Disclaimer: I own nothing.

To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure

Chapter One

"Where do you keep them, Molly?"

Molly Hooper had only just entered her flat, exhausted physically and emotionally and she was not in the mood to be growled at by one Sherlock Holmes. Even Toby, her usually indifferent cat, seemed aggravated by the man's presence. He weaved in and out between Molly's legs.

"Where do I keep what?" she sighed.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow, leaning heavily against her bookcase "The painkillers. I did just jump off of a roof, you know."

Scattering her coat, purse and scarf on the floor Molly locked her front door "Yes, Sherlock, I do know! In fact I just finished 'your' autopsy, declaring 'you' dead, breaking the heart of your best friend."

Telling himself it was the pain caused by the injuries he'd acquired from his jump that were making his blue eyes glassy looking, Sherlock slowly let himself drop onto the floor of Molly's living room.

"Oh, oh no!" Molly rushed to his side and used her body to support him and drag him onto her sofa, laying him down so she could examine his wounds. She pulled off his shoes, coat and began unbuttoning his shirt. It annoyed her that her fingers trembled, the more of his skin she exposed.

"I know." He said suddenly, piercing her with that look of his that meant he was deducting. It made her feel completely naked, as if he could read every chapter of her life should he so wish.

He had bled through the gaze she had wrapped his waist with earlier on right after they'd faked his death "K-know what?" – trembling or not her fingers made quick work of cutting it off and cleaning his cut.

Sherlock closed his eyes when he found the answer he'd been looking for "I know why you haven't got any pain meds for me."

"Yes?" Molly got up from the sofa to fetch some more gaze.

"You're afraid I can't control it. That I'll get addicted. Again." he pointed out and delighted in the way Molly froze, mid-step. Nailed it!

She turned around slowly "You're right, of course. Now give me two minutes of peace to dress your wound and I'll get you a scotch."

"Yipee." Sherlock sarcastically squeaked.

"Don't be nasty!" she admonished him as if she was scalding a child.

After pouring a tumbler of scotch for Sherlock and herself Molly escaped to her bedroom for a moment, to collect her thoughts. It was beginning to sink in that she had just gone through with her promise to Sherlock, to assist him in faking his death and let him hide out in her flat until his brother could whisk him off somewhere he apparently had to get to.

Who knew how long or short his stay would be. She couldn't even open her curtains at the chance of someone seeing him through her windows. Would someone notice when she began buying more groceries than usual or products for men? Should she have a cover story?

Tiredly she grabbed the first pair of pajamas she could reach in her drawer and changed into them, taking a calming breath before going back into the living room.

Despite her instructions and his pain, Sherlock was sitting up on the sofa across from Mycroft who occupied the armchair, nursing his own drink. Molly stopped dead in her tracks and regretted the cupcake patterned pajamas she'd put on.

"Hello Dr. Hooper."

Willing her cheeks not to redden, Molly tilted her head "Hello Mr. Holmes, what are you doing here?"

"Boring me." Sherlock groaned and pretended it was voluntary.

Mycroft rose from the chair, inscrutable as ever, "I merely needed to relay some information to my brother regarding his charade."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the choice of the word 'charade'.

A throat was cleared and it shocked Molly to see that Mycroft's assistant, Anthea, were in her flat as well, standing in the background with her phone in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.

"Oh right, I've had some things brought over for Sherlock. It could raise suspicion if you were to acquire these, given your marital status Dr. Hooper." Mycroft explained, handing over the suitcase to Molly.

"Yes I thought about that." Molly squeaked, not used to being in the company of so many Holmes' in such limited space.

Mycroft frowned, halfway to her front door where Anthea was already waiting "You did?"

"Oh yes, Mycroft, my pathologist is very smart for an ordinary person." Sherlock boasted and now it was Molly's turn to frown.

"A pathologist, not his." She cemented.

"Right. Well I will be in touch brother. And do lay down, you're obviously exhausted by pretending not to be in pain." The door shut after Mycroft and it alarmed Molly to hear him lock it from the outside, did that man have access to everything?

Stubbornly carrying on for half a minute longer, Sherlock finally succumbed and lay down on the sofa once more.

Molly offered to make tea, but he didn't want any. She offered to turn on the telly, but he didn't want her to. She then offered him food, but he insisted that he wasn't hungry.

So finally she grabbed a book from her quite vast selection and curled up with Toby in the armchair to read it. She had read it before, it was a classic, but she found it hard to make sense of the words on the page with Sherlock's eyes constantly on her.

"Read to me." he finally demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me, read to me. My mind and body is in uproar I need numbing." He explained, waiting expectantly.

