Molly Hooper silently gripped the poker from the fireplace as she soundlessly padded her way to the door. Another quick, impatient knock almost caused her to squeak involuntarily, but she swallowed it down before coming up on her tiptoes to glance through the peephole. Spying a familiar curly head, her entire stance immediately relaxed as she opened the door.

"Were you really going to defend yourself against the number one consulting criminal in the world with a fire poker?" Sherlock asked, a look of haughty derision on his face.

"Well, it was better than the first idea of using the cat as a shield," Molly joked back, walking over to return the poker at the hearth, wordlessly inviting Sherlock inside the tiny flat.

"I take it you've heard?" He asked cautiously, unsure as to what sort of emotional turmoil Molly had been experiencing and unwilling to deal with tears at the moment.

"Of course. Although at this point I think the entire country has heard." Molly spun the poker about with her fingers.

Sherlock only nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

"How, Sherlock? How? You said he shot himself in the head." She looked up to his face, unable to hide her concern.

"He did. I…don't know. I have absolutely no idea what he-or whoever this is-is playing at."

Molly shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Never thought I'd hear that out of you."

"Yes, well, I don't know everything."

"Or that." She gave him a tentative smile, surprised when he returned it. "Sherlock…What are we going to do?"

"We?" His tone was not one of condescension, but rather of surprise.

"Yes, we. I helped you through this before, and I don't intend on running and hiding anymore. I just want this to be over."

Sherlock smiled again in spite of himself-honestly, what had gotten into him?-before he sighed and put his hands in his coat pockets.

"Well, to start off, you can pack a bag. You'll stay with me at Baker Street until this issue is resolved."

"Oh, will I?" Molly asked, her hands resting on her hips and her eyebrows rising in question.

"Yes. It will be much safer for you to be with me, as Mycroft has the flat under constant level three surveillance. He thinks I don't know, but honestly, a child could figure it out. There is an extra bedroom upstairs and you are welcome to bring your ridiculous pet."

"Oh, Sherlock, you know just what to say to melt a girl's heart," Molly said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she walked towards her bedroom.

Sherlock's face screwed up in confusion as he turned to watch her leave. "What? I wasn't trying to-"

"Sarcasm, Sherlock."

"Oh. Right. Where are you going?"

She turned around to face him before shutting her bedroom door. "Well, I was going to pack a bag like you said, unless you fancy me walking around your flat in your dress shirts for a few days." She said before shutting the door. Sherlock stood for a moment, pondering her last statement and trying with all his might to get the pesky idea of Molly wearing one of his shirts-and only one of his shirts-around Baker Street. He shook his head. Could be dangerous.