Just a tiny plot twist.

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Heavy In Your Arms

"What in the bloody hell was that?" John could hear Greg's voice, but he was too focused on the scarf in his lap to understand what he was saying.

Greg looked dumbfoundedly at the busy street a block away as his mind was trying to resolve the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just casually nodded at him and walked away. Feeling a headache coming on, he rubbed his neck and shook his head. He chuckled to himself, thinking about the information that had presented itself to him today. Then to have 'that man', or a very good facsimile thereof, just magically get out of a cab and nod at him and walk away; it was all too much for Greg Lestrade.

Until he leaned into the cab.

"John?"

John cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the scarf. Sherlock's distinct scent was there.

"I...um...yeah," John scooted in his seat and Greg stepped aside as the other got out of the cab. What he saw on John's face startled him.

"John, you okay? You look like hell."

John bit his lip and looked around to orient himself, then down at the scarf he was holding in his hand. Greg cocked his head at him expectantly.

"Hey pal," the cabbie's voice broke the silence. "You're not gonna walk away too, are ya? I need my money!"

John started to walk over the driver, but Greg stopped him. John nodded and he finally got his senses about him and spotted a duffel bag on the sidewalk.

"Whose...is that yours?" John pointed at it as Greg came back around to him.

"Yeah," Greg shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "The wife gave me a month to move out."

"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry Greg." John sighed. "I...dunno what to say. I mean you can stay here, but there isn't much room-"

"Listen, I don't mean to assume that you would let me stay here-"

"No, no it's fine. I probably shouldn't be alone for a while anyway." John swallowed visibly. Greg narrowed his eyes at the doctor. He knew about John's suicide attempt; Harry had called him after John had called his sister. John was out cold and being taken out by stretcher by the time Greg had reached the flat. Harry had reassured him that John was still alive, but he had lost a lot of blood.

"You okay, Greg?" John furrowed his brow. "Did I say something? You look angry all of a sudden."

Greg drew in a deep breath. He was mad. Mad at Sherlock for making his friends suffer like this.

"I'm fine," he lied as he gestured at John. "We should get a pint. I need something to calm me down."

"Yeah sure." John walked up to his door and unlocked it.

"Thank you, John," Greg said as they climbed the stairs to the flat. "I appreciate you doing this."

"It's the least I can do. I know you and I never saw eye to eye very often, but you've been a good friend lately. You were acquainted with Sherlock longer than I. You knew how to deal with most of his quirks better than I most times."

Greg laughed as John unlocked the door to the flat. "Quirks. Interesting choice of words. You were the one that had to live with the bloke. I'm surprised you got any sleep."

"I rarely did, as you can see by the leftover bags under these eyes." John pointed at his eyes and smiled at the many times he went days with just three or four hours of sleep.

"Heh, never bored?"

"To say the least!" John smirked and gestured in the direction of Sherlock's room. "You can take his old room, or the couch is suprisingly comfortable."

"I'll take the couch tonight. I can find a room tomorrow." Greg said as he dropped his duffel on the couch and started in the direction of the toilet. "Thanks again, John. I'll be right back."

"Yeah...yes of course." John folded the scarf once and held it up with both hands. He smiled as he pictured the many times Sherlock had put on that scarf. He wrapped it around his own neck and closed his eyes. It was soft and surprisingly warm.

Greg was about to say something before he saw John in the middle of the room with Sherlock's scarf around his neck. John didn't move and Greg heard an audible sigh from the man.

"Well, shall we go?" Greg clapped his hands together and bit his lip to hold back a chuckle as John struggled out of the scarf. He was a tad red-faced and breathless when he turned to face Greg.

"Yes...um, yes we should go." John stumbled to the fireplace and laid the scarf on the mantle. He paused for a second and smirked, then turned and grabbed his gloves off the desk. He gestured to the window as he put on the gloves.

"I hope you have a heavier jacket. It's started to snow."

"What the-" Greg started as his long legs carried him in two strides to the window. And there it was, large fluffy white flakes making their way lazily down to the London streets.

Greg sighed. "Damn, I don't have anything heavier. I just grabbed and stuffed the important things into the bag."

"I might have something, hang on." John said as he went to a closet that was out of Greg's sight.

