Chapter Ten – Getting Rid of Sherlock

"I'll go now. I'm going to run a bath. If you hear any scratching it's just Toby," she said and eventually left him alone, closing the door quietly after her. He breathed a silent sigh of relief. He owed Molly after everything she had done, but he supposed her prattle wasn't going to get any more bearable because of it, he just had to keep his mouth shut for longer was all.

The next morning was Molly's day off fortunately and as she ate breakfast in her pink fluffy dressing gown, Sherlock had waltzed in with a list of things he needed her to go out and get for him at the soonest possible convenience (aka ten minutes ago).

"Umm, I don't think I'll be able to get all of these things," she said sheepishly, looking down the list. "Payday is next week and I'm almost spent out," she explained, a little embarrassed.

"Mycroft will reimburse you everything," he said immediately. "I need to communicate with him, but my phone has been impounded as evidence, not to mention if the number is recorded as active my enemies will know I am still alive. The cosmetics are vital if I am to avoid being seen, I must change my appearance," he explained, with a small degree of frustration. However, Molly's only sticking point was her own financial situation and she seemed to be less reluctant to go shopping at the promise that it wouldn't bankrupt her. She would have to dip into her savings, but she supposed, while not a rainy day, it was a worthwhile cause. The holiday was on indefinite hold anyway.

In less than twenty minutes Sherlock had all but pushed her out of the door and she was heading to the nearest Boots store. Walking down the street, Molly saw a newspaper board outside a newsagents saying 'Sherlock Hoax – Moriarty an actor'. Molly balled her fists and, even though she was loath to do so, she popped inside to buy the paper that was running the story. The Sun. 'No surprises there then, they'll run any old trash' she thought vehemently to herself. She treated herself to a bag of chocolate buttons to snack on as she went round the shops.

"What do you make of that then?" the old lady behind the counter said, pointing to the front page of the paper which featured the infamous picture of Sherlock in That Hat.

"Load of nonsense," she said, quite sure of herself.

"The press do like to smear the muck on people, don't they?" she said. Clearly she was sitting on the fence and peeked over either side depending on her customer's views. Molly didn't thank the old lady as she exited the shop, scanning the bullshit articles inside. It seemed Mycroft had been exerting his influence again, none of them mentioned the deaths of Sherlock or Moriarty. It happened quite late yesterday, so maybe they hadn't enough to write much up, though Molly was sure they would have just made something up if they didn't have all the facts quite yet. She snorted, calling Kitty Whatsherface 'stupid and ignorant' and then giggling to herself as she realised that was a Sherlockism. With a renewed smile on her face she stuffed the paper in her satchel but quickly remembered that she might be being watched (she wasn't going to take any chances) and quickly straightened her expression. Still, she felt warm inside and excited at the thought of her crush waiting at her flat for her to return, even if it was for new clothes and a way to change his appearance, but she had helped save his life. He was alive and for that she was happy and grateful.

It took her ages to find the right hair dye to buy for Sherlock. She had not much liked the cheap blonde wig on him yesterday and fancied she would miss the dark curls that made him all handsome and mysterious, but then it was a necessity. After no less than half an hour of dallying and prevaricating she eventually found one she thought she could live with (not that she would have to live with it for very long) and put it in her basket. Choosing the make-up was much easier, after all, she had some experience in this department and was able to pick out creams and powders which would darken his alabaster skin tone without making it look too false. She put in a few bottles and picked up a few bits for herself; she needed more shampoo since it would be going at twice the rate now and a man's razor. She had no idea what type of razor Sherlock might use; personal grooming was something she hadn't exactly asked him many questions on, so she asked a man who was stacking the shelves nearby and received a good long lecture on the merits of some over others. Slightly regretting asking in the first place, she went with his first suggestion and put it in her basket.

She took even longer in the nearest Phone 4 U as the very nice sales assistant (who was also rather cute) tried to persuade her that a contract phone would be a really good idea and they had some specular deals on at the moment which meant she could get the latest handset (in pink no less) for a relatively small amount a month. She had tried to insist that all she wanted was a phone with a basic sim as she was only going to be using it sporadically.

"I travel a lot, you see," she said, the lie coming effortlessly to her. "I've got a phone I use abroad, that's my business phone, but I just want one for when I'm back in the UK. I'm getting rather sick of having business texts coming through when I'm trying to call my sister!" she laughed and the assistant laughed with her. She stood her ground and eventually managed to her hands on a smart phone (a decent one, but not too expensive) and a sim card and after thanking the assistant (Luke) several times, she finally managed to exit the shop. Breathing a sigh of relief to get out of there, she jogged down the road in case he darted out of the store with a new offer or something. At least she hadn't got a pink one (though she was sorely tempted) and the case for it was black so she hoped Sherlock would like it. No doubt he would not state a preference, he would simply call it 'adequate' if she ever asked him about it.

