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. Please read and review...

The Final Solution

Chapter 6

"Molly, you don't have to let me stay with you." Sherlock was shocked, he had thought she wanted him gone as soon as possible. "I wasn't trying to trick you into offering my a room. I'll be..."

But she cut him off before he could finish. "Firstly it's not a room, it's a sofa and secondly, I know I don't have to. I don't have to do anything. I want to help you Sherlock, that's what friends do." Molly half expected him to correct her, say that they weren't friends, merely colleagues.

However Sherlock didn't, he was unsure of what to say to that. He would be lying if he said the offer didn't appeal to him. Molly didn't talk incessantly and was no longer nervous around him. Another thing that changed since Moriarty had got to her. Sherlock had a sudden desire to ask her about the affair, no that wasn't the right word, it wasn't some insignificant fling, Moriarty had used her callously. Her ordeal, he decided was better. Sherlock found himself wondering what Moriarty had done to her, he found he cared. This wasn't right, wasn't him. He mentally shook himself and tried to focus on the point at hand. Staying with Molly was definitely the best option.

"If you're sure Molly." He finally replied. "I'm sure your sofa will be adequate."

"Okay. I just need to finish up here and then we can go." Molly was suddenly regretting her offer. Her flat wasn't big enough for two people, and could she really cope being in such close proximity to Sherlock all the time. At least she would have work, she would have a chance to escape from him for at least part of the day. It had been a snap decision when she had originally offered, she couldn't let him stay on the streets.

"I'll just wait here then." Sherlock lowered himself into the large, black office chair, immediately turning to the computer screen.

Molly left him to it, she had to ring Lestrade, inform him of the results from the 'autopsy' she had performed on Sherlock's body. She quickly found his number and left the room before hitting dial.

"Hello?" He answered after only three, short rings.

"Lestrade, it's Molly Hooper, from St Bart's." Molly spoke tentatively, not letting her voice give her away. "I've got the results from the autopsy."

"Really? I hadn't expected them back so soon." He paused for a second, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke again. "Thank you Dr Hooper, it must have been hard for you."

"Just another body, at least that's what I told myself." As she was speaking she silently retrieved the folder containing the paperwork she and Sherlock had completed earlier. "Really Greg, it was quite a simple job." Molly consulted the notes, she had to get her story straight. "He had a complex skull fracture, from hitting the pavement. This severed his carotid artery causing him to lose massive amounts of blood. Even if they could have controlled the bleeding he would have had major brain damage. There were other injuries too, broken bones included, but he died from the blood loss. His body completely shut down.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Molly thought Greg was probably still taking in the facts.

"So he jumped then?" Greg sounded upset, maybe shocked by the details he had just heard.

"That's what all the evidence points to, there are no signs of a struggle." Molly took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say. "You knew him too Greg, he admitted he was a sociopath. Maybe he was more mentally unstable than we realised. We don't have a clue what went on in that brain of his, no-one did."

Lestrade quickly countered her argument. "But he never would have done this, surely we would have noticed if he suicidal."

"Admit it Greg, we knew almost nothing about Sherlock, only a few facts he allowed us to know."

"It was my fault, I took the police to his flat." Greg was rambling now, obviously looking for an explanation. "I turned him into a fugitive. It's because of my that he's dead."

At that point Molly wished Sherlock could hear the conversation she was having with the inspector. She wanted him to know what he had done to the people that cared for him, wanted him to know how much they cared for him. However she knew that wouldn't change anything, he would stick to his plan. Sherlock wouldn't let such an inconsequential thing as feelings get in the way.

Molly felt so guilty, one small admission of the truth from her and Lestrade wouldn't be feeling this way. But she knew she couldn't. "It wasn't your fault Greg, you were under orders. If Sherlock had wanted to he could have 'come quietly', he didn't have to put a gun to John's head."

"Wait, how did you know about that Molly? Did you speak to Sherlock before he..." Lestrade's voice tapered off, unable to finish his sentence.

"No." Molly quickly backtracked, she was so stupid, her she was talking about things she shouldn't no about, to a Detective Inspector no less. "I, I spoke to John earlier, before it happened, he was looking for Sherlock and we had a chat." Hopefully Greg would believe her, think like everyone else that Sherlock wouldn't have bothered to stop and speak to her.

Molly abruptly changed the subject. "Have you found out it the rumours are true, did Sherlock invent Moriarty?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you Molly, it's still a police investigation."

"Please Greg, I have to know if he was who I thought he was." Really she had to know what the police knew so she could report back to Sherlock later.

"Okay, here's what we know so far." Lestrade took a deep breath." There is a lot of evidence claiming that Richard Brook exists, but it's relatively easy to fake documents and photos. I trusted Sherlock, but I was one of few, there are many within Scotland Yard looking for evidence to prove he abducted those children. At least there were." He had hesitated again. "Sherlock killing himself was as good as a confession."

"Thank you Greg." Molly was sincere, this information would useful to both her and to the detective currently shut up in her lab.

"There's one more thing." Lestrade spoke quietly, afraid of being overheard. "You can't tell anyone this Molly, the media can't find out. A body was found on the roof, it was Moriarty's, or Richard Brook's, depending on who you believe. He'd shot himself, ballistics have confirmed the injury could only have been self inflicted. We're still investigating and probably will be for a while. What we really need is Sherlock's help, but obviously that's impossible."

"Obviously." Echoed Molly darkly. "Good luck inspector. I'm sorry but I really need to go, paperwork beckons." She hung up promptly not wanting to hear the grief evident in Greg's voice for any longer than absolutely necessary.

While filing the remaining paperwork she thought about the conversation she had just had. The police didn't suspect Sherlock was alive and hopefully no-one else did either.

The filing didn't take long and soon she returned to the side lab. It didn't appear that Sherlock had moved since she had left. Glancing towards the screen Molly could see his was looking at the news, probably scanning it for any mention of his name.

He must have heard he enter, but he didn't turn around. "I'm done." She said to his back. "We can go now."

Sherlock abruptly exited out of the website he had been skimming through and stood up. "Perfect, let's go." With that he strode out of the small room.

It took nearly an hour to get back to Molly's flat, it was normally a ten minute walk. However Sherlock had insisted they take a convoluted route using fire escapes and multiple side alleys. Molly knew he had every right to be so cautious, Sherlock couldn't afford to be seen.

Molly quietly let them into her flat, she didn't want to disturb the elderly couple that lived above her. She stepped through and moved to the side to let Sherlock in.

As Sherlock glided into the flat his brain began to whirr. His eyes glance to every corner of the kitchen/living room, noticing and noting everything of any significance. He had almost instantly deduced it was a one bedroom flat, other that the door they had entered through there was only one other. Access to the bathroom must therefore be through the bedroom. There was not table in the room, only a small breakfast bad with two stools, one however was covered in papers indicating she rarely had company. The deductions kept coming, last night she had watched a film, rom-com he suspected. She had eaten risotto while sitting on the sofa and had drunk two glasses of white wine.

Molly closed the door behind him, knowing he would be analysing every detail of he small flat. She wished she had had the forethought to tidy up, but when would she ever have guessed that this could have happened to her. In less than the five hours she had effectively helped someone fake their own death and was now flatmates with Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, Molly's eyes flashed to it and then looked quickly back to Sherlock, He dashed away, darting into her bedroom and hastily shutting the door behind him.

Nervously she turned around and slowly opened the door she had only just shut. John Watson was standing outside, eyes rimmed with red.