A/N: I'm sorry this is such a slow start to this story but I hope you're still enjoying it. I'm also sorry for taking longer to update this time around. It seems as though I may have taken on too many projects at once. Thanks to everyone for reading!-thefaultoflegend

Molly stood over a body in the morgue, elbows deep in blood from an elderly woman who died of a heart attack. She was on a roll that day, completing her work quickly and she smiled to herself softly, knowing that getting off work early meant spending time with Ava and Sherlock, which always brightened her mood.

Years ago she would stay at work for as long as she could stay awake, not wanting to go back alone to her small one bedroom flat with the cramped living corners and the cold draft that leaked through the walls. Now, she loved finishing quickly and getting back to Baker Street to see her consulting detective. Even if he was off on a case, his flat was so much more inviting with traces of him being left in the brightly colored liquids sitting it petri dishes on the counter cluttered with tools he nicked from the morgue, in the cooled cup of tea that was abandoned by his chair, a book laying over its arm left after he would get too antsy to sit any longer, in his smell left in his sheets, of his cologne and nicotine and the London air. She greeted Baker Street like an old friend and rushed to get there. That was if Sherlock wasn't already sitting in the lab or the morgue with her, talking about his cases and bouncing ideas off of her.

She was startled suddenly when she heard a knock at the window above the morgue. She turned sharply, holding her hands up in the air as to not get blood anywhere. Her ponytail swished to the side and she narrowed her eyes to get a better look. What she saw made the corners of her mouth turn up. Sherlock was standing there with Ava wrapped in her sling. He motioned for her to join him, his eyes saying that he wanted to see her, but she held up her hands, mouthing, "I'm a bit busy." He gave her a small pout and she rolled her eyes. She held up a hand. Five minutes. He nodded and winked at her before turning to go to the lab. She finished up and marveled at the fact that she had managed to get to the point with someone where they could have entire conversations without saying anything at all.

When she stepped into the lab, she immediately noticed his downcast eyes, the frown on his face, and his closed off body stance, his shoulders hunched over and both of his arms wrapped around Ava. Her heart sank a bit at the sight of him, as the last time she saw him like this was when they had realized that Moriarty had returned. She bit her lip, her thoughts trailing backward in time. "Hello there," she said finally and approached him, placing a kiss on both his and Ava's foreheads when he looked up.

"Hello there," he returned and shifted Ava to his left arm so Molly could sit in his lap. He cuddled his two girls close. "Heart attack?" he asked.

"Yeah. I only have one more to go. How has Ava been today?" she replied.

"Good. She's been a little bit grumpy but I deduced it's because her mother switched her formula and her stomach can't handle it. I'll have to inform Mary." Molly nodded, tensing a bit. Their conversation was stiff and awkward, at least to her.

"You have to tell me something and it's a bad something so please just do it and get it over with," she said, her voice coming out fast and he sighed into her, tucking her head under his chin.

He didn't want to have this conversation with her. The entire way over here he tried to think about the case he read that morning, when Ava was going to take her first steps, how he was going to tell Lestrade he knew about him and Mycroft. But his minded kept drifting to the pathologist in the morgue who was about to receive bad news. There would probably be some sort of fight, not out of anger, but out of pure hurt. Of betrayal. None of it was either of their faults, of course. It was as if the world was betraying them. Giving them something good before pulling the rug out from under their feet.

Sherlock sat up straighter and unconsciously tightened his grip on Molly's waist. He took a few deep breaths, readying himself, telling himself that he had to be sensitive to what she was feeling and he couldn't lash out and when she started crying he had to comfort her, he couldn't just ignore it.

"I have to leave, Molly," he forced out. She didn't seem shocked at all.

"Why? You only just got here."

"No. I don't mean right now. I mean in three days. I have to leave. I don't know where I'm going and I don't know how long I'll be gone." She stared at him for a second, her gaze piercing into his eyes that looked grey in the light and held so much hurt that just recently had vanished completely. Now it was back, in full force and she frowned at the seriousness of the situation. He wasn't going to Rome for three days to solve a case of a drug smuggler. He wasn't undercover in the homeless network for a week, returning to the flat whenever he needed a shower. This was big, Moriarty network big, she realized. He didn't have to say anything and he knew that. She would pick up on it. She was clever. She blinked, shocked, standing up, pacing between the lab tables.

"Like before?" she asked nervously.

