Sherlock had gone out himself that day with Mycroft's men, leaving Irene with Molly. For most of the day they had remained mostly quiet, with the two of them attending to their own matters. Irene was spending a lot of time on the phone, trying to sort out connections. They were getting really close to finding Moran; most of the network had been tainted- either killed, detained, or threatened into silence.

Molly spent the most of the day doing miscellaneous things to keep herself busy, she was antsy from a ring she had received from John, asking her how she was doing. She tidied up the flat, took a shower, had about five cups of caffeinated tea, and now she was pacing. She couldn't clear her head…

Molly was happy with everything going on with Sherlock; it was definitely different, nothing she had ever expected to happen. Yet something was still nagging her, that had been nagging her all along… she had no idea what would come when she returned to London, returned to her job that she missed dearly. She sincerely feared that it would just go back to how it was…

She hadn't even noticed Irene sitting in the chair until she spoke up. "I would worry too."

As if Sherlock wasn't bad enough with his deducing, Irene was pretty good at it too.

Molly bit her lip, stopping her pacing as she looked at Irene, not sure what to say. "You complement him, Dr. Hooper. You give him a reason to put his mind at rest when he wants it to, yet he likes the unintentional challenge you give him with emotions. But this is not his regular setting, and you do not have John Watson to compete with currently."

Molly walked over to the sofa and sat down. "I know," she said, "I've been worrying about this since I noticed a change in him- towards me, I mean. I know he misses John, he just won't admit it; he doesn't even mention him because it's easy to avoid it."

"He justifies it with saying that he did the right thing, but you don't have to know how to deduce to know that Sherlock does like his routine. He wants more than anything to tear down Moran's network, and then return to 221B with his blogger."

Molly did not even pretend to deny that she agreed with her. "I want to believe he will want me there, but I just- I just don't think so."

"This is convenient for him," Irene replied. "And he still does feel guilty for hurting you, which is new for Sherlock, and may say that something is different about him, but it still may not be so convenient when his life is back to normal and he is not so vulnerable anymore."

Irene finally stood up, seeming a little less interested now. "Sherlock would be ashamed of us though, Molly, going on assuming like gossiping girls without the proper evidence." Her back had been turned, and she was expecting a response from Molly, but she was silent; there was no answer.

As Irene turned to her she saw Molly standing, her mouth agape as she stared at the paper in her shaking hands.

Molly's eyes locked on the three letters she read over and over, everything finally clicking. "Mental note," she breathed.

"Dr. Hooper?" Irene asked quizzically.

How could Molly have forgotten this? She didn't know what it meant at the time, but everything made sense now. "I was wearing this sweater," Molly began, voice shaky as she continued. "When I was attacked, and this must have been put in my pocket. Sherlock disappeared after his funeral and I had a body in the morgue with an I.O.U tattoo on the man's chest; the man looked like him- not his face, but he had dark, curly hair and was tall. I'm so thoughtless," Molly said, clearly frustrated, her hands were balled into fists into her sides. "Moran has known this whole time that Sherlock was alive," she choked.

Before Irene could answer her, Sherlock came into the door, looking more satisfied as usual. Irene and Molly shot a glance to each other before Molly slipped the note back into her pocket and sat down. "Hey," she said, trying to calm herself, sound happy; she smiled at him. If Sherlock sensed any tension he would know something was wrong. She wasn't sure how she was going to go about telling him.

Sherlock walked over and lay down on the sofa, putting his head in Molly's lap. He closed his eyes, evidently sinking into a part of his mind to recall the information presented to him while he was out. They sat there silent, as Molly kept worriedly exchanging glances with Irene.

How could she bring this up?

"You're fidgeting," he acknowledged, remaining in his spot, an observation to hint to her to stop moving.

She moved her hands through his hair, trying to figure out how to start the conversation.

She reached into her pocket, "Sherlock… I found this from when-"

Sherlock didn't open his eyes, didn't move. "I know," he said, "I found it when we found you in the alleyway and brought you back here," he said, not seeming worried.

She shook her head a bit, not necessarily all that surprised that he already knew, but he didn't know about the morgue, and she felt that it was important. "But Sherlock, there's something-"

"Molly, he knows I'm alive, there's not much that I can do about that. And yes, your safety has been compromised, but Mycroft's men are working on that," he seemed to swat the problem away like he had already taken care of it.

Molly huffed, gently lifting Sherlock's head so that he was sitting. "Sherlock, please just listen to me," she pleaded.

He sighed, rolling his eyes but entertained the idea, nodding at her, giving her his attention.

"After you disappeared, there was a body, and it had a tattoo… and well-" she said, standing and beginning to pace, "he looked like you, and the tattoo on his chest read the letters I.O.U."

For a second, Molly thought she saw a pained expression on his face, but it fleeted as soon as it had come; he said nothing. "And, at the time, I didn't know where it was from, I couldn't remember it's importance. I had heard it somewhere; it was from you… 'mental note' was all that you said," she said, wishing Sherlock would say something, interrupt her. This had been a time when she wished he had known this part too. She would have told him earlier if she thought it was related to all of this.

Sherlock's eyes flashed with anger, he stared at the ground, refusing to look at Molly. This entire time, he has been in hiding in the darkness, and it was all for nothing. Moran knew, he always knew; this could have been dealt with so long ago, it infuriated him. She could have been in danger this whole time, since Moran had realized her importance. But most of all, the hiding, the lying, all for the sake of his friends, he was trying to save people's lives, and it was all wasted time. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment washed over him; he had been beaten, for six months he thought he was winning, doing things in the right measure, but none of that mattered anymore.

Sherlock was going to deal with his anger the way he was accustomed to: blaming it on others. He knew that it wasn't her fault, but he was furious.

He looked up to Molly, eyes cold like ice; he'd never looked at her this way before.

"You waited seven months to mention something that happened when I left London?"

"I-" Molly started, becoming increasingly nervous. "I didn't know what it meant at the time- you never explained-"

"How clear three simple letters should be; I'm disappointed, Molly, I thought you were more intelligent," he sneered. "I expect too much from people of ordinary intelligence."

Molly stood there frozen; she didn't know what to say, she was feeling so guilty, but it wasn't her fault. She had felt so much guilt, and this was becoming tiring. She stared down at the floor, quiet, wringing her hands together.

Sherlock walked over to the window and stared out, crossing his arms; he did not turn to her as he spoke.

"If you are concerned about your safety, you can remain here," his eyes narrowed as he continued, gazing out the window. "But John is on his way here and your assistance is no longer needed here, Dr. Hooper."

She stood dumbfounded; he was telling her to leave. After everything she had done for him, and everything she had worried about was spilling over, and they weren't ever back in London yet.

There would be no more tears shed in Sherlock's presence. No, she thought, it isn't worth it.

She said nothing in response to him; she turned calmly and walked into the bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

Sherlock continued to glare out the window, ignoring the woman still sitting who had been watching the conversation exchanged between the two. It was as if she had not been in the room with him, but she finally stood.

"I warned her," she said, as Sherlock darted a narrowed glance at her, glaring with the most hateful eyes. She continued though, "that once your blogger returned, she may not be convenient for you."

Sherlock let out a huff, "it is not a matter of convenience," he said, returning his gaze out the window. "It is reliance of others who are not intelligent enough to handle the matters at hand," he snickered.

Irene got up close to him, staring straight into his face as she spoke, but he didn't move. "I think you are placing stupidity in the wrong eyes, Mr. Holmes." She paused for a moment before she continued, "How is it that a man so intelligent destroys every relationship placed into his hands?"