Tom came by to apologize to her the next day, and then Molly apologized back to him. They had sex. For a few weeks, that was what their relationship was like, lots of silent sex, and no talking about anything important. Even so, it was the smallest thing that spelled the ending. They were looking at a magazine article called, How smart are you? And when Tom was stuck on a Sudoku puzzle, Molly took the magazine from his hands and tried to solve it herself.

Tom glared at her and said. "You think I'm stupid don't you?"

"Of course not, what do you mean?"

"You like intelligent people, but you never compliment me on my intelligence."

"Your intelligence is fine. Not everyone can be Sir Isaac Newton. Look, if you want to solve the puzzle yourself, go ahead."

"This isn't about the stupid puzzle, this is about what you think of me."

"Do we have to do this now, Tom?"

"When do you expect us to do it, during our wedding? And when will that be, by the way? My mother keeps asking. She wants to start on the invitations. What bride isn't happy about a wedding? I thought after seeing how nice your friend's wedding was that you might want to talk about what kind you wanted, but you always change the subject."

"I just... I'm not into big events, and my father is dead."

"We would do the whole thing. You only needed to ask, but it's as if you're not keen on it any more."

"Of course I am."

"And is that another lie, like the one about Toby being afraid of the dog? He's not. Ever since he scratched her, she's been afraid of him. Or the one about where you went that night when you said that you were working late. I called and you weren't scheduled to be in all weekend. Or perhaps the one where you said that there was nothing at all between you and Sherlock Holmes."

Molly was taken aback. 'Which weekend?' she thought. It might perhaps have been the first time, when she snuck away to see Mycroft. Or, it could have been one of her visits to Jim. Or that weekend when Sherlock asked for her help on a murder case. When it came down to it, she had lied to him alot.

Tom wore an expression on his face like that of a kicked puppy. She stood.

"There is nothing between Sherlock and me."

"Bullshit!"

"Tom?"

"What? Are you going to tell me not to swear? You're my fiancé not my mother. Sometimes I wonder if you care about me at all. We were supposed to share our lives together, but you just can't let go to your old life. Move out of your flat."

"No!"

"Why not? It isn't the cat, so what is the problem? It's me isn't it? You don't want to live with me."

"No, that's not it at all."

"Then what is it?"

Molly stared at him. What should she say? She couldn't admit that she did it for Sherlock. Tom would get jealous. Ask about all the times he was here. How he slept in her bed, used her shower, perhaps she would need to tell him about how Sherlock faked his death. About how out of everyone he knew, he came to her. The silence had gone on too long apparently, because he turned then and walked to the door. Molly ran up and grabbed his wrist.

"Wait!" she said.

"There's only one question I have for you, Molly. Just one. And this will determine if there is a future left for us."

"What is it?"

"Do you love me?"


It took three days before she could go to work without having to run to the bathroom to hide a bout of crying. She spent more and more time in the lab where she could be alone, and not have to answer any embarrassing questions like "How's Tom?"

She hadn't seen him since the day he had come to her flat carrying the last of the things that she had left behind. He had lain his spare key down on the table and gone to the door. He'd looked back at her then, and she wanted to say something, she wanted to make it all better for him, but she couldn't because he was right. She had lied to him. She had pretended that she had loved him when she didn't. She was a terrible person.

The door opened, and John Watson walked in, followed by Sherlock and a couple others.

"Molly, just the person I wanted to see," John said. "Sherlock needs to take a drug test."

She looked up at Sherlock to see his hair in disarray. He was wearing an outfit similar to the one he'd worn when he'd come to her flat.

"Do we really have to do this John? I told you that I'm on a case!"

"I'll need a urine sample," she said noticing his dilated eyes and the loose way that he carried himself.

"Give me the cup," John said reaching his hand out, and she handed him a sample container. "Come on now, off to the bathroom we go."

"We?"

"Yes we. I'm not giving you the opportunity to pull some kind of trick. Let's go."

"But John, this is so sudden. What will people think when they see the two of us coming out of a bathroom stall?"

"No different than they always think. Now get moving."

They left the room, and Mary smiled at her. She walked away to get the machine ready. She didn't know what it was exactly but something about Mary gave her the creeps. Maybe it was the way that she was so pleasant and understanding. Molly knew that there could be envy and anger hidden behind a pleasant face, and she could never tell how much of what Mary said was genuine. Luckily, she didn't need to spend much time with her.

They came back in and John handed her the cup. She couldn't help but smile at the flush on Sherlock's neck. It was funny to see someone embarrass him occasionally. She put one sample into the extractor, and then she mixed the second sample with buffer to enhance its ability to detect opioids. They waited in silence glancing at each other and away until the machine beeped and the results came up on the screen.

She could see it in the graph immediately, even before the computer analysis was done. There was cocaine, definitely, but also some kind of opiate, either opium or heroine. It was a speedball. Molly sighed.

'How dare he,' she thought. 'How dare he give up and use drugs to kill his pain and perhaps end his life when the rest of us are also suffering. How dare he risk getting brain damaged like Jim for something as frivolous as a case. It's not for a case. It's foolish, besides I lost someone too.'

Molly removed her gloves.

"Well, is he clean?" John asked her.

"Clean?" she said frowning. Then she walked over to Sherlock and she slapped him, but she was still angry so she slapped him again. Then she saw his stupid face, and had to add one more. "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry."

"Sorry your engagement's over – though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it! Just stop it," she cried.

John came over to berate Sherlock then saying, "You could have called, you could have talked to me." But all that Molly could hear was Tom berating her for all the secrets she never told him, that she was never going to tell him. Sherlock had such secrets too. What a pair they made, although in truth, Sherlock's motives for lying were much better than hers. She had lied to make things easier. He had lied to save John's life.

That evening her flat seemed as cold and barren as her heart. She walked out and found her way to Jim's place.