Author: Howlynn
Realm: Sherlock
Story Title: A Statue in the Temple of Mendacity.
Summary: Molly counts. She Promised to help him. But, the reality of saving Sherlock ends up leading to places she never expected. Sherlock needs her again, but this time she must save John.

Character/Relationships: John and Molly would never have noticed each other if he were not dead. The thing is, Molly knows he isn't and she never expected things to get this complicated.

I Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door again.

"Yes, Molly? I made myself perfectly clear."

Molly shook in fear. "Yes. I was just wondering if you would explain to me, what is so wrong with me?" She giggled and let some very real tears swell into her eyes. They were actually about Sherlock but she had to use what would work. "You see, I know it is something. But I don't understand. Nobody ever…unless they are murdering lunatics. And I always assumed it had to do with the fact I work in the morgue, which understandably limits my options, I suppose. I really thought that, with you, maybe just as friends, you could overlook that a little. I thought you wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with me. I spent all day, trying to look like – and you didn't even blink. Just No. So I thought maybe, if you could find it in your heart to tell me, like a doctor giving someone bad news, you could explain…and then I would know if it was something that could be fixed or if I need to face that this is my life. Without him. Forever?" Molly stood waiting for his answer, she didn't meet his eyes, but her shivering had gotten more pronounced and she tried very hard not to let the parts of the truth she had just revealed swallow her whole and make her race down the stairs in very genuine tears. She feels humiliated and the fact she is failing Sherlock and he is watching her be humiliated, had brought her one of those despair bombs that sometimes threatened her cheery demeanor, but which she rarely allowed anyone to see.

John sighs and looks at her. He shakes his head and stands aside. "Maybe you should come inside. Again. I will make us tea."

Molly nods and takes a seat on the edge of the couch. By the time John brought the mugs of tea in, she had herself mostly braced for whatever John would say to her. She had lots of practice hiding things from Sherlock and managing to push down her feelings until she was in the privacy of her own flat where only Toby, the cat, would see her cry.

John took his seat and sipped his tea, not knowing how to begin.

"You can just blurt it out you know? I'm used to that. I should have asked him, if I wanted the unvarnished truth. I'm not pretty, but I am not scary looking either. Do I smell or something? Must be the morgue chemicals and I don't notice them anymore."

John looked at her like he wanted to crawl under a rock, then his face just melted into a sad smile. He chuckled as she sniffed various parts of her body. As she looks up at him in confusion, he finally gave himself over to a hysterical sort of snuffling hiss kind of laugh. Molly waits patiently but his mirth was a little infectious.

"Oh boy." He finally got himself under control. "Sorry. You know I can't remember the last time I laughed. I really can't."

"Well, I guess that means I am at least a little fun. Or funny."

"Poor Molly, I've been an ass, haven't I?"

She grins. "Maybe a bit. I kind of have a type, I guess."

"Oh God. That's…" He laid his head back until tears came out this time.

Molly giggles and sips her tea. John takes a deep breath and doesn't move for a few moments like he is zoned out. Finally he looks over at her and sits up, really looking at her and she smiles politely, waiting for him to come up with another excuse to push her out the door.

"I can tell you one thing. Sherlock was a damned fool. You are a lovely, gentle, kind woman. You don't smell. But I lived with Sherlock by the time we actually met so I may be a bad person to ask. Been told this flat reeks, but I don't notice. I may be immune to odors at this point." His finger keeps going to his mouth as he speaks. It waves in the air to accent his words, then back to his lips, as he continues. "But. I did see you once, before and there was no lingering scent impression that would have made me wrinkle my nose. The truth is there isn't a damned thing wrong with you, Molly Hooper."

She clears her throat. "But you said no."

"Well yes. But it isn't about you. I am boring and I am not worth your time. I don't have a heart any more. He took it. So an evening with me would be, without doubt, the worst date you have ever been on." He smiles and there is a little spark of life in his eyes but it is fleeting and seems a bit like a ghost light in the distance.

