The final chapter. Sorry about the delay, I got sucked in another fandom.

"What do you need?" Molly asked, not knowing she would eventually repeat it in a moment when everything will seem lost for Sherlock.

"I need us to act like we aren't friends. To keep you safe I will need to make you seem insignificant to me. I'm sorry."

The plan had worked out well. Too well, perhaps, because other morgue workers soon started to perceive Molly as someone who desperately tried to make the obnoxious Sherlock Holmes notice her. But even seeing her like that didn't stop them from admitting her professionalism and dedication to her job.

A job that was often complicated by the appearance of the consulting detective who needed to see a body and he needed to see it now. And after one by one they got insulted by him they were all more then happy to let doctor Hooper deal with him.

That suited them both just fine.

When a year later Molly entered the lab with a cup of coffee for Sherlock she didn't think anything about the unknown man that stood next to her boss Mike Stamford. She just smiled at the man with a cane and handed Sherlock a cup.

She didn't need to see his face to know he was frowning the moment he took a sip. The toxic waste that was considered hospital coffee did that to people.

She was just about to leave when he asked, "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me." Molly responded.

"You fond out he has a girlfriend." Sherlock said casually referring to the man that started to work as a lab technician recently. A man she fancied.

"Wife." Molly corrected him.

The consulting detective sighed, "There is always something. How do you feel about violin?"

The sudden change of subject made Molly pause and look back towards the curly haired man only to see him looking at the unknown blond man. The man who noticed the questioning look and was surprised by it as well.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I told Mike this morning I'm looking for a flat mate. Hours later he brings his old friend, who recently got discharged from the military, on medical grounds I presume. Wasn't that difficult a leap. So… violin. I play when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days. Would that bother you? I believe flat mates should know the worst about each other."

Molly didn't stay to hear the rest. She was far too worried she would start laughing hysterically.

The violin and the silence were among Sherlock's better treats. And she feared the blond man would soon found out too. The hard way. Just as she did.

With a small grin Molly made a mental note to ask Sherlock if he used the Miracle Berry Fruit Tablets on the man. It was her revenge, the night before she moved out of Baker Street.

Half the tablet she slipped in Sherlock's tea changed the way his taste buds worked for an hour and his reaction was extremely amusing. She eventually took the other half and they had a blast eating disgusting food combinations that for them tasted really good.

She left the remaining nine tablets to Sherlock, on his insistence. She guessed his brother may or may not have ingested one next time he came to visit 221B Baker Street.

Molly heard about the explosion on the telly that morning and was rather worried about Sherlock. So when she overheard one of the technicians complaining he got thrown out of the lab she knew Sherlock Holmes was safe and sound.

She peeked through the small window on the door and saw him sitting in front of his favorite microscope, a pair of shoes on his right and his flat mate behind him. A sound signal came from the computer.

"Found something?" she asked in a cheery voice as she entered.

"Possibly." Sherlock mumbled.

Before she managed to say anything else the blond man that no longer walked with a cane interrupted, "Could you hurry up? We don't have much time left."

"I am working as fast as I can." Sherlock said angrily, "This is why I like my old flat mate better. There was no nagging."

John Watson frowned, this was the first time he heard about Sherlock having a flat mate before him, "You lived with someone else before? What happened to him?"

"Doc moved out." Sherlock answered calmly while he stared at the computer screen trying to connect the dots.

"What kind of name is Doc?"

Before Sherlock managed to respond the lab doors opened and an unknown man peeked in. The consulting detective was seconds away from shouting at the bloke to get out when Molly beat him to it. In a way.

"Jim… come in. I would like you to meet Sherlock Holmes and his friends doctor Jack Watson."

"It's John…" the blonde man corrected her, "John Watson. Hallo." He gave a little wave.

"Oh, sorry." Molly mumbled, rather mortified, "Anyway, this is Jim."

"Hi." Jim said with a wide grin before turning towards Molly, "Fox, tonight at 7?"

She nodded, "I'll be there."

"Okay, bye!"

When Jim left and Molly turned back towards Sherlock she found the consulting detective observing her strangely, "What?"

"Apart from getting a boyfriend you also got a cat. Quite a few changes in your life."

"Yes? So?" she tried to understand where Sherlock was going with pointing out all that, but with him one can never know.

"Nothing. It suits you."

Molly frowned, "What? Having a cat and being in a relationship?"

"No." Sherlock responded absently as he picked his coat from the table and put it on again, his scarf following seconds later. As he was leaving the lab with his friend behind him Sherlock turned towards her and added, "The three pounds you put on. You looked far too skinny before."

Molly gaped as he left before saying, "Two and a half." to the empty laboratory.

Suddenly the door opened again and Sherlock peeked in, "Three."

Molly was on her way out, she had a lunch break and planed to go and meet Billy Wiggins. She offered him to stay in her flat but he refused claiming he was a free spirit and couldn't settle down in four walls. But he never refused Molly when she showed up with take away.

The burner phones Sherlock got for the homeless network were still out there and few times she got a call or a message in the middle of the night when someone got hurt and needed her help. She may no longer be homeless but she was still considered one of them, she was still Doc.

Her plans were destroyed when Sherlock and John came from the opposite direction and Sherlock made her turn back towards the laboratory saying she'll be having lunch with him.

"Why?" she asked rather confused.

"I already told you your Jim from IT is actually Jim Moriarty, a criminal mastermind, who somehow managed to break into three highly protected places at the same time. When I first met him I deduced he was gay, but this is much worse."