It took her a little while to get to the costume shop she was heading for, it was the only place she knew of that did coloured contact lenses. Her stomach rumbled, she had only been to two shops but it had taken her three hours and her breakfast had been paltry before Sherlock had shoved her out of the door. Instinctively, she checked her phone to see if she had had any messages; there was a missed call from the Yard and two from home, which meant Sherlock. Hoping everything was alright, she called her own home number and waited anxiously. Her answer phone kicked in and she almost kicked herself in the middle of street for her stupidity, of course he wasn't going to pick up. She needed to be discreet in case anyone overheard anything.

"Umm, hello, I have a missed call from this number, I'm just returning the call. My name's Molly by the way," she said and paused for a moment; the phone line connected.

"Where are you?" Sherlock's unmistakable voice demanded.

"I'm about to get a sandwich," she said, looking at the different delis down the road and deciding which one she wanted.

"Do you have everything?" he said. He was irritable, probably bored.

"Not yet, I wasn't too sure about things from Boots and the guy in Phones 4 U kind of ambushed me," she explained, her fingers on her free hand winding around her scarf.

"Well hurry up, I'm bored," he snapped. "You left me here with nothing to do and the choice of literature available is hardly an inspiring read. Unless back issues of Cosmo are meant to be interesting," he drawled. She heard the slap of a magazine hitting the floor; Molly could clearly see him spread over her sofa in her mind's eye, looking at front covers of her Cosmos and throwing them behind him. "Oh look," he said with sarcastic excitement, "'the top ten sex positions women just can't get enough of,'" he said, with the obvious intent to embarrass her enough to make her hurry up. Her cheeks did flush deep pink, but her voice remained steady. She wasn't in his presence; her mind retained something of its independence.

"So there isn't some kind of emergency?" she asked, getting to the point, she didn't fancy being held up on the line for him to humiliate her by referencing a sex-life she wish she had.

"Boredom is a serious condition in me," he muttered as though losing interest in the conversation. He was distracted by something, probably something in a magazine.

"Well, if you want me to get home quickly stop calling me. Unless there's an emergency then you should probably call me," she said, gushing a little.

"Whatever," he said petulantly. "Molly?"

"Yes?"

"What's a Rampant Rabbit?" he asked with innocence. Molly coughed loudly and before she realised it, she had ended the call, her whole face now red. There was no way she was going to be having that conversation with Sherlock, it just wasn't right. Shaking the thought out of her head, she dipped into the first sandwich shop she came across and brought something to eat, but not staying in to eat it, she was keen to get the shopping over with before Sherlock started doing something worse.

'Oh God, I hope he doesn't get so bored he starts rummaging around in my room or something!' she thought. Molly gasped at her own thoughts, 'Argh! I'm making him out to be some kind of pervert! No, I meant that he would be looking around out of curiosity, not so he could sneak around in my underwear drawer…oh no…shut up Molly,' she argued with herself internally. There were times when she thought she should just stop thinking as well as speaking.

She spent another couple of hours shopping for some clothes for him (she brought a few things for herself too, she didn't want to present as too suspicious and it was cruel to ask a girl to go shopping without getting something for her too).

"Shopping for a boyfriend?" one gum-chewing cashier asked.

"Oh no, my cousin," she said, another cover story spilling out without hesitation. "He's visiting from America, but they lost his suitcase at the airport and then he broke his leg yesterday so I'm doing a bit of emergency shopping for him!" she said with a giggle.

"That's bad luck for you, innit?" the cashier said with a sympathetic 'aww'.

Eventually, Molly was able to make her way home with a heavy backpack of things for Sherlock and some bags of clothes for her. It had been a very successful trip and she was looking forward to getting back, though not looking forward to seeing the mess Sherlock had probably made. Sitting on the tube, she thought back to the cover stories she had used that afternoon; it had always been her party trick, something her friends at school always came to her for. If anyone needed a good excuse or an alibi they would turn to her and her tales would trip off the tongue in the most convincing way. She wasn't sure why or how she was so good at it, after all, she had enough problems interacting normally with people, she always seemed to make things so awkward, but when it came to lying she was very good at it. But apparently she wasn't very good at spotting it. Memories of Moriarty when he was sweet Jim from IT, always there, always listening, made her cringe at herself.