Molly widens her eyes. "I dated Jim Moriarty. And I didn't date Sherlock, but spent more time with him than any other female, while he fell in love with you. So for you to have the honor as the worst date so far, well you should at least earn it if you want to claim it. I can't imagine how you would plan such. I think it would have to involve some sort of hospital stay at the very least."

John leans forward and giggles a bit again. He stops and looks up at her. "How did I not know you are so funny?"

Molly swallows. "I was always tongue tied around him. Or he made me tell the most horrible, inappropriate jokes because all I could think about was…sorry." She took a deep breath and looked away.

"All you could think about was how spectacular and unreal he was?" he said as if to the wind.

"Yes," she whispers.

"How long has it been since you went out on a date, Molly Hooper?"

"I bet you can guess. I am more than a little afraid of men in general and a lot afraid of my ability to pick them."

He makes a grunting noise and sips his tea as if he's considering it all. He balances his cup on his knee and stares off into the distance. His face goes from pleasant, to confused, to something a bit darker, though Molly has no idea what is taking place to make it happen. She sits quietly watching him expectantly.

"So why would you knock on my door? I've killed people. I have been in this flat slowly going insane for months. I have no job. Long past my prime. I'm short and you know my revolving door dating history. I'm not him. I am this close to suicide and you know it. So what possesses you to doll yourself up and knock on my door, twice. "

Molly hadn't expected to be put on the spot. She mumbled, "I'm not sure. You're nice. I think you are very nice, well most of the time."

His head turned and his eyes narrowed. "So a pity fuck? Is that where this is going? Someone put you up to this or you thought a little shag for the dead soldier might make him snap out of it? Is that your plan?"

Molly cleared her throat and felt her face burn. "I didn't plan that far ahead. No. I am not planning to…shag you. I said friends."

"Well you should plan, little Miss Molly. Because that is precisely where this will go. Take my word, I can turn into quite the charmer and you will regret it. You will think things are looking up and you will think you have made me a little better. I will be for a while. I will want to please you and you won't know what to do with it and then some little bit of you will start to hope and expect. But one day, my wait will come to an end. And you won't want to understand, but you already do. Probably the reason you are here. But when I follow him, and I will, just accept it, it is fact. It will hurt you more. The thing is, I won't care. So I have to ask you, why you would even consider sitting here and considering me as a potential anything." John's voice never raises and there is no anger in his words. But his calm, rational delivery makes her feel foolish again.

Molly opens her mouth to say something. She has no idea how to answer, but his words play out in her mind and she stands up. She takes her cup into the kitchen and her deer in the headlights face is plastered onto her expression as she walks back through the sitting room. "I was wrong. You are as cruel as he ever was. The thing is, he couldn't really help it, any more than I can help that sometimes I can't figure out how to say what I mean. This isn't one of those times. You win. I don't want to go out with you anymore. I didn't come here to be your …it doesn't matter. See, you are doing this, on purpose. I just wanted one bloody nice evening, with a nice man, who I thought might maybe understand a bit. But that man doesn't exist. This is who you want to be now. This is who he died for and when you do get around to it, you'll make it for nothing." She shakes her head and picks up her purse as she says her peace.

John stand and spins."You bitch. It wasn't my fault he died."

Molly opens the door to the flat and leans on it. "No. I didn't say it was your fault. I said he died for something. I wanted you to know. He didn't jump off the roof because he was sad and moping. He jumped because if he didn't, Jim had left orders to kill you and Mrs. Hudson and Greg. So you go ahead and blow your brains all over this horrible wallpaper. I will still be the one who makes your Y incision and I will probably cry when I get home. But that time won't matter anymore than this time. I will always remember that his John, made me feel nasty for bothering to give one piss about life and death. I can't make you feel anything; I never counted to anyone but him. I was stupid to want to spend one sodding minute here, because he cared about you so damned much. So much more than he ever could about me. I loved him longer than you. But he didn't die for me and I still wouldn't dishonor him like this." Molly waves her hand around the flat and then she turns and is rushing down the stairs.