Here I am back with another semi-crime based, eventual, Sherlolly story. I am going to apologise now if the medical premise makes no sense. I don't have any medical knowledge whatsoever, it you do please suspend your disbelief if you have to.

This will be an eventual M rating and as ever I own nothing, I just wish I did.

Chapter 1

Sherlock, I need your help. Molly x

Molly sat in her office and for the first time in a long while she had a sudden bout of nerves over her friendship with Sherlock. What if he'd been fooling her all this time? What if he didn't really care? What if...

Her phone beeped.

What do you need? SH

Molly could have sobbed with relief. For a moment she just sat holding the phone tight in her hands, her eyes closed, trying to get her emotions under control.

You

Half an hour later she was making her way over to Baker St. with a folder hidden in her bag. She couldn't help the nerves she felt at stealing it. They were the same as she'd had when she had helped Sherlock fake his death all those years ago. She knew she'd never make a criminal, how did people turn off the guilt and the anxiety about being caught

He'd left the door on the latch for her and she was grateful. She wasn't sure at this moment that she could face Mrs Hudson's cheeriness. It would break her.

She ran lightly up the stairs and made her way into Sherlock's home. The last time she'd come here alone it was to help him solve crimes now she was here as the client.

It wasn't a particularly cold day but he was sat in his normal chair in front of a comforting fire. He stood as she entered and came forward to help her remove her coat which he then hung next to his own.

'Molly.' He looked at her and didn't need to say anything else. The wall that she had built around her emotions crumbled and she bit on her knuckle to try to stop the tears from falling. She knew he hated emotion, knew that a crying woman was the last thing he wanted to deal with. She'd seen it before in this very room, the cold handing over of a divorce lawyer's card or at most a handkerchief but no empathy or sympathy.

But then he did something unexpected. He took a hesitant step forward and put an arm around her shoulder pulling her too him in a one armed hug. It was the final straw and she clutched at his shirt as she cried. Eventually she felt his other arm come up and circle her and she knew, really knew that he did care. In his own quiet way he did care for her. It might never be more than friendship but Molly could live with that. Had lived with that for five long years now.

The crying soon came to an end, she'd never really been one for tears, and she started to pull away muttering apologies noticing the damp wet streaks on his white shirt, at least in wasn't covered in mascara.

'Oh God, I am so sorry Sherlock. I don't know what came over me. I...umm...your shirt...'

'Never mind about my shirt. I have plenty more and we both know what came over you so why don't you come and sit down and tell me everything. I made tea.'

She looked up and noticed the teapot and cups and saucers all laid out on a small table next to the chairs.

She made her way over and watched as Sherlock poured. He didn't need to ask her about her preference for milk or sugar, he already knew. He knew so much about her without her ever having to tell him.

Once they were both sat opposite each other sipping at the scalding tea she finally looked him in the eye and he nodded once, encouraging her to tell him her story.

'Well, it's about my dad. You already know that he died, of course you do, I told you. Well what I didn't tell you was that it was here, in London, at Bart's. He'd been ill for a while, we all knew it was on the cards but then he got pneumonia and he went downhill so fast. It was as though the fight had gone out of him. He was given antibiotics and they should have helped, should have given him a chance but...well, 24 hours later and he was dead.'

'It goes without saying that I didn't do the autopsy. I wasn't even working here at Barts at the time; I was still a junior doctor struggling to pick a specialisation. It was his death that moved me towards pathology. Ironic really...'

She stared into the fire for a moment, lost in her memories. It had been an awful time. Trying to deal with her own grief whilst helping her mum with the funeral, the paperwork, telling their friends and relatives.

She felt a hand on her knee and looked up to find Sherlock looking at her. She recognised the look but had never seen him look at her like that. He looked sad.

'Go on,' he said softly.

'Well, I never really thought much about it. I mean...of course I thought about dad but not about how he died. It was just...' She tailed off feeling her emotions starting to overwhelm her again.

Sherlock interrupted her 'Let me help. You were due into Barts today but you're not dressed like you normally would be for work. You layer up when you are working in the morgue. So you've been in the offices. Your jeans and blouse have smudges of dust... so working with old files. Given what you have said so far it's easy to see that you have been archiving some of the old paper records and came across your father's file?'

Molly just nodded mutely, fighting the tears that were threatening again.

'Human curiosity would make you look in the file and given that you then stole it,' he pointed at the bulge in her bag, 'and the fact that you contacted me before anyone else I would deduce that you found something...unexpected in his records. But what?'

'It was the toxicology report.' Molly blurted out the fears that had been plaguing her since she'd opened up her father's file. Sherlock was right, she'd never thought to look for it but as soon as she saw it she had to read it. 'It's not right, it can't be right. They were supposed to be giving him antibiotics to fight the infection but they didn't show up in the blood screenings.'

'Maybe I'm reading too much into this, maybe I'm...'

'Just show me the file Molly. Let me be the judge of that.' He held out his hand expectantly and Molly bent down to pull the old brown folder out of her bag.

He spent ten minutes looking at the file before he closed his eyes and Molly assumed he had gone into his mind palace. She watched him, she'd heard about him doing this but she'd never actually seen it herself before. It felt strangely intimate somehow. Like watching someone when they were sleeping. She could just make out the pulse beating in his neck, the light catching the curls on his head. She wished once again she didn't love him so much because at times like this it was almost painful.

It was at that exact moment that Sherlock opened his eyes and caught her gaze. She felt the blush spread across her cheeks at him catching her openly staring at him. He didn't look away though and she found she couldn't.

In the end he sighed and looked at the fire.

'It appears very likely Molly that someone helped your father on his way. You know he was terminal anyway; this could have been viewed as a mercy killing rather than anything malicious. Are you sure you want to pursue it?'

He wasn't saying anything that Molly hadn't already considered so she had an answer for him straight away, 'but what if it wasn't...a mercy killing that is. What if this is one if those 'Angel of Death' scenarios? I'd never forgive myself if I didn't follow it up.'

'So why me? Why not go to the hospital authorities with the case or the police? Lestrade would hear you out, you know he would.'

'It was seven years ago Sherlock, and as you say it's likely but not definite. I want to check it out further before going to the police. But...I don't know where to start. I need...'

'Me, Molly. You need me.'

Sigh, don't we all need a Sherlock in our lives. But anyway, I hope you like the start. As per my normal style there will be regular postings though I don't think this will be a long story.