He had completely used her to get to Sherlock and had no doubt told all his criminal minions (she supposed he had to have minions) how pathetic she had been and so easy to get on side. But he had underestimated her, twice. Not only did he deem her unworthy of an assassin so she had been free to bring down his plan, but he seemed to genuinely believe he had crept his way into her heart, she supposed he thought she was heartbroken or something. She found comfort in the knowledge that, while she was upset and angry at having been used so ruthlessly, she was hardly cut up by the loss of him as a boyfriend. He wasn't even that, they had gone on a few dates, shared coffee and few more personal things than she had intended, but it wasn't as though she had slept with him or he had promised her marriage. He had underestimated her, just as Sherlock always did, except she now had the proof that he valued her, whereas Moriarty saw no value in her. She smiled to herself; she just kept proving them wrong.

Her thoughts on the way home were interrupted by a phone call, it was Scotland Yard. Deciding it would be better to pick up now instead of at home with Sherlock she pressed the green button.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello Molly, it's Lestrade from Scotland Yard," he said, he sounded strained.

"I know, your name comes up on my phone," she said. It stalled the conversation for a moment.

"Look, I have some bad news, about Sherlock Holmes," he sounded as though he was really hating what he was doing.

"I know," she said, putting him out of his misery. "I was on shift yesterday," she explained.

"Oh, right. Well, at least I don't have to break it to you. Mrs Hudson didn't take it too well," he said and Molly understood his reticence.

"Have you seen the papers this morning?" she said, trying not to make it sound as though she was fishing for information, even if that's exactly what she was doing. She thought it might be worth trying to get the Yard's position over Sherlock's 'fraud' for the detective in her home.

"Yeah, vicious bastards," he said harshly. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"I feel the same way. I know he was a bit weird, but there's no way he could have faked all that."

"I know that, but I think I'm the only one here who does. The problem is he pissed off pretty much everyone, they're all as keen to believe it as Kitty bloody whatshername. Did you do the post-mortem?"

"Yeah. I thought it would better having someone he knew do it, rather than have some stranger poking around in his brain tissue," she said with a little laugh. He didn't reciprocate, she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I'm sure he would have appreciated that. Even if he wouldn't have said it. Look, there's going to be an investigation into his cases, into him and they're going to want to interview you. I won't be on the team, I told them I wouldn't do it. Too close anyway. Just thought I should give you the heads up," he said. His fractured sentences meant he was dealing with grief, he was struggling to understand everything that was going on. It was easy for Molly, she was in possession of most of the facts, aka that Sherlock was alive and he was doing this to save the lives of those he cared about. A part of Molly wished she could tell Lestrade that Sherlock had tackled Moriarty off the roof of the hospital not as an admission of guilt, but to save his life, to protect him.

"Thanks." There was a pause. "Is there in any change in John? Last I knew he was being taken into the ICU for sceptic wounds," Molly said, knowing this was information she had to get, not only for Sherlock, but she wanted to know how the kindly doctor was. Sherlock had not told her much about John, only that Moriarty had kidnapped him to use against his partner.

"It's pretty nasty, Molly. The hospital said he's been tortured extensively over the last couple of weeks. Apparently there were some knife wounds that were infected on his chest they were most worried about. Last I heard he's going to be alright though. I was going to visit later on today…"

"I'm sure he'll want to see a friendly face," she said. She knew there was no way she could see him at the moment, not knowing that he thought Sherlock was dead and she knew he was alive. She didn't think she could do that to any of them at the moment. "Can you…text me or something when you see him? Just let me know how he's doing. I know I didn't know him as well as you, but, well I really hope he's ok. Well, obviously he's not, but…"

"I know what you mean. Ok, I have to go now, but I'll let you know how John is," he said and they said quick goodbyes. Molly felt like they were going to form a 'We Miss Sherlock' club soon. She continued down the road, a feeling of butterflies in her stomach. Sherlock was going to be investigated? Or, more precisely, the memory of Sherlock? She felt a little sick that they seemed so eager to dissect him so soon after his death, but she supposed no amount of righteous complaining would change things; Lestrade had given her time to make her plan. The best lies were the ones that were carefully thought out and here she couldn't afford to falter, the whole point of this deception was to save lives and she wouldn't be the one to muck it up.

The flat was suspiciously quiet when she turned the key in the door; she supposed he wasn't going to make a lot of noise as that would just attract attention when he was trying to keep a low profile, but she didn't expect silence. She gasped with horror as she entered the living room to find Sherlock surrounded by old Cosmos, looking as though he was reading his way through her back catalogue.

"Wha…what are you doing?" she stuttered.

