AN: Set during HLV, between Sherlock's first stay in hospital and his call to John.

"Why are you still here?"

Molly Hooper screamed and spun around to find Sherlock Holmes standing three feet away. How he always managed to sneak up on her in the deathly quiet (no pun intended) morgue, would forever puzzle Molly. At least she hadn't thrown the bone saw at him this time.

"Sherlock?" Molly gasped with rising alarm. "What are you doing out of the hospital?"

"I was released," Sherlock said with a shrug. The red rings around his eyes, pale skin and beads of sweat on his upper lip contradicted his assertion.

"You were shot a week ago, Sherlock. I don't care how well you are healing, there is no way you were released from hospital."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Fine. I left. Not important."

Molly made of noise of protest, but Sherlock didn't give her the chance to speak. He took a surprisingly forceful step forward and demanded, "Why are you still here?"

"I work here, Sherlock," Molly said patiently as she reached out for him, "and I prefer you not ending up as my next case, so let's-"

"No!" Sherlock shouted. Molly took a startled step back. Sherlock saw this and, with effort, calmed himself. "No, why are you still here? Why haven't you told me to piss off yet? Most people do with a lot less reason than I've given you over the years."

"I'm not most people. Obviously." Molly studied the tall man carefully. He was clearly in pain, but ambulatory, so there was probably still a high amount of morphine in his system. Eight days confined to bed had left Sherlock weak. Molly was mentally calculating her chances of physically forcing Sherlock upstairs to be examined when he spoke again.

"No, you aren't most people. You're Molly. You're a skilled pathologist and lab technician. You have no family -unless one counts the cat, which I know you do- and you are popular among the staff here. I know your favourite brand of coffee, which movies you like the most and how often you have to pick up groceries in a week. I know every minute detail about you Molly Hooper, and yet, I still don't really know you, do I?"

Molly didn't really know what to say to that. She wanted to say that Sherlock knew her as well as she knew him, but that wasn't true. He could deduce facts, but feelings were something different and that was where he invariably went wrong. He was correct. On that level, he didn't really know her that well.

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock asked again, his eyes narrowed in that way that indicated he wasn't letting this puzzle go until it was solved.

"Because you need me," Molly said simply, "even if you don't want me."

It took every ounce of courage Molly Hooper possessed to tell that particular truth. She had asked herself the same question over the years: Why? Why did she fight so hard to remain in Sherlock's orbit? It took all of the two years he was "dead" to figure it out and, when she did, it turned out to be quite simple. For Molly, being needed was almost as good as being wanted. It was also much more difficult.

Sherlock's eyes widened when she made the statement, but only for an instant. He scowled and opened his mouth to say something. Molly didn't trust him not to verbally gouge out her heart on a good day and she certainly wasn't going to risk it when he was still feeling the morphine.

"That's all there is to it, Sherlock," She interrupted. "I'm sorry it's not more complicated. I know how you like to be clever, but there's nothing to figure out this time. It's really that simple."

Sherlock swallowed and took a deep breath. His intense gaze had not left Molly once since she had startled her with is first question. Molly watched as the hard lines on his forehead and the sharp creases around his eyes softened. His lips twitched into a brief smile.

"Want and need overlap more than people think," he mumbled. With effort, he stood up straighter and looked down his nose at Molly, a posture with which she was very familiar. "I've been horrible to you."

"Yes," Molly said, "but, to be fair, I don't always let you get away with it."

His lips twitched as he rubbed at his jaw, "No, you don't." He still sounded disgruntled about being slapped, but, as Molly said, she wasn't going to let him get away with certain things.

"You deserved that," she said, raising her chin, "I would have slapped you a couple of more times, but I sprained my wrist with that last one."

"At least you didn't cut yourself," Sherlock mumbled.

"There's a story behind that comment, isn't there?" Molly asked, amused.

"Yes, but no time to tell it."

"So...you're eventually going to tell me?"

"Probably not," Sherlock conceded, "I need my phone."

"Oh, right," Molly pulled Sherlock's mobile from her trouser pocket and handed it over, relieved that he had a genuine reason for seeking her out and it wasn't just the morphine. "I don't know why you had me take it. Couldn't John or Ma-"

"No," Sherlock interrupted quickly, already distracted by the text messages he was composing, "not this time."

While Sherlock was busy sending several rapid-fire texts, Molly cautiously stepped forward, reaching for Sherlock's arm, "This has been interesting, but you need to be under care."

Sherlock stepped away, holding his mobile away as though Molly was going to snatch it and said, "I'm fine. I have too much to do." He glared and continued, "And don't you try to bully me, Molly Hooper, or I really will be horrible."

Molly gave it up as a bad job and sighed, "I suppose there's no use telling you to mind yourself? No? Didn't think so. At least let me call John."

"Already planning on it myself." He turned to leave, stopped and turned back. "I really am sorry about your engagement," he said quietly, fatigue evident in his voice. Molly just smiled. "There's a story there," Sherlock said with a grin.

"Yes."

"...but you're not going to tell me."

"Probably not," Molly confirmed.

Molly watched Sherlock leave, even following him to the door so that she could watch him walk down the hallway. She had to fight the urge to call security and have him strapped to a gurney. In the end, she knew he would just find another way to escape and probably do more damage to himself in the process. She believed him when he said he was going to call John. At least he would have a doctor with him during whatever scheme he was setting up.

Once Sherlock had disappeared through the double doors at the end of the corridor, Molly went back to the office and sat down. She had a full schedule and it was turning out to be a busy evening, but she needed a quiet moment to contemplate what just happened.

Molly's father had once told her that the people who needed unconditional love the most were the ones who were least deserving. She had long ago accepted that her feelings for Sherlock were not going to go away. Ever. Her goal nowadays was to come to terms with the fact that she loved a man as complex and, yes, potentially cruel as the consulting detective. If she could do that, if Molly could accept her role in his life, she knew she could do anything Sherlock ever asked of her.