"Sort of."

"Tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"You can."

"Molly."

"Sherlock." She eyed him carefully, his gaze not meeting hers. She felt tears stinging her eyes, one threatening to drip down her nose. She felt this as soon as she walked into the lab. She couldn't believe it was happening again. He was leaving again.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," she said and turned away from him, bracing herself against a lab desk. He stood up and suddenly wished he had brought the baby carrier, if only he could use both arms to comfort Molly. Instead he threw an arm over her shoulder, holding her stiffly against him. He tried several times to form a sentence, to say something even remotely comforting, but nothing would come. So he just stood there, they just stood there. For several minutes they were both lost in their own thoughts. "What could possibly be happening that you have to leave, Sherlock? That you don't know when you're coming back. Moriarty is in jail."

"But his network isn't. Not all of it. They're trying to get him out. I have to step in."

"I'm coming with you," she said suddenly and that was the last thing he was expecting.

"What? No. No you are not. Do not be ridiculous. You are staying here."

"I can help you! I've helped you before with all kinds of cases. I faked your death for Christ's sake. I can handle…"

"But this is a trip, Molly. This is so much different from that. It's danger…"

"It's dangerous? Oh like that one time that I dated the world's number one criminal? Or that time I faked a death, automatically planting a target on my back? Or that time I dated yet another criminal, broke up with him, and killed him when he came after me? I think I can handle it."

"You're not going. You are staying here," he said firmly, his temper rising dramatically.

"Why? So you can assert some sort of control over me? No. You can't be alone. Do you know what happens when you're alone, Sherlock? I don't want another repeat…"

"I know what happens when I'm alone, Molly. Do you forget that I've done this before? That I spent two years without so much as a phone call."

"But I was there! During those two years who was cleaning up your cuts and making your meals and making sure you got sleep? Are you still going to come back to me?"

He didn't even blink as the words left his mouth. They were automatic. "I will always come back to you. Always."

She sighed heavily. "Why can't I just come with you?" she practically begged.

"Because I can't lose you!" His voice rose dramatically and Ava started crying as Sherlock immediately regretted the yelling. He bounced her lightly. Molly put a hand to her forehead.

"Take her home. We'll talk later," said Molly and then crossed her arms across her chest. Sherlock's eyes were filled with regret as they flitted from a crying Ava to a teary-eyed Molly and he hated himself for reducing two of his favorite girls to tears so quickly.

He walked over to her and gave a long kiss to her forehead. She couldn't help but relax a little bit, her eyes closing at his touch. "I'm sorry, Molly. I…" he trailed off, his breath hot against her forehead. Instead, he kissed her again and headed off. Suddenly, Molly was torn between wanting to rush home and wanting to stay right there.

She knew what she had to do, though, to get her way. She made a call and fifteen minutes later was in a black car, traveling to the outskirts of London, far away from anyone who could see or hear. She walked in the office, noticing the way that Mycroft's shoulders slumped over as he stared at his laptop. She sat in front of him. He didn't look up.

"You want to go with him," he said simply, the clacking of keys filling the holes of silence around them.

"Yes. But he isn't keen on the idea," replied Molly firmly. She had long ago lost her nervousness around Mycroft Holmes.

"Consider it done." She looked up, this shocked her. She hadn't expected the elder Holmes to budge so easily. "I've been thinking about it since he left here earlier. He isn't going to like it, but he needs you. And it seems as if you and Moriarty are like a package deal. So I suppose you should ride it out until the end." He finally looked up and held her gaze. "I will keep you safe if you keep him safe." She smiled softly at him and he smiled back, sealing the deal with something better than a handshake. Molly stood up and crossed over his desk, planting a soft kiss to his temple.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

When she got back to the flat that evening, she didn't say anything to Sherlock. She watched him pack, putting clothes into a small suitcase, a frown taking over his face. They were still cross with each other, only muttering a few words here and there, keeping their distance. Molly knew he would be angry when she told him, but he had to know.

"I talked to Mycroft," she whispered that night into the darkness of their bedroom. She felt him breathe heavily, the mattress rising and falling with his weight.

"I know. And I can't believe you would go behind my back like that," he replied angrily and flipped over onto his side away from her. She reached out and hesitantly laid a hand on his back.

"Please, Sherlock."

"Don't, Molly," he said back and she removed her hand, turning over to face the opposite wall and wondering if she made the wrong decision.