Greg looked out of the window again and shivered. The last time it snowed he was at a Christmas party here in the flat. When he first saw Molly in that dress...

Greg cleared his throat and stepped away from the window and pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Here you go." John said as he entered the room. He handed Greg a heavy down winter jacket that was similar to the one that he lost at the pool, but with out the hood.

"Thanks, John, really you don't have to go through all the trouble." Greg said as he hung up his phone when there was no answer. He put on the jacket and followed John, who was already headed down the stairs. "I hope you don't mind, but I was gonna invite Molly, if I can get a hold of her."

"I think that is a great idea!" John said as he stepped out to hail a cab. 'I have a few questions to ask that woman.'

xXXx

Molly had the distinct and creepy feeling that someone was following her home. She looked over her shoulder every few seconds as she walked the short distance from the Tube to her tiny house. There was never anyone there, that she could see. Sherlock had taught her to always survey the shadows, there could be someone lurking, waiting to jump out and grab you. Molly stared into the shadows, but her night vision was terrible. She could hear the breeze rustling through the trees as she pulled her jacket closer to herself. She shoved her hand into her pocket and fingered the small, but highly effective, can of mace she had there and relaxed a little. Just one more block, she told herself as a shiver ran up her spine. She swore she heard footfalls behind her, and she whipped her head around to look, but nobody was there. Just the traffic on the main street three blocks away. Her phone started to vibrate in her bag, but she didn't want to be caught unawares, talking on her cell. Molly started to walk faster as butterflies formed in her stomach and she ran up the stairs and started to put the key in the lock.

"Molly!"

It all happened so fast, she didn't have time to scream.

Someone had a tight grip on her wrists and one hand over her mouth, and their breath was hot on her ear.

"Molly, it's me Sherlock!"

Molly swore into his hand and as soon as Sherlock let her go, she grabbed the can of mace and pointed it at the man.

"Molly don't!" Sherlock cried as he ducked.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" Molly lowered the mace and put her hand to her heart. "You scared the living daylights outta me!"

"I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock closed the distance between them and kissed her on the forehead. She blushed, just like clock work. "It will be the last time in a long time, I can promise that."

"But why did you scare me like that? Nearly gave me a heart attack!" Molly tried to catch her breath as she turned away from Sherlock to look in her bag for her keys.

"Are you looking for these?" Sherlock bent and grabbed the keys from the porch.

She pursed her lips at him. "Of course I'm looking for those!" She swiped them from his hand and shoved them into the lock.

"So why did you feel the need to frighten me to death?" Molly said after she had entered her house and turned on the front room lamp. She hung her bag on the coat rack next to the door and walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock started to follow Molly, but hesitated. He looked around the living room. It was distinctly Molly. In fact the whole house was distinctly Molly. He decided that even though it defintily didn't suit him, he was going to miss the homey feel of the place. It reminded him of his Grandmothers house for some reason.

'Caring is not an advantage...Sherlock.'

He wasn't sure why his brothers words suddenly floated into his head, but they were there, making a permanent residence.

"Sherlock, I wish you wou-...oh," Molly interrupted her self as she walked back into the living room. Sherlock was standing there gesturing like a madman and crying. Molly was so confused; she had never witnessed this side of Sherlock before. She had heard him crying through the basement door before, but never was witness to it. She took a deep breath and stepped forward and gently grabbed one of his wrists. He stopped crying and focused on her face.

"Sherlock?"

"M-Molly...I..." He looked around and found the couch and started for it as Molly let go of his wrist. He fell into the couch and buried his face into his hands. His mind had shut down any logical physical and mental responses to the world right then. He didn't know how to deal with the strong emotions he was having. With Irene, it was easy, he had his violin and he had John...he had only one of those now.

"Sherlock, please, what's wrong?" Molly was sitting next to him now and was debating on putting her arm around him, but decided against it. Instead, she leaned against him, and surprisingly enough, he didn't shrink away. "Remember what I said Sherlock, anything you need, I am here for you."

Sherlock's body stopped sobbing, but Molly could hear him sniffling.

"I just...need to … be alone...for a little while..."

Molly sighed inwardly and stood and went into her kitchen and filled a glass for water and found a dishtowel. She hesitated in the entryway between the kitchen and living room as her phone indicated a text. Biting her lip she glanced at Sherlock, who hadn't moved. She walked back into the kitchen and set the towel down and picked up her phone. Molly could feel her face turning a bright red when she saw Greg's name attatched to the text.

