A/N: I know I promised you John's blog entry, but that's not in this chapter (sorry!), I just couldn't resist adding this in. I like to think of this happening at the same time as Chapter 9 and this is based on the premise that Molly helped Sherlock to fake his death and he stayed with her for a little while.
"What are you doing?"
Molly suppressed a start as Sherlock leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at her laptop screen.
"Updating my Tumblr," she replied, trying to ignore his proximity, with debatable success.
"Your 'Tumblr' appears to be pictures of different men and…" he leaned closer to the screen, "is that me?"
Molly bit her lip, willing herself to disappear, "This is just my dashboard, it shows me what other people have posted and gives me the option to post it as well," she explained, hastily scrolling past the photo in question.
"I see," he said, watching the different images scroll passed. "Aren't you going to post any of them?" he asked, looking down at her.
"Not with you watching," Molly muttered before she could stop herself. She blushed again, mortified, but Sherlock mercifully let the comment slide.
They both froze as several versions of the newspaper article announcing his death appeared, all with various comments attached to them. Most of them negative.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Molly apologised, slamming the lid of her laptop shut, "most of those people were your biggest fans," she added, still sounding apologetic.
Sherlock pulled a face from where he had retreated to her couch, "There are two types of fans," he observed after a moment, "Type A: catch me before I kill again and Type B: my bedroom's only a taxi ride away." He glanced at her, "Apparently neither are particularly loyal."
"They don't know you," Molly said quietly, putting her laptop aside.
"John said people were more willing to believe the lie because I didn't let him put everything in his blog," he said after a moment, "I used to edit it," he added at her confused look.
"I thought you weren't interested," she commented, pulling her knees up under her chin.
"I had my reasons," he told her, his tone a little gruff as he suddenly found the ceiling incredibly interesting.
Molly regarded him thoughtfully, but said nothing, sensing that he wasn't prepared to go into his 'reasons.' Sherlock's eyes slid briefly in her direction and he added her knowing when to be silent to his (steadily increasing) list of reasons that he loved her.
He just wasn't ready to tell her. Not yet.
But he promised himself that one day, once it was all over, he would tell her everything. In the meantime he would enjoy the time he had with her before he left to start his one-man crusade.