wear. She moved her thumb over his palm and he eased into her touch, tightening his grip on her fingers.

"Where are we going?"

"To Kitty Riley's flat."

"What? Why?"

"She's obviously next on Moriarty's list. I have no doubt in my mind that he's roped her into helping him like last time. As much as I loathe the woman, I can't just sit back and know she's in danger and not do anything to prevent it."

As much as she wanted to argue, she knew she couldn't. This was somebody's life hanging in the balance and she was so sick of all the death. She leaned her head back against the window and closed her eyes.

"That can't possibly be comfortable," Sherlock stated, " you may lean your head upon me if you wish to rest your eyes. It's a bit of a drive, I'll wake you when we get there."

Hesitantly she leaned into his shoulder. It surprised her when he let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulder to bring her closer. It made her sick to her stomach to think that she was getting all she ever dreamed of as a result of all these horrible things. But, she tried to push these things aside as she listened to Sherlock's breathing, eventually falling into sleep.