A/N: This has some tie-ins with my other story 'A Knight & His Lady' but you don't need to have read it. Set after the 'suicide' scene in TRF. The dream sequence at the beginning is based on Moriarty's fairytale and the legend of Dracula's wife. Hope you like! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

His Constance

It was all over.

The king had pronounced his judgement and he had barely escaped with his life.

He chuckled darkly to himself, although without his reputation his life hardly seemed worth living anyway.

He glanced at his companion, Sir Loyal-Heart, his closest friend and brother-in-arms. For a brief, agonising moment, the other man had faltered and it had scared him more than he cared to admit.

He urged his horse to pick up its pace, that was why he had to get to her; to his Constance.

She would never waver and he was in desperate need of her reassurance, of her love.

It took him longer than he had anticipated to reach her, but he never thought that he would be too late; that she wouldn't be there to greet him.

Instead he was greeted at the gate by mourners, his fair lady had heard the news of his disgrace and then of his death.

She had thrown herself off the battlements.

All she had left behind was a short note, written over the message bearing the news of his disgrace: I still believe in him.

Sir Boast-a-lot had scrunched the note in his hand; he couldn't believe she was gone…

Soft hands gently wiping his face and the faint scent of apple-cinnamon worked their way into his conscious mind.

His eyes snapped open and came to rest on the woman hovering over him, "Constance," he murmured, only half awake as he grabbed her hand.

She bit her lip, smiling sadly, "It's, uh, Molly actually," she corrected him softly, carefully pulling her hand free from his and continuing her gentle ministrations.

Sherlock blinked, confused, "No…" he began, before his mind caught up with him. "It was a dream," he muttered, looking away.

Molly gave him another small smile, as she put the cloth aside. "John has been to see you," she told him quietly, "he, um, I don't know how he'll cope. But I'll keep an eye on him," she promised, not quite meeting his eye.

Sherlock sat up stiffly, barely noticing her hands that automatically reached out to steady him, "I know it won't be easy for you to lie, Molly, maybe if you-"

"He told me what you said," she interrupted him, "that you were a fraud," she shook her head, "why would you say that?" she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

"Because I knew you wouldn't believe it," he said simply, "this way he can decide whether he will allow himself to be persuaded by you or others. He can decide how he wishes to remember me, which version he can cope with."

"You're staring," he commented drily after a long moment and she looked away, flustered.

"I just-you…what you said…he won't give up on you," she told him.

"Sentiment," he said dismissively, standing to remove his coat and scarf.

"Loyalty," she countered as she watched him slip into a hoodie. "What happened with Lestrade has made you see disloyalty everywhere," she added quietly, a touch of sadness in her tone.

He stopped and turned around slowly to look at her, "Not in you," he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers.

"I told you, you will always have me," she reminded him in a small voice, trapped by the intensity in his eyes.

"I know," he said simply, taking a step towards her, "that's why you're my Constance."

She blinked in surprise and he used her momentary confusion to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you Molly Hooper," he murmured and was gone.

Molly stared after him, absently reaching up to touch her cheek, "You're welcome," she whispered.