"I'll probably delete half of this stuff later, but these really do provide a fascinating insight into the banality of the modern female average mind. This magazine devotes so much page space to the topic of sex, yet every time it seems to simply be reiterating the same thing over and over, tell me Molly, as a modern average woman, is sex really that important? Does nothing else interest you?" he asked out of more curiosity and a little of his usual dismissive acerbicness.

"Err…" she had no idea how to answer that question, especially considering she was thinking more about John's condition and the impending investigation than the importance of getting laid. "Err, they think John's going to be ok," she said, the words in her mind just spilling out of her mouth before she could think of a more appropriate response. Sherlock dropped the magazine and sat upright, to attention. "I don't have any details, but apart from some infected knife wounds Lestrade seems confident he'll be ok, physically at any rate. I'll go to the hospital in a couple of days and get more information for you."

"There's more. Lestrade didn't just call you to say that, did he?" Sherlock said, reading her critically now.

"Umm, no. They said he was…tortured," she said, not wanting to say it out loud. Sherlock stiffened.

"Yes. For the last two weeks Moriarty has been torturing him on a live feed to me as a way of breaking me." Molly was horrified and it showed on her face. "Yes, he did all those terrible things to get to me. I'm not the safest person to be around." Sherlock was tense, his jaw set squarely and his eyes thin with distaste. To Molly, a trained Sherlock observer, he was practically radiating guilt, and why not? She would certainly be torn up if she were in his position. She wasn't sure there was anything she could say that would alleviate him of the guilt because Moriarty had done it because of Sherlock, but done was done and it's not like he could anticipate the route that mad man would have taken.

"I've got the things you wanted," she said to distract him. She emptied the contents of her over-burdened backpack and scattered them out across the table so he could inspect them. She noticed the reticent fingers pick up the box of hair dye and knew he didn't really want to do it, after all, he was a little vain and it must be strange having to be someone else for an extended period of time. Sherlock was generally distasteful about everything on the little table and Molly could see it was partly this reluctance to go away and partly disagreeing with her choice of clothing, but he said nothing because of a sadness, the sadness of John's fate, was weighing him down.

"He'll be ok. He knows you never intended for it to happen," Molly said. Sherlock stared, since when did she get so good at reading him? She can't have been able to do this for very long or she would have been able to see through all the times he flirted with her to get into the lab or another body. Unless she did see through them and let him do it anyway because she liked the attention. He gave her a wary, appraising look. Seeing nothing but honest innocent sympathy, a look he knew he wouldn't be able to tolerate for very long, he decided to let it go and picked up the hair scissors and dye and locked himself in the bathroom.

He was in there for some time and Molly used it to clear up her back issues of Cosmo and stash them in a box in the far corner behind a table, out of sight, out of mind. Once finished, she picked up the latest issue and started flicking through it, feeling the need to stay away from the sex pages while Sherlock was around; she might read in the privacy of her room tonight when he wasn't going to peek over her shoulder. She was just sighing longingly over a gorgeous striped swimsuit that was hugely out of her price range when Sherlock emerged from the bathroom. She gulped, he had the scissors in his hands, but he had already shorn of most of his locks. He wasn't cutting it ultra-short, but it was already different enough.

"Can you tidy up the back?" he asked, uncharacteristically muted. She nodded and they went back to the bathroom. Her heart lurched a little to see the hair she had so loved in her sink now. He turned to lean against the sink and Molly reached up, clearing up the back. She had never thought that the summer she had spent in hair and beauty college would actually prove useful one day. He had rather hacked away at his hair and there was considerably more clearing up to do than he had implied. She ended up snipping away at most of his head, including neatening the mess he had made of his fringe and after ten minutes he looked quite a bit smarter and much less like Sherlock, even if that made them both sullen and quiet. He thanked Molly curtly and shooed her out of the bathroom, opening the box of hair dye and cleaning out the sink.

Molly had finished making a pasta bake for dinner when Sherlock emerged, his hair treated and bleached. He would have to leave it like that for a few days before putting the actual blonde in and Molly had to bite her lip to stop her saying something, it was so unlike anything she imagined of Sherlock it was difficult to adjust. The evening was quiet and the silences, while of decreasing awkwardness, were filled quickly with sadness and melancholia. They were both tense about John's situation and the things the poor man would have to wake up to; not only was he going to be set on the long road to recovery after two weeks of torture he was going to be told Sherlock was dead, apparently a murder/suicide as he killed the 'actor' he had hired to make himself look good.

AN: Hello all, I appreciate this chapter has been a while in coming, sorry about that! I've been off seeing the Avengers...several times :p I hope you are still enjoying this story, please drop me a line to let me know if you are or aren't! As ever, bits of stuff about the fic, including updates and stuff are on my tumblr; ficsanonymous :)