NOTE: I have to stress here that this is my first Sherlock fanfiction so I apologise for any mistakes I make or any out of character moments. Any who read, please let me know of any mistakes I have made so I can correct them and also constructive criticism is highly welcome. I'm really nervous about this so if I get no response, I won't burden you with the rest of the story.

Chapter One: Molly mopes over the events of recent weeks and wonders whether Sherlock will ever return to London.

I don't own any of these characters! They belong to the BBC and the writers. I'm just taking inspiration from them.

It was the usual routine. Feed the cat, go to work, gaze vacantly at his usual work spot and come home. In between that time, wonder where he was, what he was up to and whether he would ever come home. Molly had managed to construct said custom during the last couple of months, as the man that had muddled her life so much before, was gone. She hadn't seen him since the day he'd jumped off the roof. Eight weeks and four days to be exact, she'd counted every minute. The last time she'd seen him was in the morgue. He wiped the blood from his face, stiffly swung on his coat, thanked her for what she had done and left. Didn't even look back or tell her where he was going. She'd asked him whilst they were working together in the lab, before the fall, what he would do in the aftermath, but he acted as though she had said nothing, asking her to sort out an analysis before John arrived. Then again, Molly had expected no less. He'd told her she'd counted, told her subtly that she had some value in his life and that he trusted her, but nothing would change and it was a struggle to tell herself over and over that he would need her no more. Tell her heart and soul to move on, forget him and be at peace now that there was no longer a distraction.

Molly assumed he'd headed abroad somewhere, got on a plane, a boat, anywhere that people wouldn't recognise him as the intelligent detective who solved unsolvable crime, where Moriarty's men couldn't find him and where he could focus on bringing down the master's web, whatever the cost. She knew Sherlock despised being famous. She knew that he wanted to go about his own business in private, move around the streets of London, hidden from the radar of prying eyes, like he had before all the attention. And after recent events, Molly doubted sincerely that he would ever return, or that she would ever hear from him again. Her heart still split at the thought.

As if things weren't complicated enough, John had paid her several visits, spinning her loyalty and honesty into disarray. He'd talked about the lack of thrill in his life now that Sherlock was gone, the emptiness he felt every waking moment, nothing to do and nowhere to go. It was evident that he visited her lab to get a sense of closeness to his best friend, be somewhere that Sherlock so often liked to be. Molly felt intensely awkward, knowing this whole time she was lying to this man in the pits of grief, not able reassure him that Sherlock was safe, not allowed to let John in on his friends plan. John was concerned for her as he indeed knew of her feelings for that man. It was almost as if he felt some comfort being with her, knowing they were two people who cared deeply in their own ways, for a man that many thought was a fraud, to see through to the real Sherlock, with no need for guarantee on his true abilities. They'd seen him for what he was and in their minds, Sherlock was truly the world's only consulting detective, smarter than the rest.

Question after question was shot at her, as if he was in doubt that the consulting detective was really dead. Like he knew that Sherlock was too smart to just jump off a building because the media was pulling at his tail. A deeper reason for it all than just sentiment. Sherlock didn't do sentiment.

John gave her a comforting hug. His face frowned sympathy at her, his eyes reeking of his own pain and sorrow. It took all of Molly's will power not to break down in front of him, to confess what she knew and save him from his mourning. She would never lie before and yet, every word that came out of her mouth these months was dishonest and deceitful. Her faithfulness to Sherlock had turned her into someone she didn't recognise, doing this for a man she had no hope with and would never speak to again.

Molly had to constantly remember that what she had done was the right thing. By saving the person she cared for most in the world, she had ultimately saved the lives of others also and however painful the aftermath would be, however much lying she would have to do to keep his plan intact, to keep him safe, she would do it. He'd trusted her and told her that things would work out. She trusted his every word.

Leaving St Bartholomew's, Molly sighed, shaking her head as her phone began to buzz. She leant on the wall, the effort of the day and her heavy bag weighing on her shoulder. Her organisational skills had left her long ago, paperwork, purse and phone all shoved into her bag like there was no real point in making the effort. She rooted through it, wondering whether it would even be worth pulling her phone out. Reporters had only just seemed to let her go, no longer haunting her with questions about her involvement in Sherlock's life. And here again, her mobile was going off, another favour from someone perhaps? Another favour she couldn't seem to turn down, too much in need of helping those around her. Couldn't she catch a minute to herself before someone else asked for her help? Couldn't she be selfish, just once?

You're stressed. Green tea will help you to relax

SH

Molly's mouth gaped open, her heart pounded in her chest, enough to kill her, she thought. Her head flicked from side to side, pony tail swishing with her, checking to see if he was casually leaning on a wall, or sat in a cab, waiting to surprise her with his gallant return. Her vivid imagination momentarily took hold. She would run into his arms, tell him she missed him. And in return, he would confess his love and kiss her and-

Her phone buzzed again.

Don't get all sentimental, Molly

SH

Molly's hand covered her mouth, utterly shocked and unsure of herself. She let her bag fall to the floor, a smile clumsily ascending her minuscule lips. This was so unexpected and such a relief at the same time. After all this time she finally knew he was okay. Her worries of him being dead or in danger and out of her reach, all dispersed in an instant. Though she couldn't fathom why he was texting her? Molly thought herself too irrelevant in his life, for him to be letting her know he was safe. He had never texted her before. Well, he had, though only to tell her to run an analysis on something or to ask the results on one of her post-mortems.