A/N This is my first fanfiction, please read and review. All rights to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, all geniuses in my opinion.

The Final Solution

Chapter 4

Molly did as he asked, she had waited, that was all Sherlock had said, "Wait here." It had been almost an hour when there was a sudden clamouring of voices, Molly sat straight up not knowing what to expect. Sherlock had been particularly vague, obviously thinking her too stupid to understand.

A doctor she didn't recognise burst into the morgue, "Here's one for you Molly, jumped off the roof, dead on impact." Molly gasped, he'd promised her, he'd promised he would survive, but this was Sherlock Holmes, when had he ever cared about feelings, when had he ever cared about anything but himself. Breathing deeply she approached the paramedics.

"Leave him over there, I'll look at him later." Her voice quivered as she tried to be nonchalant, she dealt with dead bodies every day, she had to act professional.

The doctor spoke again, "I think he's going to be a priority, he's Sherlock Holmes, he;s a criminal, a fraud and not he's dead. The press will have a field day." Molly nodded, they were right about the last part, Moriarty's plan had worked. Sherlock had died in disgrace, never having the chance to clear his name. The others left leaving her alone with him, with his body she corrected herself.

Walking over to him she looked down upon his bloodied face, it was alright, she felt a pang of sadness. But then in hit her, if she could prove it wasn't suicide, that it was Moriarty, she could set the record straight and clear his name. She could get Moriarty arrested, she could finally feel safe again. With that she got to work, pulling on a pair of latex gloves she removed Sherlock's coat. Molly tried to convince herself it was just another body, nothing special, no-one special, she just had to do her job and find out what had happened.

As she removed his trousers she noticed a small in hole in the left thigh, looking at his she saw it, a small puncture mark, a bruise just beginning to form. Molly had spent enough time with Sherlock to have dramatically improved her skills of deduction, she started to consider potential connections. Had Moriarty drugged him, had he drugged himself? Molly knew he wore nicotine patches to 'help him think', had he taken that logic one step further?

Just as she was pondering possibilities Lestrade and Donovan strode in, "Is is true?" Lestrade asked, his voice raised, eyes darting, "Is he dead?" Hastily Molly covered the body with a sheet, he may be dead but he still deserved some dignity.

"Yes." She kept her voice calm, clinical."He jumped off the roof."

"The freak killed himself. I thought he was too arrogant, too self righteous to do something like that." said Donovan, her voice filling the silent room, not an ounce of concern, everyone knew she had hated Sherlock. "Maybe his 'brilliant' mind finally figured out that what he was doing was wrong. That kidnapping and murdering to show off is disgusting." Molly couldn't reply, she hadn't realised how quickly the rumour would spread. She remembered what Sherlock had said earlier, 'That's what you do when you sell a big lie, you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.' He was right of course, as always, but she would never believe it. Molly knew he wouldn't do that, for all his flaws he wasn't evil, and she trusted him.

Lestrade and Donovan did not stay long, one look at the body was enough, they asked Molly to keep them informed and left.

Molly returned to Sherlock's body, as she pulled the sheet back down she was sure something had changed, but how could it have, he was dead. Looking closer she realised she was right. The bruise on his thigh had grown, it had been barely noticeable only moments ago but now it was darkening, obvious against his pale skin. This wasn't right, corpses didn't bruise. Had Sherlock managed to beat death? So far she had tried to avoid looking at his head, but now she stepped sideways and ran her fingertips over his bloody skull. Molly couldn't feel anything, no bump, no indent, no abnormality. Apart from the blood his head seemed fine.

Molly had to sit down again, it made no sense, he wasn't injured, yet he had no pulse. He'd fallen eight stories, yet had no broken bones, no visible wounds. It was impossible, scratch that, she though, this is Sherlock, nothing is impossible. Somehow he must have survived the fall and taken a drug, something that weakened his pulse and made him appear to be dead. But what?

A blood sample would solve it she reasoned. Molly reached for his arm to tie a tourniquet, it was still warm, a good sign that her suspicions were correct. Humming to herself she took the small vial of blood, she was hopeful. Quickly she hardened her expression, what would someone think if they entered and saw her so cheery while examining a corpse.

Waiting for the machine to process the results was agonising. Molly couldn't stay still, she had to be doing something. She walked back to Sherlock and gently started to wipe the blood from his head. If he was to wake up, and she still wasn't sure if he ever would, he wouldn't want to be covered in blood.

When the results were ready she rushed over to he computer to see.

Potassium, normal.

White blood cells, normal.

It was all normal bar one anomaly. Sherlock had a large amount of digitalis in his bloodstream, commonly found in foxgloves it had historically been used to fake death. She broke into a smile, he wasn't dead. Then Molly remembered, it had been used, that was important, no-one went near digitalis anymore, it was too dangerous, too easy to make fatal mistakes. Had Sherlock really risked taking it. As if to confirm her deductions, she heard a ragged breath from across the room.