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.

Molly opened the door and John grinned from behind a huge bouquet of flowers. "Oh God, what did I do? Already? I brought flowers if they will in anyway be useful in my deep sincere apology?" He looked at her chin, face calm.

Molly laughed. "Get in here, you bloody git. I was watching a sad movie and it made me think about my Dad and you must have an ego the size of Canada to think it is always about you. But thank you for assuming you were automatically in the wrong. That will cut down on the bickering and save time for shagging," she says boldly.

"Oh. Now I see the creepy part you warned me about. You are a true to life mind reader? Yes, it is a bit creepy. But God it will save time for shagging too. I mean I thought last night was some sort of miracle one shot thing, but if we are going to make a habit of it. Mind if I have a go?"

Molly wiped her tears and took the flowers as he followed her into the flat talking and cracking jokes about their delicious disaster of a first date. "By all means."

John hams it up, squinting his eyes and fondling her breasts as if he were tuning her in. "I see…I see that you want to rip my clothes off and have me on your carpet, then you will be hungry so we will go to dinner, to absorb enough calories for another fantastic marathon shag?"

Molly rolled her eyes, "Better make dinner on the quick side though, I have to work tomorrow. We have to set our priorities."

John takes a deep breath and sighs in wonder. "God I love the way you think. You are brilliant. You know that, right?"

"Finally noticed that, did you?"

He chuckled and lifted her blouse, one of her old ones that involved a lot of sassy but ridiculously garish cats. "You camouflage it under all this crap. God that is horrible? Where did you buy that? The ugly store of never getting laid?"

"It was a gift." She said lifting his jumper and examining it with a critical eye. "What color is this exactly? Vomit or Baby poop?"

"I believe it was called sunflower. But, now that you mention it, it might give your cats with the plastic bobble eyes a fair chase to the rubbish heap."

"I don't care. They both performed their ultimate function." Her eyes twinkle and her head cocks to one side a little.

"Warmth?" he purrs, enjoying wrapping his arms around her and feeling hers.

"Quick exit." She teases.

"Ok, my turn to make a rule. No matter how much you like them, I won't be wearing tear away stripper trousers." Her eyebrows shoot up into an 'oh really' look. John clears his throat and raises his finger to her nose. "Not in public ,anyway."

Three weeks pass and every day, John fills up her world. Then before she blinks, they have celebrated the three month point. She and Sherlock have only been able to have rapid clipped conversations. She hasn't had time to send him extensive updates and he has been very quiet, which was honestly his normal volume of communication. She worries when her phone is silent for days, because it could mean anything. She never has any idea where he is. He was satisfied that she was handling the John situation in some capacity and evidently Mycroft had also confirmed that John seemed to be a bit better.

Sherlock was absolutely right about John's appetite. The strange thing is, that in those first three weeks, Molly had had more intimate encounters than she had had in her whole life combined and she didn't mind. The more she had of him, the more she wanted. She was not put off by his near constant desire. She was blossoming on it. The way he looked at her, every time, made her feel beautiful. He said it at least thirty times a day.

For her birthday, John took her to Angelo's and Molly was surprised when he seemed to know who she was. "Oh, so bitter sweet. So romantic, his two lover's in love." He said and neither John nor Molly had the heart to correct him. It made both of them feel terrible because every time the poor man came to the table he got all teary.

The one year anniversary of Sherlock's suicide was a hard day. Reporters had done stories and somehow gotten a picture of John and Molly kissing at Regent's Park. Molly didn't want Sherlock to see it but there was nothing she could do. She tried to prepare him.

John and Molly and Mrs. Hudson had a picnic at the graveyard and Mrs. Hudson brought a candle in a tall glass container. John brought little toy bees on wire and stuck them in the ground and smiled when a breeze made them appear to be fluttering around his grave.

Molly brought Daffodils. They looked pretty with the bees. She looked at the real flowers and the fake bees, and cried a little for the man buried here, and the shadow of one who wasn't.

Lestrade showed up and seemed really embarrassed that he was caught coming with a little flower arrangement and a hand full of newspaper clippings of the most recent crimes he'd been working on.

He joined them for the picnic and before long he was making them all giggle at some of Sherlock's antics from the first days he'd met him. He had heard John and Molly were together soon after they had taken up with each other. His divorce was final now. Molly was sorry for him, but she and Sherlock had spoken many times about Greg. After that he was always invited to dinner at Mrs. Hudson's.

She had never met someone like John and the more she discovered about him, the harder it got to lie to him. There had been no more relapses into his cruel side. Four times a day was average for a workday and on her days off, they barely left whichever flat had been closest. They didn't spend every minute repeatedly working toward the goal of her reaching her full thirty minute promised orgasm. But they spent it literally in worship of the other. There was touching and cuddles and kindnesses that all amounted to a languid ever-building foreplay.

Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson teased them about being the love birds. They both found it uncomfortable. It was hard to say what they were exactly.

The opera finally rolled around. He'd purchased the tickets so early he'd gotten remarkable seats and it had been lovely. It was Molly's first absolutely exquisite romantic date in her life. Mrs. Hudson had taken Molly off one day to help her select a gown. It was a gown. It wasn't a dress. It cost more than her whole wardrobe before Sherlock sent her shopping. John went to a tailor in Soho and ordered his first bespoke suit for the occasion. She and John and Mrs. Hudson had made a day of it when the garments were ready for the final fittings.

John paid for her gown, though Molly had insisted she had every intention of paying for it. She finally relented; there wasn't much reason to bicker over which of them spent Sherlock's money. Molly had the emergency fund and beings it had been noted that keeping John happy was its purpose in general, she hadn't felt guilty. John quietly admitted with tears in his eyes, that Sherlock had left him very well to do, though he wouldn't go into detail.

He had looked up at her so sweetly and then broke her heart. "He left me his estate. I haven't touched a fucking quid of it all this time. Let me do this. Let me take just the smallest pleasure in doing this. He would have loved to see you in this. Purple was his favorite color and I know he would have loved this on you. So you have to let me do this one thing. For him? For me? I want to think that he would be happy for us and maybe this is my first step to making peace. I don't know. I have so damned far to go. But this is right and I won't let you say no to me. I didn't expect to be here to use these tickets. I wouldn't have been, if not for you. I'd like to think he sent you to me. We never paid any attention to each other. Then all of a sudden, when I had no more left, there you were." He pauses and twists his neck and clears his throat. His head drops into his hand and he shudders, chin trembling. Then he sucks in a deep breath and is again almost in control.

"I know it's stupid. I know it is so bloody stupid, but just let me believe it for now and let me have my little sentimental idiocy that maybe, wherever the glorious bastard is, that maybe he cares enough to watch over me a little and send me you. Just let me have that. I am buying you the sodding dress and that is the end of it." John had broken down three times during this speech and Mrs. Hudson had snuffled into a tissue for almost two hours. Molly was absolutely gutted.

Molly was shocked when Mycroft stepped out of the tailor's shop, a garment bag thrown casually over his shoulder. He greeted them cordially and delayed them with pleasantries for almost ten minutes. It was very strange and Molly should have known better than to shake his hand. There was a card with a date and time only.

She is summoned.

She debates about telling John. But when he asked her what Mycroft had passed her, she just hands it to him without a word.