'Come out and have a couple pints with John and I. We r the Globe.'

She also noted that the missed call was from Greg as well. Molly put her phone down and played with a loose thread on the dishtowel. She wanted to be with the boys, but she wanted to be here for Sherlock.

Picking up the dish cloth, she made her way into the living room. Sherlock was laying on the couch now, facing towards the back of the couch. Molly walked over and set the water glass on the coffee table next to the towel.

"I was thinking about going to the Globe and-"

"Where is my violin?"

Molly threw his back a confused look as she played with the hem of her sleeve. "I-I thought it was in the basement. I thought I snuck it over with some of your other stuff."

Sherlock sniffed. "Thank you Molly."

Molly opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. She walked back into the kitchen and answered Greg's text.

xXXx

"Oh good, she's coming." Greg said after he looked at his phone. "I know we've been avoiding the subject, but I have to know. Was that really Sherlock that got out of your cab?"

"Mmm..." John nodded as he finished taking a drink. "Yes, it was, I guess. I don't know for sure. I sounded exactly like him."

"Wasn't that his scarf you put on your mantel?"

John looked thoughtfully into his glass. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"I probably can't imagine how hard all of this is for you, so I'm not gonna speculate on the implications of all this."

"Thank you." John ran a hand through his hair. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all myself. I just wish I knew why he decided to reveal himself now. I feel that Moriarty and Moran have a lot to do with this, and we are gonna hear a lot more about them."

"Are we sure that Moriarty even existed?"

John hated that question. Even more than the other question of whether Sherlock existed.

"I'm willing to find out." He traced the rim of his glass. "And I'm willing to prove it. No matter what it takes."

"Okay," Greg said before he took a rather large drink from his pint. IT went down smoothly and cooled his temper.

"Didn't you once say that Sherlock was a great man, and someday, if we are lucky, he'll be a good one?" John took a drink.

Greg stared at him open mouthed.

"What?"

"How?" Greg started. "How do you remember that? I barely remember it."

"It's something that stuck in my head ever since you said it. And I'm glad it did. I finally realize what it means, what you meant by it."

"Well, as much of a pain in the arse he was, he really was a good man."

They both took a drink in the silence.

"Whiskey?" Greg asked.

"Oh god, yes!"

One glass of whiskey later, Molly walked in, shaking the snow off her jacket. The patrons that were sitting close to the door turned and looked at her astonished. Most of them had walked in when there was no snow. Now an hour later, there was an inch gathering.

"Molly!"

She stretched her neck in the direction of the voice and saw Greg waving at her. There seemed to be an extraordinary amount of people in the Globe, even for a Saturday evening.

"Hi guys," she said breathlessly when she reached the table. Molly noted the empty whiskey glasses and the empty pints. "Got a good head start I see?"

"It's been an...eventful day." Greg answered as he scooted over to let Molly in.

"To say the least." John smiled his half smile.

"Oh, do tell!" Molly said as she flagged a waitress.

"Molly, John and I have been talking and," Greg paused and looked up at John, thinking about what he was about to say, the absurdity of it. "And, we think that you might be...that Sherlock Holmes might be living in your basement."

They watched as Molly tensed and paused as she ordered her drink. She cleared her throat and continued.

"And make it a double, please." She smiled a small smile at the waitress who nodded at the two men. They each ordered another glass of whiskey and a pint.

"I don't know what you guys are talking about."

"We know it sounds a little strange, but there is some evidence that points to Sherlock being alive." John said as he leaned forward.

"And I think i've seen him with my own two eyes." Greg tapped his head.

Molly laughed nervously as she looked from John to Greg, then back to John. She grabbed John's hand. "John, I know how hard everything has been, but this is a bit delusional."

John frowned at Molly as she turned to chastise Greg. "And you are just as bad, fueling the illusion-"

"Molly, where is Sherlock's skull? Where is his violin?" John cut across Molly.

Her eyes were as big as saucers when she looked back at him. "John, how should I know?"

"Because every time you've come over to the flat, something else goes missing."

