"Molly, please come in."

Mike Stamford turned his back towards her with a friendly smile. Molly stepped into the office, gently closing the door behind her. It was about two weeks ago that she was here last time. She was used to his summons: he often gave her a mild warning on what he did without authorization: for example, when he found there were some chemical agents missing or body samples taken without a notice. Mike got more tolerant and even supportive of him since he provided the key information to whereabouts of his daughter when she went missing, yet he had to supervise the lab.

Two weeks ago, Molly had to face very agitated Stamford for missing John Doe. Mike saw her enter the morgue after midnight on the day of Sherlock's death. He didn't connect the missing body and the dead detective, yet he summoned her right after the funeral. Molly had often assisted Sherlock in his weird experiments in the lab so she was in the bad books of Mike Stamford. Molly had to call Mycroft Holmes because it might derail the whole plan of his fake suicide. The older Holmes must have intervened: the missing John Doe was forgotten: papers were made that showed the body's being transported to somewhere else.

"How are you?"

His tone was surprisingly warmhearted. She knew he was concerned about her after his suicide. If only he had known the truth…She felt small. Hesitatingly she answered,

"Fine. Thank you."

"Coffee? You don't take sugar."

"Two sugars, please. Thank you."

Mike seemed to be surprised because he had never seen her drink sweetened ones: Molly usually drank green tea or black coffee. With raised eyebrows, he held the cup out.

"How's John?"

Molly asked. She hadn't tried contacting John since the funeral. John didn't visit the lab that his friend died, either – he didn't have to. When Sherlock visited her all of a sudden that night, Molly had promised to check on John and she couldn't. She felt guilty at the sight of the doctor and guiltier at the thought of the detective. Mike drank a few sips of his coffee before answering.

"You'd know. He doesn't call back or answer my text."

"Does he get some help like counseling?"

"Yes, he does. It's not helping that much. Molly, that's why I asked you to come."

Molly knew what would be his next words. She felt uncomfortable. She drank her cup rather hastily, which she regretted instantly. Her stomach felt like burning.

How canI face John when I know he's alive and john's suffering? What if I let it slip?

Her face got pale. Bloody stomach cramps. Mike noticed it. He stopped talking and wrote down a prescription for her while calling the pharmacy to get her medicine. He was about to ask Molly to check on John yet that was completely forgotten.

"How about taking a day off?"

"Thank you. But I've gotten things to finish by today. I'll take tomorrow off if necessary."

Molly thanked for the prescription and left. She threw away the coffee on her way out.

The lab... the morgue... the whole hospital premise had become an unbearable place for her since Sherlock "died". She knew he was alive so she thought it should be okay for her. She wasn't.

Since the funeral, she often found herself to make extra coffee with two sugars and to bring it to upstairs lab. She could've drained it and rinsed the cup instead of drinking two cups of coffee. She just couldn't. Whenever a fresh body was in, she saw herself punch a text to the detective. How stupid of her to forget that he didn't have that mobile anymore and he could be anywhere in the world without a mobile service. The first time, she did send the text. Lestrade called her half an hour later. The police evidence lab was still working on the mobile retrieved on the rooftop. For the first week, Lestrade and his officers were often visiting the hospital. Her eyes always scanned the police officers "habitually" in search of her detective and his blogger. How stupid of her. John was here once right after the funeral, not the lab but the roof and outside near the bus stop...the place where his friend "landed". She was hiding in shadows: she could't meet his eyes.

That wasn't all. From time to time she stopped working and answered to him. She could swear she saw his dark coat or the navy scarf fleeting around the corners of the lab or the morgue at least three times. Some hospital staff understood and gave her a sympathetic look or a comforting tap on her shoulder.

Two days ago someone tried to snatch her bag in an empty alley. She left her work very late so there was almost no one in the street. She barely screamed when a man appeared out of nowhere and overpowered the snatcher easily. He returned the bag to her and took the snatcher over to the police. A few minutes later, Mycroft called and explained the "protection" on her. It was that moment that Molly realized how precarious the situation was. Sherlock pulled the stunt well but it didn't mean everything was back to normal. Three snipers on John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. That was what her ex-boyfriend did to make Sherlock jump. She couldn't believe the sweet Jim could ever be able to do it. The snipers could come back anytime if they realize the detective was still alive. She began to understand why John had to witness his death. John had to believe. Once she learned why he had to fake his death, everything was so stressful for her. One slip from her mouth could ruin everything and worse, put the three people she liked in danger. She got eye bags and blistered lips, and lost her appetite. No wonder she got the unwelcome stomach cramps.

On her way home, Molly was at the pharmacy. Her mobile rang. It was Mrs. Hudson. She sounded so tired. Since his "death", the landlady'd been walking on eggshells around the doctor all the time. Mrs. Hudson wanted her help in cleaning up the flat, especially the kitchen. Molly understood - body parts, cells, chemicals... It would be beyond Mrs. Hudson's home management skills. She promised a visit the following morning. She had already told the hospital that she would take the morning off. She doubled back to her lab and got a couple red biohazard plastic bag and gloves. Walking down the stairs to the Barbican station, she just wished she didn't have to see John during her visit the following day.