The next time Molly died, it was completely one hundred percent Sherlock's fault. They had been working silently in the morgue as Molly performed an autopsy and he was working on a particularly strange experiment on a corpse. A man walked in unattended, and before Sherlock even looked up he knew the man had a pistol in his overcoat pocket. Sherlock expected that he was the target of this, but when he whipped out the pistol and fired a shot, it hit Molly squarely in the chest.

Reasons didn't matter, Sherlock was already disarming the man, throwing him in an unconscious heap, asking him WHY—why he had the nerve to target HIS pathologist. Sherlock found himself at a bleeding Molly's side, cradling her, about to lift her up and take her to the emergency room upstairs, but she stopped him, somehow sensing that she would not make it between the morgue and there. So reasons did matter, Sherlock realized as he eyed the twitching heap of a man who would soon be considered the murderer of his pathologist.

"S-Sherlock—I'm fine—I will be—honest. Remember?" She gasped, clinging to life, "Listen to me—listen to me." She grabbed his face, snapping him out of the slight panic that always overtook him. Everything she would say and do would defy logic, "Hide me. Clean up. They heard the shot, and they're coming—put me in there." She gestured towards the freezer. "Say he missed, lie about where I am—" She heaved, obviously about to die, "Spare clothes are in my desk."

Sherlock did as she said, without a doubt believing that her curse was really more of a blessing for him. She was indestructible, and would be a constant for the rest of his life, not even growing older to signify change. It was oddly comforting.

That didn't mean it still didn't scare the living fuck out of him every time something happened.

Hours later, Molly woke up, took a shower, and put on her clothing, giving Sherlock a small smile in return for his services. Sherlock took her hand, and wordlessly they travelled a few blocks to her flat.

"You would be dead because of me. He was upset at me for putting away his wife for murder."

"It's an understandable anger."

"But why you?"

"Because, Sherlock." Molly flipped her hair over her shoulder for emphasis, "I'm your friend, and I appear to be the weakest link, probably because of my physical size. If you wanted to take another perspective, I'm your best option for a love interest considering my gender and his hetero-normative views, and thus he would hypothesize that my death would be a large emotional blow." She shrugged.

"You're very confident right now."

"It's the cheating death bliss. Kind of gives you an 'I'm on top of the world/I just had sex/I figured out a Rubix Cube!' feeling, I suppose. So Sherlock, will you tell me what you want yet?"

"Nothing."

This had become a routine of sorts. Molly would ask him what he desired most in the world, and he would remind her he didn't want anything. Otherwise she behaved just the same as she always had, her mind working too quickly for her mouth, and her jokes still being particularly bad. Really the only thing that had changed was something he noticed after the fall. She wasn't infatuated with him. Attracted to him, maybe, friendly, certainly, but she wasn't infatuated. It seemed almost disappointing.

"Oh I have an appointment today, would you like to observe?"

Sherlock nodded, and as Molly mindlessly chattered, they neared the café. It was an odd sort of place, the type that most would simply walk past, and he realized that it wasn't just people ignoring it; people didn't know that it was there at all. He accepted this little observation, and stored it away to ask Molly about for later. They sat down at the booth, and Sherlock glanced over at the other people occupying the establishment. A piglike man who was wolfing down eight slices of cheesecake, a woman with shades propped up on her head drinking wine in the afternoon, and a few ordinary looking teenage girls were chattering in the corner.

"—and I did the spell and he got pimples! Can you believe it? They can airbrush now, but his stage acting career will like totally be over."

"Serves him right." Another girl chimed in, "You have to look at this totem I got while I was in New Orleans! It's so pretty AND it can tell you when werewolves are around. Cool huh?" She was holding some sort of Hello Kitty necklace, going to show that style wasn't everyone's strongpoint. Casting spells on actors, apparently could be.

"Look at them. I remember being that young." Molly sighed deeply, "Only thirty years old they are. Here." She passed Sherlock a menu, allowing him to look at the oddities listed among completely normal things like coffee and tea.

Newt Eyeballs

O+ Blood

Maiden's Hair Pasta (Made with authentic 100% Maiden's Hair Guaranteed!)

Raw Beef

Witches Brew Soup

Chocolate Frogs (Careful, don't let them hop away!)

Mystic Strudel

"What the hell is a mystic strudel?"

"Well it's just like any other strudel but it's infused with magic that temporarily heightens your senses. It's a fan favorite among the mortals who come here."

"…all right then."

A meek looking woman came in, and Sherlock ticked off all his observations mentally. Young, recently married, has had a rough life, probably beaten by a father figure as a child, poor and old clothing. Age twenty-two, pregnant. She sat down in front of Molly warily, jumping when the waitress came with her tea.

"Who's that, Molly? You said this is confidential, purely confidential—"

"Relax Tiffany. He's a friend of mine."

"Is…is he one of your kind?"

"Well he's not female, so no." Molly shrugged, opening her notebook. Sherlock tried to gain a peek inside, but found that it was written in a language he didn't know. He realized that it shared some of the symbols that were written on Molly's walls the night he thought she was dead. "So you have done the first part of your task, correct?"

"Yes, yes! I started printing out flyers for him, and handing them out, and what happened to this boy, Molly?"

"He is missing. You must try to find him in order to get what you want."

"If I find him…will Derek will he leave me alone?"

"Well your exact words in the deal were 'disappear, like dead or something, can you do that for me?' I agreed. "All you have to do is find the missing James Foster."

The woman nodded, "Yes. Yes I think I can do that…but can I use help?"

"Of course. It didn't say you have to alone. I like you, so I'm going to tell you that. And I think I have the perfect man to help you, Tiffany." Molly smiled over at Sherlock, "How about finding a missing kid eh?"