Molly's mouth formed a tight line. John hadn't seen her that mad since she accused Sherlock of saying the awful things he did during Christmas last year. They held each others gazes and as Greg was about to say something, their waitress came with their drinks.

"Are you accusing me of stealing, John?" Molly said before taking a drink.

John was fully aware of the scowl that Greg was throwing him. "No I'm not, Molly, but I can't help but think that it makes sense for him to be staying in your basement."

"Greg, please tell him this is foolish nonsense."

"I … don't know what to think." Greg shrugged and took a swig of his whiskey. "There's a lot of good evidence that John has presented me that makes me think that Sherlock might be alive."

"Are you saying that my reports and death certificates aren't good enough evidence?"

"No, no Molly," Greg rested a hand gently on Molly's arm. "John, tell her what you did yesterday."

Molly turned dark eyes to John and he flinched at her look. "Yesterday, I met my sister at Piccadilly for lunch and she had a 'friend' meet us there." He dug in his jacket pocket and brought out three black and white pictures. "CCTV caught these images."

Molly took them and stared at them wide-eyed. "I...it looks like him, but this guy has blonde hair and a ball cap on! Sherlock never wears-"

"Molly!" John drew in a breath and lowered his voice. "Molly look at those pictures. I'm sitting there close enough to see him. I honestly didn't believe it at first. How could I?"

Molly and Greg watched as John ran his hand over his face. He suddenly looked ten years older.

"Who is this man?" She asked as she pointed at the third picture that didn't have Sherlock in it.

"That is Sebastian Moran." Greg said.

"Who?"

"Jim Moriarty's right hand man." John said as he took a long drink of his whiskey. It went down warm and pooled in his empty stomach. He tried to think of the last time he ate.

"Didn't you John?" The doctor looked up at the sound of his name.

"What?"

"You had a bizarre dream about Sherlock and him mentioning Moran and Moriarty killing himself."

Molly gasped and John and Greg looked at her as she quickly took a drink.

"Is there … mmm," John had to pause and think about what he was saying. The alcohol was going to his head and making things fuzzy. "Is there something you want to tell us, Molly."

Greg scrutinized John for a second before he turned his attention to Molly.

"Umm..." She looked every where but at the guys and lowered her voice. "I didn't have a Jim Moriarty on the autopsy list. I had a Richard Brook. But no Moriarty."

"Wait," Greg finished his whiskey. "So it wasn't Moriarty that we found on the roof?"

Molly nodded her head and sipped on her drink. She could feel her cheeks starting to get warm.

John's heart went heavy. He was certain that Richard Brook was a fake. He was also certain that his best friend wasn't a fake.

He looked down at the pictures again as he drank his beer. He wondered who Moran really was; if he really existed. Or if Moran was a fake and the 'Andrew Adair' was the real thing. The site they had brought up at Scotland Yard had very little information. He wondered if the world's only consulting criminal had a companion, a colleague, as Sherlock sometimes referred to John as. He wondered if this companion was as lost without his friend as John was.

John chuckled to himself at that as he thought about his encounter with Moriarty.

If Sherlock was a sociopath, then Moriarty was most certainly a psychopath.

"Wot's so funny?" Greg's speech was starting to get looser.

John bit his lip. "Sorry, I was just thinking about..."

"Oh...dammit!" Molly rarely swore and John and Greg looked at her in complete surprise. "Fine, I'll take you two drunkards to see your precious Sherlock Holmes."

She quickly downed her drink and then stood and threw on her jacket. She then proceeded to grip the edge of the table as the neighboring tables stared at her.

"Whoa Nelly!" Greg chuckled as he gestured to his and Johns half finished pints and whiskey. "Take it easy. We still have drinks to finish."

Molly sat down with a pout.

"So, you really do have Sherlock in your basement?" John said before he finished his whiskey.

"Yes." She played with the hem on her jacket. "But it wasn't my idea. He came to me and said he thought he was going to die...he had this look in his eyes...it, it was a look I had never seen there before. It really scared me. So I helped him."

"You helped him commit suicide?" The doctor said slowly, trying not to choke on his words.

Molly's chin trembled at the sadness in John's eyes. She blinked and looked down at her hands. Greg's hand came into sight as he squeezed her arm.

"Sherlock," She sniffed. "Sherlock faked his suicide and I helped in all of it."