A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! I was suffering from some horrible writer's block. Anyway, I just want to thank all those who reviewed - you guys are really amazing and sweet! Also, I've decided to make do without chapter titles. Thinking them up gives me a headahce, and I'll spare you guys the misery of actually reading them. :)

Disclaimer: BBC owns Sherlock.

Molly sat at a Bart's canteen table alone, absently pushing pieces of her food around the plate. It was pork-or-pasta day again, and frankly, neither choice was particularly appealing. She wondered if it was because the food was really bland, or that her mind was simply too pre-occupied with other matters.

More specifically, with Sherlock.

It'd been two weeks since he texted her after leaving for Sweden, his last text being "Almost everyone here has blond hair. Dull." His message had caused her to chuckle, resulting in a series of curious stares from her colleagues, who unfortunately happened to be around her at that time. She was certain that some of her more gossipy co-workers would have spread the rumour that she had a new boyfriend. Many of the hospital staff were rather interested in her love life (or lack thereof) after Jim Moriarty was revealed to be a criminal mastermind. And her all too obvious crush on Sherlock only intensified the rumours after his suicide.

She sighed inwardly as her mind strayed back to Sherlock once again. She was desperate for some news from him, anything that told her that he was safe. But the man had not bothered to send her any more texts after his observation on the hair colour of the Swedes. Irene on the other hand, was having various conversations with her, ranging from food to attractive people she spotted on the streets of Ukraine (she was travelling to so many countries, Molly could hardly keep track).

She bit back a smile when she realised that Mycroft Holmes would probably be extremely disapproving of their foolish conversations. He'd initially forbidden them to communicate at all, not wanting to run the risk of being intercepted. It was only after much insistence from Sherlock that he'd be terribly bored that Mycroft had relented and allowed for them to communicate via text.

But it was clear that Sherlock wasn't bored now, seeing how he'd just disappeared again. She knew that he was brilliant and that she should trust him to take care of himself, but seeing how he could forget to eat and sleep while his mind was stimulated, it was difficult not to worry. Molly was just about to give up eating her unappetising lunch when someone at the front of the canteen waved at her.

DI Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan were standing by the entrance, beckoning for her to come over. Molly disposed of her tray and walked up to them, grateful for a distraction. It'd been six months since she last saw Lestrade, given how he was suspended and then bounded to desk-duty after the debacle of the fall. As for Donovan, she'd heard that the sergeant had been suspended for a short while as well. Most of the blame for Sherlock's supposed crimes still fell on Lestrade's shoulders though.

"We need to see a body," Lestrade said, smiling at her. "Thomas Bartley."

Molly nodded and brought them over to the morgue, wheeling out the cadaver for them. She meticulously recounted everything she'd discovered from her autopsy, and Donovan went away to make a few phone calls. Lestrade stayed behind.

"So, how are you?" he asked, a little too cheerily. Molly knew the reason behind this, but decided not to bring up the subject yet.

"I'm fine, thanks. And you? You look happy to be back."

"I am! I've never been keen on desk jobs. It's just so boring!"

"I can imagine," she smiled, knowing how she'd get restless whenever she had to type up autopsy reports. "You got your old position back then?"

"Yeah. I'm still on probation though," he said, frowning. "Because of…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. There was a lengthy silence, neither wanting to broach the matter that was bothering them.

Lestrade finally opened his mouth. "Listen – I…"

"You didn't come," Molly said quietly. Lestrade averted his gaze. "John called you. Thrice," she added.

"I know. I just…" he broke off mid-sentence and looked away again.

"Couldn't find the time to come to Sherlock's funeral," she finished for him. There was an uncharacteristic sharp edge to her voice. Normally she would apologise for it, but not when the matter concerned people she cared deeply for.

"Molly, you know it was…complicated."

"What was so complicated, Greg?" He looked to the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "He was your friend, wasn't he?"

"I couldn't bring myself to be there," he whispered, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Why? Were you afraid that people might talk?" She was surprised. "I thought you weren't the type to care about gossip."

"No, not that. I…I just…" he lowered his eyes, not daring to meet hers.

A rush of realisation hit her, and she fervently hoped she was wrong. "You were having doubts about Sherlock. And it felt wrong for you to be there with thoughts like that."

Lestrade didn't even bother to contest her accusation. Her stomach sank and she felt a sudden surge of anger.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he shook his head slowly.

"How can you think this way?" She was in complete disbelief. "He worked with you for years. You know he wasn't a fraud!"