It happened two months after Jim came to the lab while Sherlock was there. It was after midnight when Sherlock broke in into her flat and Molly was ready to hit him with a cricket bat she kept in her bedroom thinking it was some criminal. Instead she hugged him when she learned whom he faced earlier that night.

The next Moriarty.

But now another information caught her attention and made Molly stare at him in surprise, "Gay?"

"That is what caught your attention? Honestly Molly." Sherlock deadpanned.

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock."

"What?" he turned towards his friend, "I was being kind and didn't tell her right away in the lab what I deduced. You keep telling me I need to be nicer. Wasn't that not nice of me?"

John Watson merely sighed and walked through the door that led towards the main laboratory. He knew arguing with Sherlock was like arguing with a wall.

Sherlock turned towards Molly before he followed John and saw her looking at him, tears pooling in her eyes. She felt guilty. She felt like a fool. And he understood her. After all he didn't see it either. He didn't realize who he was up against until he saw the CCTV from the Tower of London. He recognized that cap.

Jim Moriarty was the man that planed to kill him that night in the plant. He was the apprentice of Andrew Moriarty, and also one of them men that were arrested during the raid. Mycroft's men obviously thought he was harmless pawn and released him. Idiots.

Jim Moriarty obviously wasn't just a pawn and he wasn't stupid either. He must have recognized him from one of the newspaper articles and realized he was the junkie that accidentally barged in their hiding stop. And now he holds Sherlock responsible for the raid and Andrew Moriarty's death.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled eventually.

"Not your fault." Sherlock responded and he meant it. He didn't have time to tell her the whole story but someday he would.

"I don't count." Molly said with a sad smile and Sherlock felt like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water over him. For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. He was shocked that she honestly believed that. Yes, he acted differently around her, acted like she wasn't important to him but that was for her sake, for her protection. He explained that to her, said he would do it and she agreed.

Sherlock wondered if perhaps he was a bit too convincing in that lie.

That was why he came to her that evening. To tell her how wrong she was. And to ask for her help.

And after the fall he stayed at her flat, hiding from Moriarty's network and those he left behind to grieve his death. And the irony of it didn't escape him.

"It's just like before, isn't it?" He said one evening after she returned from work, "Only this time I'm hiding in your flat."

"Not like before." Molly said with a small smile, "From what I can remember your flat mate had better manners, cooked and cleaned and didn't take over your room."

Sherlock waived his hand, "Semantic."

Molly snickered before filling the kettle with water and placing it on the stove, "Has Mycroft called yet?"

"Yes. He has everything ready but insists that I stay put for at least two more days to make sure no one is watching. I have to admit it is a good idea." He admitted, albeit reluctantly.

"No worries, I won't tell him you said that."

Sherlock muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'thank you'.

When Sherlock returned two years later things were a lot different. For starters Molly was now engaged to a lovely man she loved. But one look at Sherlock Holmes, in the reflection on the mirror she kept on the inner side of her locker in Barts, and the old spark returned. And here she thought it was extinguished for good.

Another change was their general relationship. No longer did he treat her coldly, instead they acted like friends that they were. John was confused by it at first but then accepted it with a shrug. He believed it happened after the fall, while Sherlock stayed with her, as the consulting detective admitted when asked about who helped him and where he went after jumping from the roof.

But John Watson was soon proven wrong.

And it all started when he went to find Jackson Whitney in a drug den and found Shezza. In retrospective it explained why Sherlock looked apprehensive when he said to Mary he was calling Molly because Sherlock needed to pee in a jar.

Molly looked up from the microscope when they entered the lab and frowned at the sight of Sherlock in a tracksuit and looking like he hadn't showered for a week. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She recognized that particular garment.

But to John and Mary's surprise she didn't say anything to Sherlock. Instead she focused on the homeless man that whined about the broken wrist, but the whining stopped the moment she looked at him.

John watched with interest as she walked past Sherlock and stopped in front of the man whose wrist he merely sprained, he knew how to sprain people.

"Why didn't you call me the second you learned he bought drugs and was using again?"

John and Mary shared a confused look, not understanding why someone who was obviously homeless call Molly or why he would even know her number. John suspected perhaps if he was one of those who helped Sherlock to fake his death but it was farfetched.

But the man never managed to answer when Sherlock repeated the same excuse he told them, "It was for a case."

No one expected for Molly Hooper, the mouse from the morgue, to turn around and slap Sherlock so hard it echoed through the laboratory. John thought his lower jaw would unhinge and fall off.

And then two more slaps came. And Sherlock never moved or tried to block them. He accepted them before he bowed his head.

"I told you this would happen if you did it. I told you no case was so important you should take drugs and risk overdosing. Again. Damn it, Sherlock!"

"I'm sorry." He mumbled and Molly smiled sadly.

"My promise stands Sherlock. I will always be in your debt and will be there to save you, even from yourself."

She waited for him in her office at Saint Bartholomew Hospital. She knew there was no way they would send him to exile now, not with the broadcast appearing on every single screen in England.

So it was no surprise when the morgue doors opened with a bang and the World's only consulting detective marched in like he owned the place, his coat flying behind him like a cape.

What was surprising is that he marched to Molly and hugged her tightly.

Mary snickered behind them, and elbowed John gently. She was rooting for them to finally get together. She had no idea what kind of history they had but she suspected it was more to it then John knew.

And she was proven right when Sherlock pulled back and took Molly by her arms, "Are you ready to help me again?"

Molly smiled, "Of course."

"It could be dangerous." He pointed out.

"We already dealt with two Moriarty's. What's one more?"

John's head snapped in their direction, "What do you mean two Moriarty's? Sherlock?!"

THE END

And no, there is no sequel.