Going back to the first page, Molly cleared her throat and began reading with a steady voice "All children, except one, grow up."

Many hours later, well into the night, Molly's head dropped onto her chest and she had fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. It quite annoyed Sherlock, as he had actually enjoyed the story of Peter Pan.

Luckily Molly had procured a blanket for him earlier and he covered himself with it and was surprised he recognized the scent, but he couldn't identify it from the list of perfumes on his blog.

Toby jumped from his mistress' lap and padded to his cat bed, which caused Molly to stir slightly and Sherlock contemplated if he should wake her up so she could continue her sleep in bed. But knowing the solitude he would soon be facing he selfishly let her sleep.

Exhaustion was winning over him as well and he closed his eyes, before murmuring something from the story that had caught his interest "To die will be an awfully big adventure."

0o0

A loud thud woke Molly up the next morning. The book had dropped from her hands onto the floor. Standing up she stretched her sore body and relished it when a few joints popped back into place. Sherlock was still on the sofa, eyes closed, but she wasn't sure he was sleeping.

Toby scratched at his food bowl and Molly got the hint, changing his water as well.

She was happy her supervisor at St. Bart's had insisted she take some days off after losing her close friend and even performing the autopsy herself. Her mind was a clutter of thoughts and she wouldn't have been able to focus on doing her job properly.

Until she heard the water boil, Molly had forgotten she'd put the kettle on for tea. Sherlock still hadn't acknowledged her presence, but she poured two cups anyhow and went to hand him one.

"I know you're not sleeping, so please sit up and drink this." Molly asked, taking a sip herself and letting the warmth spread through her.

Sherlock mumbled something into the sofa cushion which Molly didn't understand until he repeated himself, still without moving "You told me not to sit."

He was acting like a small child and Molly rolled her eyes; honestly if she wasn't hopelessly in love with him she might have pushed him off a roof herself "That was yesterday, I have to find out how you're doing today."

His groans and troubles seemed real enough and with shaking breath Molly made a decision "I am going to put you in a bath and then pop off to the shop for a bit, alright?"

"You hardly need my permission, Molly."

A second after Sherlock heard the bathroom door slam.

Frustrated by his behavior, though not surprised, Molly almost forgot to regulate the temperature of the bath. Once the tub was full she walked into her open kitchen, connected to her living room and Sherlock wondered what she was doing when she filled an egg cup with milk and then three drops of lavender oil.

It was to be mixed into his bathwater as lavender oil is anti-bacterial and would help keep his cuts clean.

Once Sherlock deducted this, he huffed "Oh really Molly, you don't believe in such magic tricks, do you?" – he was genuinely surprised and it pleased Molly she could have that effect on him.

"It's not a magic trick Sherlock. Now grab hold around my neck and I'll help you into the loo." It was a struggle for the two of them, him being so much larger, but still it was nothing compared to the challenge that met them once they were inside the bathroom.

Undressing Sherlock.

She had already laid out a folded towel and some of the clothes Mycroft had brought over for him, but first she needed to get him out of his current ones.

Socks were easy. Shirt as well, after all she'd taken it off the night before also. She'd sat him on the toilet to maneuver more easily around him and it almost annoyed her that he didn't seemed to be fazed by the fact that he was about to be naked in front of her. Of course to him it was just human anatomy, not something to get excited by.

At least he wasn't making any scathing remarks, not even when she fell over her words as she had to ask him to lift up slightly so she could drag his trousers and boxers off. Immediately after she used her small frame to support him and walked the few steps to the tub like on a tightrope; do not look down.

Molly closed her eyes while Sherlock steadied himself with one hand on her shoulder and another against the wall as he climbed into the tub and gratefully sank into the water.

"The hot water should hopefully alleviate some of your pain, and I won't be gone for too long. Do not try to get out by yourself." Molly instructed before handing him her copy of Peter Pan to read while he sat in the bath.

She was almost out the door when she heard him "Thank you Molly."

Not knowing what to say she just nodded before grabbing her purse and rushing down the stairs and into the nearest Sainsbury's.

She had no idea what to feed Sherlock, so she filled her basket with an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables and other staples like eggs, milk, bread and butter. When she got the wine section she wondered how a soft spoken 'Thank you' could apparently be enough for her to erase his childish antics.

Grabbing two bottles of wine, they were on offer, she decided to get some treats and then hurry back home. She'd just gotten a packet of her favorite biscuits when her mobile rang. She recognized the caller, but considered not answering.

"Hello."

0o0

When Sherlock heard the front door open he hoped it was Molly back from the shop and not Mycroft back for another visit as he was still stuck in the bathtub with a children's book and smelling like lavender.

