A/N: For the March 10th prompt: "Give me a moon story." Rated K.

The prompt asked for a moon story, so here's the first part of one I've had in my head for years. If my readers like this, there will be one or two more in this little universe.

Ever since Molly was very young, her mother encouraged her to think of the Man in the Moon as her friend. "He's always there," her mum would say, "watching over you. Even when you can't see him, he's there. Tell him your secrets, your worries, everything. He'll always listen."

So, every night, while other children were saying their bedtime prayers, young Molly was sitting on her window seat and telling her special friend about her day.

"Tommy pulled my hair at school today. Teacher says it's 'cause he likes me." She scowled in confusion. "But if he likes me, why would he make me cry? He's a … a poophead! Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Moon! Mummy says I shouldn't say that word."

"Mummy and Daddy were dancing in the kitchen today. They do that a lot. They kiss a lot too." Molly made a disgusted face. "It's icky. Mummy says I should be glad they kiss a lot. She said I wouldn't be here if they didn't. Do you know what that means, Mr. Moon? I don't. Grammy says the stork brought me. What does kissing have to do with storks?"

The worst night of her young life, she curled up on the window seat beneath the full moon and sobbed. Her heart hurt too much to even tell her special friend what had happened. When her tears had subsided, she felt a hand lightly stroke her hair. Thinking it was her father, she looked up and gasped.

A stranger was sitting next to her. Like every adult she had ever met, he was tall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His curly hair was as black as the sky between the stars and his eyes were swirly blue and green all mixed up. They were kind, though. Mummy always told her not to pay attention to people's clothes but she couldn't help it. His jacket and trousers were pale grey and his shirt was white. The man glowed faintly and as far as she knew, nobody could do that.

He smiled at her gently. "Hello, Molly."

"You know my name?" she asked, shocked.

"Of course. Friends know each other's names."

"You're not my friend," she said firmly. "You're a stranger. Mummy says … said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She swallowed hard, wishing the strange man would just go away.

"But I'm not a stranger, I'm your Mr. Moon."

Molly stared at him. "Prove it."

He chuckled. "There's the budding scientist I know. You talk to me every night before you go to sleep. You told me about the day Tommy pulled your hair, the time Jimmy pretended to be your friend, the day Eurus bullied you into saying you still slept with your teddy bear every night." Molly swallowed hard then he added, "You also tell me about your friends Mary, Johnny, and Greg, and your teacher, Mrs. Hudson."

"You're … you're really him?" she asked, amazed. She looked out the window and the full moon was still shining bright.

The Man in the Moon chuckled and she turned back to him. "I live on the moon but I'm not the moon itself." He gently took her small hand in both of his. "I know what you've lost today and I'm deeply sorry, Molly. I know how much your heart is breaking, that's why I had to come down here and see you."

Hope started to rise in her chest. "Can you bring my mummy back, Mr. Moon?"

He smiled sadly. "I'd do anything for my Molly, but that is beyond my powers, I'm sorry."

"It's … it's okay…" Molly suddenly felt very tired and she was glad she was already in her pajamas. "Will you stay until I fall asleep, Mr. Moon?"

"Of course," he said, smiling gently. "Molly?"

"Yes?"

"You can call me Sherlock."