"We can't really tell now, can't we?" he shot back. "He's dead, Molly. He bloody jumped off a building! Only he knows the truth, and he took it with him when he died."

"He trusted you!"

Lestrade rubbed his face and exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

Molly closed her eyes, attempting to steady her breathing. Sherlock was risking his life regularly by going undercover to keep his friends safe, and yet this man here doubted him.

"Don't apologise to me," she said curtly, turning away. Lestrade opened his mouth, but Donovan appeared then.

She paused at the door, noticing the tension in the room. "Everything alright?" Her eyes flickered curiously between the two of them.

"Yes," Lestrade said. "Let's go." He ushered Donovan out quickly, looking defeated.

Molly was still in an irritable mood when Joe found her in the lab hours later. She found that staring at the chemicals always seemed to help calm her down.

"You alright?" he asked, his face full of concern.

"Fine," she said, attempting to smile but failing miserably.

"That wasn't a very good lie," he commented lightly. "C'mon. We've been friends for five months now. I'll allow you to vent some of your frustration on me," he patted his chest.

She smiled a bit at his silliness before sighing. "I had a disagreement with someone just now."

"About?"

Molly pondered over telling him. They'd interacted plenty over the past few months, and she considered him a friend. She had been sick of the looks of pity her colleagues would give her after the fall. Poor, sad Molly Hooper. The awkward morgue woman who'd gotten herself mixed up with a pair of insane men. But Joe didn't look at her like that, and his presence had made coming to work a lot more enjoyable.

"About Sherlock Holmes," she finally said.

Joe frowned and cocked his head. "The genius detective? The dead one?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"Do you think he's a fraud?" Molly asked quietly, afraid of his answer.

Joe shrugged. "Honestly, I have no clue. I didn't know the man, but I remember reading loads of articles about him solving really difficult cases. Can't all be fake, can it?"

Molly inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. At least Joe didn't outright declare Sherlock a fraud, unlike most of the public now. Even seven months after his suicide, the press was still finding reasons to churn out derogatory articles about him. She'd had to turn down requests for interviews from various journalists countless times. Some were even insensitive enough to hound Mrs Hudson by camping outside of 221B. They had only stopped abruptly a month ago, and she suspected Mycroft had something to do with it.

"Was he your friend?" Joe enquired softly.

"Yes."

"Was he really as brilliant as people said he was?"

"He is – was," Molly corrected herself just in the nick of time, and her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't made this mistake in a long while. Joe gave her a weird look, and she held her breath.

"Well, if you say he was brilliant, then he most probably was," Joe said after a pause. "I don't really like to believe the press anyway," he waved his hands dismissively in the air. "You know how they love to feed on rumours."

"Thank you," Molly said, feeling comforted.

Joe flashed a boyish grin back.

Molly could hardly contain her excitement as she made her way home after work. John had texted earlier to inform her that he was finally free for a video chat. They hadn't had one in two months, and she missed him terribly. The last time they'd conversed, he was still settling down and getting used to the different pace of life in Brisbane. It was much slower than that of London's, but they both agreed that it might be beneficial to him.

She went through her daily rituals of having dinner and showering, before finally settling on her bed with her laptop, Toby curled snugly beside her. He nudged her hand with his nose, and she complied by stroking his head, causing him to purr contentedly. She frowned when she realised that Toby was gaining weight – it must be the result of Sherlock's odd obsession with feeding him snacks. The supposed cold man actually had a soft spot for her cat, who he'd declared was better company than most humans.

John's friendly face appeared on her screen a few minutes later, and Molly immediately clapped her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her giggle.

"Not good?" he asked sheepishly, touching the thing that was responsible for her laughter.

Molly shook her head and cleared her throat. "No, it's…I think it's cute. Really cute," she said, eyeing the prominent moustache which was sitting proudly above John's lips.

"That's what Mary said," he replied, grinning. "I just wanted to try a new look." Molly raised her eyebrows and John hastily tried to appear indifferent.

"Who's Mary?" she asked, noticing the blush that was creeping across his cheeks.

"Erm, she's a woman…"

"Yes, I figured that out from her name," she bit her bottom lip to stop from smiling.

John closed his eyes for a while, realising that there was no escape. "She…well, I met her at the hospital. She's a private tutor, and she was bringing her student to the A and E, and I was the doctor in charge. I found out that she's from London too, and somehow, we ended up meeting for coffee the next day. And then more coffees after."

