Hello! It's back to the main story. Well, I say main story...I'm sorry I had to put in our favorite consultant! We will get back to John and to 11/River later.

Heather x


The Doctors: Counters.

Molly Hooper knew Sherlock Holmes was alive. She knew how, and when he had come to her that day and said he needed her (minus the innuendos) she was only too happy to help. It was like she mattered. That she counted.

Of course he had been clever enough to know what Moriarty's plan was from the start. He was Sherlock. She hadn't however, and that night, in the cold lab in the hospital, she had asked him how he knew- sounding more stupid than she had wanted to.

"So…" She coughed, clearing her throat. "How do you know he wants you to…?" Her throat caught and she blushed profusely. It couldn't bare thinking of. "To…kill yourself?" She asked, staring intently at the sad looking sociopath who sat on the white floor in between the cupboards. He sighed- a sigh that perfectly replicated the pit he felt for stupid people, ordinary people. In his eyes, it was rather elegantly simple.

"Moriarty has started to destroy the whole of my career in the vain attempt to hurt me or instil some emotional desperation and what does any man do when their life is ruined? Take the easy way out- cowards. Moriarty said he owed me a fall- he wasn't talking about my career, no, he was talking about me." Sherlock whistled a perfect replica of a high pitched whistle that slowly lowered before he theatrically waved his arms to simulate an imaginary impact.

And so, she helped.

Sherlock was alive. Where, she didn't know- he had only checked in with her once after hours at the morgue. That had been right after the incident. She had gotten a nod and the best smile you could from the former consultant. She liked to think it meant thank you. That had been months ago now.

And that was where she found herself tonight…surrounded by dead people. The particular corpse in front of her now was fairly straight forward- 34, male, died from a heart attack which was probably down to strain on the heart via obesity, judging from the great swell of a belly before her. Molly pulled of her blue gloves as she put the man away in the bag, lifting her head, her ponytail swaying as she swung to look at the clock. 1:10 Am. She needed a social life.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and turned sharply away from the clock on the wall as the man entered. Clad in freshly dyed ginger locks, scruffy jeans and a long jacket that was as far away from the debonair trench coat he had used to wear, Sherlock Holmes looked little like the man he had been. That was the point, though. Anonymity. Lost in the crowd; an ordinary man.

He stood in the doorway for over a minute, silent, deducing, and watchful. "Molly." He said, curtly.

"Sh-Sherlock." She stuttered, instantly floundering as she went to smooth down her lab coat.

"He saw me, Molly." His tone was brash as he clasped his hands behind his back. Sherlock steadily walked into the morgue. He had always been to the point; not bothering with lengthy chit chat or descriptions, mainly because most were too stupid to have more than 1 second of his most valuable time.

"Who did?" She asked, walking away from the wall and closer to him. If someone had seen him then maybe the jig was up, as they say. She could tell John, they could go back to cases. She'd been avoiding John ever since the incident.

"John." He said with finality. Oh…that was bad, thought Molly. She shifted on her feet, unsure what to do.

"Do you think he recognised you?"

"Judging from the chase that ensued soon after, I am going to say yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Molly! The affirmative , the positive the opposite to NO!" He said moodily, walking over and sitting down in the exact place he had been a few months ago.


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