Someone asked me to write John and Mrs Hudson's reaction to seeing Sherlock on live television, and I thought this was a great idea, so I did! By the way, Huntsworth Mews is a real road near Baker Street :)

As always, reviews appreciated, and I still don't own Sherlock.

Love Misty x

Chapter Ten

"John," Mary said, looking concerned and slightly amazed, "John, you need to see this."

It was two months since John and Mary had moved in to 143 Huntsworth Mews. Mary was the first girlfriend he'd properly moved in with - the first girlfriend he'd properly got to know, in fact - and she was... he didn't know how to describe her. She wouldn't judge him or think badly about him. She understood. And she was refreshingly human. John often wondered what Sherlock would have thought of her.

Mary held out her iPhone for him to see and he took in a sharp breath. Her Twitter feed was displayed.

#SherlockLives was the top trend. And that wasn't all - #SherlockNotDead, #BelieveInSherlock, #MoriartyWasReal, #MoriartyIsReal... Sherlock was everywhere.

"It can't be," John muttered. "It'll be a hoax. It has to be a hoax."

Mary nodded. "It's probably not true, but I thought it was best to tell you. Just in case."

"He's dead. I saw his body. And Moriarty.. Moriarty shot himself in the head." John sighed. "He can't possibly have survived. Neither of them can." If Sherlock was going to come back from the dead, thought John, he'd do it in some bloody clever way. Not through Twitter, of all things.

The phone rang, breaking their silence. "Hello?"

It was Mrs Hudson. "John? Is that you?"

"Mrs Hudson! I haven't spoken to you in ages!"

"John, you need to switch on the television. You won't believe this, it's Sherlock! He's alive, John! I saw it myself!"

The possibility was becoming increasingly feasible. "Mrs Hudson.. Are you sure?"

"Yes yes dear, of course!"

"OK then. Um, wait a second." John put the phone down and obediently switched on the TV while Mary hovered anxiously behind the sofa.

And it was him. His best friend. Sherlock Holmes, alive and well. John sat down and took it all in, not sure whether he should be overjoyed or angry.

"Oh my -" Mary gasped from behind him. "John, I don't know what to say."

"But - but how - this doesn't make any sense at all!" he exclaimed. "Mary, he was dead. I saw his body! He was officially pronounced dead! Pronounced dead by... Molly?!"

Molly's face appeared on the screen, a gun to her head. She was scared, but strangely serene in the circumstances. It all made sense to John: Molly had helped Sherlock fake his death! That was why she had asked to do Sherlock's autopsy...

He heard Sherlock's voice. "Molly, I am so, so sorry. I am going to get us out of this, I promise."

This did not sound like the Sherlock John had known at all. "Oh my god," John said. "Molly. Moriarty... You have no idea what I want to do to that little -"

"John. Calm. You ranting about Moriarty isn't going to help Molly, is it?" John shook his head.

"Sorry, Mary. I just.." He trailed off. Sherlock was speaking again.

"..You do count and I am not going to let you die because of me. I love you, Molly."

John's mouth fell open. This had to be a dream.. Sherlock Holmes was incapable of love..And with Molly Hooper? Molly Hooper?! The sweet pathologist from St Bart's whom Sherlock used to get spare body parts for his ridiculous experiments? He pinched himself firmly only to find that it hurt.

"They're at the Eleganza ballroom, aren't they?" said Mary.

"Yes. Yeah." He had no idea why or how Sherlock had faked his death, but two of his friends were in mortal danger.

"Sherlock needs help. Mary, I have to go and help him."

The rain was drumming on the roof like fingertips tapping away at the tiles, the wind lashing the room like a master whipping a tortured slave, the moon's light bathing Molly like a cool, calm mist.

Calm was the last thing she felt at this moment in time.

Molly tried for the fourth time that night to undo her bindings, frantically scrabbling at the knots that tied her to the chair, again with no success. It was futile, really - Jim Moriarty was watching her from across the room, and Moran was guarding the door. She could jump out of the window, if it wasn't so high up, and she couldn't exactly fake her death, having a much lower intelligence than -

Sherlock. He had been pretending all this time. He'd used her just like Jim had, but in an even crueller way: Jim had only gone on three dates with her, and there had been almost no physical contact except for one extremely awkward hug, but Sherlock.. She had believed that he loved her, they'd kissed, she had planned out a nice little scenario in her head, with them dating and going on holiday and solving cases together...

And, just like always, she had been stupid enough to be fooled by the great Sherlock Holmes.

Molly wasn't even sure whether he would bother to rescue her.

In which case, she should probably try rescuing herself, she thought. Again she pulled at the ropes around her wrists, but they held tight, leaving her with angry red burns. The pain made her wince.

"Aww, Molly. You're trying to escape again. How sweet," Jim mocked her.

"Yes," she said, chin up, sounding much more confident than she felt. "Seeing as Sherlock most likely isn't coming to get me out, I figured I should try myself."

He laughed at this. "Brave of you. I do hope Sherlock arrives before midnight, Molls. I really would rather not waste bullets on a pretty thing like you."

"He's not coming," she insisted, although a tiny part of her was still praying Sherlock would take pity on her and get her out.

"Yes, I suppose not. After all, I really doubt he has feelings for you." Moriarty chuckled. "Sherlock must have found you mildly amusing, swooning over him, trusting him so completely. To be honest, Molly dear, I think he may have found you slightly... pathetic."

Molly hung her head in defeat. Jim was right. His words were cruel, but true, and it was almost a relief to hear them spoken aloud, even by the most dangerous man in the world who was planning to have her killed sometime in the next hour.

Suddenly, the rain stopped.

Someone was coming to save her.