"That's great, John!" She always knew that he was something of a ladies man, since Sherlock would always complain to her about his ever-changing girlfriends. "I guess the coffee meetings are going well then?"

"Quite well," he said, looking slightly smug.

"What does she look like?"

"Blond, about your height, greyish-blue eyes. Nice smile too," he added after a short pause.

"You really like her." She didn't even bother to phrase it as a question. It was obvious that he was enamoured with Mary. A soft look was in his eyes as he was describing her.

"Yeah," he said, blushing again.

"I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," he grinned. "What about you? Any bloke I should know about?"

Molly shook her head. "Still single as ever. Don't worry though, I got Toby." Her chubby cat meowed at the mention of his name and swiped a paw at the screen.

John chuckled at his silly antics. "Brilliant partner he is."

"The best," she said with a straight face.

John huffed out a breath of laughter, but his expression quickly turned serious. "Honestly Molls, any man who gets you is one lucky bloke."

She turned crimson at his words. "It's true," John said. "You're a great person, don't let any arse tell you otherwise."

"Thanks," she said softly. She was just about to ask more about Mary when she heard her front door open, and an all too familiar voice calling her name. Loudly.

John's eyes widened dramatically before he frowned. "That sounds just like –" Molly didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. She leapt out of her bed and dashed into the living room, clapping her hand over the mouth of an unsuspecting Irene, who had her back turned to her while she fiddled with her suitcase. Irene let out a muffled cry – it was a rough move on Molly's part, but needed.

"I'm having a video chat with John," she whispered.

"Fuck," Irene muttered against her hand. "Sorry, love."

Molly placed a finger to her lips before returning to her bedroom.

"Everything alright?" John asked, after Molly had trusted herself enough to appear in front of him again.

"Yeah."

"Who was that?"

"My cousin. She's visiting London and staying over for a few days. She's very loud," Molly glared at Irene, who was standing by her bedroom door and trying not to laugh. She was annoyed that she had to lie again.

"Oh…she sounds so much like…never mind. Um, I better go then, don't want to disturb the two of you," he smiled. "Talk soon?"

"Next week?"

"Yeah ok. Bye, Molls."

"Bye," she said, feeling a little sad. "Tell me more about Mary next time!" John smirked before disappearing from her screen.

Irene settled beside her on the bed, playfully running her fingers up her arm. "I almost thought you were going to release all your pent up sexual frustration and just take me when you covered my mouth. Perhaps you like it rough?"

Molly groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. "Not now, Irene." She turned to look at the woman. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

"I had a breakthrough," Irene said, unable to keep the glee off her face. She was probably proud that she'd discovered something significant before Sherlock did.

"Really? What did you find?"

Irene frowned. "You know I can't tell you. It's not safe for you to know. Mr Holmes would kill me if I told you. And by Mr Holmes, I mean the both of them, although they'd murder me for entirely different reasons of course."

Molly sighed. She knew that there was truth in Irene's statement, but it was difficult being so close and yet not knowing anything.

"You're going to sleep soon?" Irene asked, staring at her pyjamas. Molly nodded. "But it's only midnight," Irene said in disbelief.

Molly gave her a look. "I have to work in the morning."

She pouted a bit, and Molly was reminded of how similar she was to Sherlock sometimes. Two people with brilliant minds who could also turn into sulky children in a matter of seconds.

"Fine then, be boring," Irene teased, giving her a wicked grin. "Can I sleep beside you tonight? The couch is extremely uncomfortable. I promise to behave myself," she added, noticing the frown on Molly's face.

"Alright," Molly relented. "Just don't disturb me, or I'll kick you off the bed," she warned.

Irene merely smirked. "I'd like to see you try, Doctor." She leaned in to kiss her cheek before leaving for the bathroom.

When Irene returned after taking a shower, Molly was already fast asleep. Her face was peaceful and serene, showing none of the worry Irene knew must be plaguing her during the day.

She lay on the bed as silently as she could, before turning to look at the woman beside her. It was nice, having someone to sleep with. Moving frequently after she had "died" had made her unable to form any lasting relationships with anyone. She didn't even dare to, since she might have accidentally met someone who wanted her dead. There were days when the loneliness would eat at her, no matter how hard she tried to push it out of her mind.

She brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Molly's face, a faint smile forming on her lips.

"Thank you," Irene whispered, even though she knew Molly wouldn't be able to hear.

All reviews greatly appreciated! I might not update so frequently in the next 2 weeks because I have finals to study for, but I'll definitely be updating A LOT during December. Want to finish this fic before season 3 airs!