He heard soft footsteps and immediately relaxed "Molly!" he shouted "The water is cold, what took you so long?"

Sherlock thought he heard her sigh before coming to his aid. Noticing her face, he frowned "You've been crying."

"Yes." Molly sniffed, adjusting the heavy bags in her hands "John called me."

"I know," Sherlock said impatiently "but you know I'm not dead. So why did you cry? Oh!" he cried out, realizing "You're very good at this act, aren't you?"

Considering he had just praised her Sherlock was surprised when Molly sent an apple flying in the direction of his head.

0o0

A couple of hours later Sherlock was back on the couch and Molly again sat in the armchair across from him. She had made them both an omelet and demanded he eat something, before she turned on the television.

Sherlock picked at the food, he still didn't feel hungry. His entire body ached and he felt like his mind was violently trying to escape from his body, looking for something to do. The chattering from the television certainly didn't help and neither did Molly's foul expression ever since she'd come back from the shop.

She stabbed at her omelet with her fork and the clinging sounds felt like needles poking his skin until Sherlock couldn't stand it any longer "Will you shut off that infernal device!"

Molly jumped in surprise, but quickly fumbled for the remote. Even immobile on the sofa, Sherlock looked like he could kill. His eyes had darkened and made him look like a madman.

Frustrated, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair "Sorry!"

"You're still shouting." Molly cautiously pointed out.

"I know!" Sherlock shouted.

Molly sat her plate down on the coffee table between them and walked around it, sitting at opposite end of the sofa where Sherlock's feet rested on top of a few pillows. She grabbed one in her hands and began kneading it in strategic places.

"Reflexology?" Sherlock hissed, but at least he was quieter now.

"Yes." Molly nodded, focusing on the points that affected his lower back, which had to be hurting.

He scoffed "More magic tricks."

Lifting her head to look at him, Molly smiled "Is it helping?"

Sherlock didn't answer; he merely closed his eyes and let her continue her administrations. Molly didn't know how long she worked on him when he suddenly opened his eyes again "Read to me."

"What?"

"Like last night." Sherlock specified, unsure how she couldn't understand such a simple request.

Molly placed his feet back on the pillows "Alright, what would you like to hear?"

"Surprise me."

Looking over her bookshelves, Molly ultimately picked out a medical text book, thinking it would interest Sherlock more than Jane Austen novels.

"Don't read me something I already know!"

It would appear she was wrong.

Although it wasn't exactly the season for it, Molly chose A Christmas Carol, a Dickens classic. Like the day before she sat in the armchair with Toby curled up in her lap and Sherlock closed his eyes in anticipation.

"Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that."

She only paused twice. Once to get them tea and biscuits and once to help Sherlock use the bathroom.

"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us every one!" Molly finished and closed the book, idly scratching Toby between his ears. The cat purred and Sherlock almost looked envious at the content creature.

"So, did you enjoy it?" Molly tentatively asked. It could be hard to tell with Sherlock Holmes.

He nodded "Quite. Scrooge reminded me of Mycroft."

At that Molly giggled and Sherlock raised the corners of his mouth into a small smile. It was almost as if they were just a couple sharing a quiet evening together. Outside the sky was darkening and Molly reheated his omelet from earlier and served it for dinner. This time he ate it.

He still struggled with the pain when he tried to sit up and Molly bit her lip "Is the sofa very uncomfortable?"

"Indeed." Sherlock confirmed, chewing on a piece of bell pepper.

"Would you like to, I mean we can share, you know, my bed. If you'd like." Molly felt very odd to proposition Sherlock like this.

Sherlock slowly set the almost empty plate down "I would like that." he accepted.

Instantly Molly's cheeks flared red "Right. Well I'll just, tidy up a bit." She didn't know why she was rushing, but she quickly changed the sheets into fresh ones, shoved strewn about clothes into the closet, hid her teddy bear and put on a set of pajamas, this time with sheep on them.

After brushing her own teeth she fetched a bowl to hold up for Sherlock so he could brush his while seated on the sofa to spare him the walk to the bathroom. Even though the day had been very uneventful they were both tired and once Sherlock was tucked in on the left side of the bed, Molly happily slid under the covers on her usual side.

The feeling of being just a normal couple came sneaking back and Molly savored it for a while.

"Tomorrow we should start planning my funeral. Goodnight."

Well, maybe not quite normal.

A/N: This will be a two shot, maybe three parts if I can't keep the plot bunnies at bay. I would very much appreciate a review as this is my first time writing Sherlock and he's quite a character.

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