"Sherlock, where's the microwave?"

"What microwave?"

"The one in the kitchen."

"Hmm?"

"What happened to it?" John asked, watching as Sherlock strummed a chord with the violin on his lap.

"We had a row," Sherlock said, gazing absentmindedly at the wall in front of him.

"What do you mean, you had a row?" John said indignantly, before noticing what looked to be the remnants of a microwave oven in the kitchen waste bin. He sighed, shaking his head as he sat down in the seat across from Sherlock. "Sherlock, we're two men living in a two-bedroom city flat. How on earth are we going to manage without frozen dinners and leftover Chinese food?"

"I don't mind a marmite sandwich," Sherlock said, glancing up at John.

"I hate marmite."

"Well, there are lots of other things you can put on a sandwich. Peanut butter, bologna, cheese…"

"Sherlock, that wasn't even our microwave. That was Mrs. Hudson's, and I expect she'll be inquiring about it next time she comes down to make you tea." He sighed, reaching for his laptop on the small table to his left.

"I'm leaving, John." Sherlock watched as John opened his laptop, glancing at Sherlock over the screen.

"Well, while you're out, you may as well grab the marmite..."

"The ministry wants me to work on a case for them, and I don't know when I'll be back," Sherlock said, the words coming out faster than he had intended. "So you'll have to get your own marmite."

"What? What did Mycroft..."

"Either work with them, or got to prison." Sherlock said quietly, looking at John. John stared back, confused.

"Why..."

"For threatening national security. Or something like that," Sherlock muttered.

"After all you've done for them? After all the cases you've solved at Scotland Yard, all the murderers you've put behind bars, the Ministry of Defence wants to put you in prison?" John said, his voice rising.

"My thoughts exactly."

"Bastards," John said, biting his lip. "Your brother's a..."

"I know." Sherlock said quietly, glancing at John. "I suppose I'll have to look at it as an opportunity."

"For what?"

"Making a fool out him," Sherlock said, a small smile crossing his face.

"You've already done that. On several occasions."

"One of the few things I don't tire of," Sherlock said, his smile fading. "I won't be gone long. Just long enough to put the Yard in chaos."

"Have you...told anyone else?"

"Lestrade knows, I presume. At least he'll find out at some point."

"And Molly?" He watched as Sherlock looked up at him, his face hardening.

"What about Molly?"

"Have you told her? She...she would want to know."

"I don't plan on going back to St. Barts. I can't..." he stopped, biting his lip for a moment before continuing. "I'm going to end up getting her killed. Keeping her as far away from me as possible would be for the best."

"Sherlock, you can't do that to her. She..."

"Watch me."

"Sherlock..." John trailed off as Sherlock propped himself on the couch, turning to face the wall. "When do you leave?"

"Morning."

"Oh. Well...goodnight, then. See you in the morning, I hope," John said. Sherlock looked up, gazing back at John for a moment before returning to his pillow.

"Goodnight, John."

St. Bartholomew's Hospital

"Your reaction's coming along nicely," Molly said excitedly, leading Sherlock towards the industrial-grade refrigerators that lined the far wall of the laboratory. "I checked on it when I got in this morning. Made some notes," she handed Sherlock the notepad that had been sitting on the far lab table.

"Thank you," Sherlock said quickly, nodding before opening the steel door and reaching in for the rack of test tubes sitting at the bottom. Molly stared at him for a moment as he carried them back to the lab table, avoiding her gaze.

"Something wrong?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?" She asked, standing across from him on the other side of the table.

"Yes," he replied, dropping one of the viles as he poured its contents into a large beaker. "Just fine." His hands shook slightly as he reached for a towel, mopping up the pale green liquid before reaching for the broken test tube, throwing it in the sink.

"You…you don't look fine," Molly said, her eyes catching his as he glanced at her. "You look sick."

"You could call it that," he muttered, swallowing as he rinsed out the beaker, placing it in the sink.

"I've got some aspirin in my bag," she said slowly, frowning as he stopped, looking at her before walking back to the far wall.

"No," Sherlock said quickly, shutting the refrigerator door. "That won't be necessary."

"Some coffee?"

"No, Molly…"

"There's a bag of chips in my desk drawer if you're hungry…"

"Molly," he sighed, turning to face her. His eyes fell upon the small bruise that remained on her cheek from the night before.

"What?" He raised his eyes, staring at her for a moment

"I'm not going to be here anymore," he said slowly, his words drawn out as if he were puzzled by them himself. He looked back up at her, waiting for a response.

"What, are you…are you moving?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I can't come to St. Barts anymore, Molly. Or the lab."

"What are you talking..."

"What have I done for you?" This he said quickly, his expression pained ever so slightly as he watched her shake her head.

"You don't have to do anything for"

"I solve Lestrade's cases," he said, not talking to Molly now as he turned towards the far wall, pacing. "I give Mrs. Hudson her rent, I gave John…a purpose." He paused, surprised at his words.

"You're his friend."

"But you," he continued, looking up in her direction as he turned around. "I use your lab equipment, I waste your time," he paused, avoiding Molly's eyes as he focused on re-buttoning his coat. "We've had too many close calls. This was...one too many."

"But..."

"Don't do this to yourself," Sherlock said, his voice quiet. He looked at her for a moment as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. "Don't pretend, Molly." He turned, tightening his scarf as he headed towards the lab entrance.

"Sherlock?"

"Good night, Molly."

"Sherlock, wait."

"Goodbye."

"You're forgetting something." She watched as Sherlock stopped, turning around to face her.

"No, I'm not..."

"You only...you only told me half the truth," she said slowly, watching as a look of confusion flashed across his face. "And I think you're only telling yourself half the truth."

"Pertaining to what?"

"You solve Lestrade's cases. But Lestrade...Lestrade gives you cases to solve."

"Yes, obviously..."

"I'm not finished." She watched as Sherlock watched her, his eyes focused on hers. "You pay Mrs. Hudson her rent, but she gives you a home. And John." She smiled a bit, in spite of herself. "You give him a purpose, and he's the reason you try so hard at what you do. He gives you purpose."

"And you?" He said, still staring.

"Something to...look forward to. A reason to come to work every day," she said, breathing out slowly. "Something to care about." She looked down, fiddling with her lab coat.

"It's not worth the risk, Molly."

"I think anything worth doing is a risk, Sherlock. You...you should know that better than anyone." Molly looked up at him, gazing into his face. He looked back at her, his face empty.

"I know I can't make you," Molly said, glancing down at her feet before looking back up at him. "But come back. When you get back from wherever you're going." She reached up for his face, kissing his cheek gently before stepping away. Sherlock stared back at her, his eyes glassier than usual as he took in her face. Without warning he turned, pushing open the lab door and letting it swing shut behind him.

"Are we through with your farewells, or did you want to stop by Mum and Dad's while we're at it?" Mycroft followed Sherlock as he ignored his brother, heading down the hallway, away from the morgue. "Keeping our talking to a minimum, I see? How refreshing."

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" Sherlock said, glaring at his brother as they headed towards the hospital's back exit.

"My pleasure," Mycroft replied coolly, following Sherlock out into the bitter November air.