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. Thanks to MissLAnon, T. N. Weston, eccentricpetal, loulouflowerpower, Murmeltierchen, Sykes Macabre and kewell chick for reviewing. Please read, enjoy and review...

The Final Solution

Chapter 7

Molly quickly pulled John into a tight hug. He clung to her, openly sobbing now. A minute passed and he was still gripping to her, no apparent intention of stopping. Slowly she led him into her flat, sitting them both down on the sofa.

She waited patiently, rubbing soothing concentric circles on his back. Molly couldn't imagine what John was going through, he'd watched his best friend die. Of course he would be devastated. In the back of her mind she hoped Sherlock wouldn't make any noise, she wasn't sure she would be able to lie to John when he was this upset.

Eventually the sobbing subsided and John looked up at her, his eyed bloodshot. "Thank you Molly." His voice was husky. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't hold it together any longer."

"That's okay John." Molly spoke softly, not wanting to distress him anymore. "I'm here any time John, any time you want to talk, I'm here."

"Molly, can I stay here for a while, just a few hours." He looked down at his knee as he continued. "I don't think I can face Baker Street alone, not so soon."

"Of course John." She answered immediately, momentarily forgetting who was currently hidden in her bedroom. Molly almost laughed at that, Sherlock Holmes was hidden in her bedroom, she wasn't sure if he'd ever been in a girl's bedroom before. But she didn't laugh, it wasn't appropriate. Instead she looked at John, Molly could see the tear tracks that stained his cheeks.

Molly didn't know what to say, what to do. She finally decided. "Would you like a cup of tea?" She asked John, he only nodded in reply, he was now staring at the floor. Gently Molly extricated herself from John's arms and walked over to the kettle.

As the two mugs of tea stewed Molly found herself watching John, she knew he was barely holding it together. He was breathing deeply, probably focussing on the small, yet important, action to keep himself in one piece.

Molly returned to the sofa with the two mugs, she carefully handed one to John and then resumed her place next to him. He gripped the mug with two hands and slowly sipped from it.

They had both almost finished their tea before either of the them spoke. It was John that broke the silence. "I don't understand why he did it Molly. I saw it happen, but still I don't know." He was on the verge of tears again. "Why would he kill himself. Even if he did all those awful things, did he have to die?"

At that moment Molly almost told him the truth, she wanted to lead him to he room and reunite the two friends. Briefly she wondered if John would ever forgive her, if he ever did find out the truth. Would he hate her for lying to him?

The lack of reply didn't hinder John's questions. "Why didn't he ask me for help? Why didn't I help him when I saw him fall? I was so confused, so scared." Shame coloured his face. "I wanted to run away, leaving him to die. I'm a doctor, I should have helped."

Molly had to interrupt, she wouldn't let John beat himself up over this. "It wasn't your fault John, there was nothing you could have done. He died on impact, there was no chance of survival." She took the mug from his hands and placed both of them on the floor, carefully she took his hands in her own. "Trust me John, there was nothing you could have done."

John initiated the hug this time, holding her tightly as the sobs reclaimed him. Molly felt ill, she couldn't believe the blatant lies she had just told. They pricked at her conscience, reminding her of what she was helping put John through. It wasn't directly her fault, but she wasn't stopping it either, she was as much to blame as Sherlock.

Slowly John's sobs began to cease, before Molly realised it he had fallen asleep, arms still around her. Suddenly she noticed how tired she was, it had been the longest day of her life and it still wasn't over. She still had to deal with Sherlock. Cautiously she lowered John, so he was now lying on the sofa. Wary of waking him she gently covered him with the afghan that was slung across the back of it.

Molly crept to her bedroom and quietly opened the door, she backed into the room and closed the door, barely making a sound. She turned to face Sherlock, he was sitting on the end of her bed, staring at her intensely.

She felt uncomfortable and self conscious, she hadn't let a man into her flat, let alone her bedroom, since Moriarty. Since then Molly had like to keep her life private, the less someone knew, the less they could hurt her. She was adamant of that.

"What are we going to do?" She whispered and took a few steps towards Sherlock, sitting down next to him.

"Well obviously I can't leave this room until he goes." Sherlock turned and surveyed the room, he had been mentally discussing options since John had arrived. He looked back at Molly, she was looking at the floor, hands fidgeting nervously. "Molly would it be alright if I slept in here. I know it's a lot to ask, but it's the only option." She had met his gaze by now. "I know it will be uncomfortable for you but..."

She cut him off. "How do you know that?" Sherlock just looked at her, a slightly patronising expression crossed his face. "Right, you're Sherlock Holmes, you know everything." Molly thought about his suggestion for a few seconds then stood up, turning away from him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Getting you a shirt, if you are going to sleep in my bed, you are not going to be wearing that lab coat." She knelt down and started looking through a drawer. "I'm sure I've got some an old boyfriend left behind."

Sherlock felt like grinning, he was abnormally happy and didn't know why. Then he remembered, Moriarty could have been here, in Molly's flat, in her bed. "Moriarty's?"

"No." Molly's hands stilled momentarily, she refused to let herself think about the brief relationship she'd had with Jim. "I burnt all his stuff ages ago." She finally passed him an appropriate shirt. "You can get changed in the bathroom while I sort some things in here."

Soon they were standing either side of Molly's bed, Sherlock in a shirt, just long enough to cover what he was wearing underneath and Molly in a vest top and pyjama bottoms. The awkward silence stretched on, eventually Molly broke it. "Well I'm shattered so lets get this over with."

Silently they both got into the double bed, each of them hyper aware of the other. They ended up both lying on there backs, at least of foot of bed between them.

Neither said another word and Molly slowly drifted to sleep. Sherlock however was not remotely tired, his mind was so busy thinking that he knew he wouldn't get to sleep, not anytime soon anyway.

His thoughts flickered briefly to John, asleep in the next room, his best friend thought he was dead. Sherlock knew he was protecting John, and Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade, but he hadn't realised how much it would hurt all parties involved.

He slowly sat up in the bed, his back against the headboard. Looking down at Molly he saw the peaceful expression on her face, it was the first time that day she had looked calm. Gently he lifted his hand towards her face and barely making any contact, softly ran his fingertips down her cheek. Molly Hooper intrigued him. She made him feel things he hadn't felt before. She made him calm. With that realisation he lay back down. His eyes fixed on Molly, Sherlock gradually fell asleep.