Molly was doing a late shift at the morgue again, finishing a case for Lestrade. The clock was striking eleven and she was all alone. She guessed that everyone else had already left the building except for maybe the security man. He usually took a brake at this time who knew where. But who could blame him? Hardly ever something happened here and if so it was not worth a big fuzz. Molly sighed. She had to concentrate if she wanted to finish this job eventually. She covered up the corpse and put it back in it's personal drawer. Then she proceeded to cleaning her surgeon tools and disinfecting the table it had laid on moments ago. Contently she smiled upon her done work. Everything was nice and shiny again. Finally she sat down at her desk to finish the examination by filling out the documents.

Just then the door to the morgue opened. Molly jumped up scared by the sudden, unexpected noise and turned to face the door. What she saw gave her even more of a shock. Standing there in the door, watching her was Sherlock. As usual in his black coat, collar turned up, scarf around his neck – which he was just taking of.

She cleared her throat and addressed him finally after the rather awkward silence: "You scared me, Sherlock. What is it? Why are you here?"

His eyes darted to the ground as he stepped closer to her. The door fell shut behind him, making her flinch slightly. She still had to get used to the loud sounds of it all, after working in silence for so many hours.

"I wanted to see you", he finally told her looking back up to her. She could see him struggling for the right words. Sherlock Holmes? Struggling for words?

"See me?", she asked uncertainly when he didn't go on.

He nodded and looked back at the floor: "I was worried."

This whole conversation got weirder by the minute.

"Worried? Why would you be worried about me?", Molly just couldn't believe her ears.

Sherlock then looked back up to her, clear incomprehension in his eyes. He was serious with what he had said. Unbelievable. And what he said next was even more unbelievable.

"You don't know?", he asked her

"Know what?"

"Moriarty... He is back", he finally confessed, "Long story short: I was about to leave England after shooting Magnussen" – seeing the shock in her eyes he quickly explained – to protect John. I had to. Anyway I was on my way to a mission in eastern Europe when he turned up everywhere. I can't believe you haven't noticed or heard of it by now! He was on every ad, every TV channel, on simply every electronic gadget able to show pictures or emit sound..."

Molly had to lean back against her chair and then sat down completely. This was to much. And she didn't understand how it could've slipped her notice. First Sherlock shoots someone, but she could've been informed about that also tomorrow without it being a major problem. But Moriarty back? On every screen? How could she have missed that? Especially now that she was a potential threat to him and would clearly be on his list of future victims.

"I... I had to finish my work... was late, you know... and I didn't listen to the radio or checked my phone... I didn't know...", she tried to explain.

"Yes, I noticed something was off, because you didn't answer your phone. I went to your home first, but seeing you weren't there I checked here. Do you have any idea what I felt... what I had in mind? I thought of the worst! That he already had gotten to you!"

Molly put her face in her hands. She had started to tremble: "Oh god. I'm sorry Sherlock. I just... How could I assume that he was back all of a sudden? He was dead! And I had put thoughts of him aside never even thinking of the possibility that he could've faked his death like you have done. I'm sorry..."

Sherlock was in front of her all of a sudden, kneeling down and taking her hands in his: "You don't have to apologize! I understand. I was just shocked and panicked. I knew right when I heard the news from Mycroft that if he really was back I had to go straight to you. After what you did for me two years ago you are no longer safe. If he is back he knows that you are far more important than he assumed and he will use that information and he will use you. I can't let that happen!"

Tears were rolling down her eyes and a sob escaped her. She took a deep breath and bit her lip, because she couldn't loose it now: "Thank you Sherlock... for coming her... warning me or rather looking for me... I guess without you he would've gotten me already."

"No", he wiped away the tears with his thumb, smiling at her, "You would have got John and Lestrade and Mary who would have looked for you! They know what I just told you, too, and if I hadn't told them I was going to search for you they would have done it, don't you doubt that for one second! Don't doubt for one second that there's no one out there who cares for you! You matter Molly, you always have and you always will!"

New tears were welling up in her eyes. There were so many emotions swirling inside of her that she lost it and just embraced Sherlock in the heat of the moment. Under normal circumstances she would have never done that, because she knew his attitude towards affection and such gestures but now she just needed someone to give her strength. And Sherlock didn't complain, he returned the hug, stroking her back with his right hand, while the other one still held hers. After what felt like an eternity both ended the hug. As Sherlock was leaning back she whispered a broken "Thank you" towards him. He stopped in his movement and smiled at her, stroking a strand of her hair out of her face. Their faces were so close in that moment like they never had been before. And they got even closer when Sherlock suddenly pressed his lips on hers.

At first it was a soft kiss – daring, uncertain and shy. But then it got more passionate and heated. Sherlock cupped Molly's face with both his hands and she buried hers in his hair. Then he raised her up putting her on her desk, because kneeling was no longer an option. And after several papers and pencils caused quite a mess on both the desk and the floor he raised her up again carrying her to the surgical table. His coat came off soon afterwards, along with her overall that became a blanket on the cool table. After that her sweater, his shirt, her trousers and his and at last also their underwear had to literally bite the dust on the floor. What they did was inexcusable and wrong especially concerning where and when. But at the same time both had needed this, wanted this and didn't care whether it was appropriate or not. If Moriarty was back then you could equate it with the apocalypse for what he had in mind could only be big and dangerous. Wasting no precious time therefore was excusable.