A/N: So this is a collection of short stories, all surrounding a variety of a little black book (clue's in the title). A whole range of one shots!

Molly's Little Black Book.

Meena had given it to her a Christmas present when they'd first started university. Her bestie had joked that she could keep a tally of all the men they hook up with during their time at university. But after a particularly disappointing freshers week, Molly had stuffed it at the back of wardrobe after wardrobe, burying her miniature failure at conforming to the norm of student life.

She unearthed it when she moved into her current flat. She sighed and realised it was a good little note book, leather bound and fairly compact without being overly small. She decided to ignore what it was meant to have recorded and that she would find a much more satisfactory use to it.

Maybe she could keep notes about the new guy at her work. She wasn't sure if she worked at St Barts or not, or if he was friends with Mike Stamford but he was definitely cute and he undoubtedly brightened up her dreary days in the morgue.

She came home the next week from work and wrote the first page.

Number of time I've stared at Sherlock Holmes

1

/M.H\

Now she flicked through the battered black book that sat in her bedside drawer, well over three quarters full of tallies on different pages.

Times I've stared at Sherlock 3,425

Times I've stuttered around Sherlock 2504

Times I've made a fool out of myself in front of Sherlock 3978

Times I like to think I've helped Sherlock 256

Times I probably haven't helped Sherlock 256

Times Sherlock's used me for morgue access and I know it 2425

Molly totted up the totals and smiled sadly, wiping the tears off her face. She almost contemplated writing a new section in the little book Time I've helped Sherlock Holmes to die 1. But she wasn't stupid enough to incriminate herself or Sherlock. This had to work perfectly.

Life had to go on as normal.

Which is why with Sherlock's recent suicide, she had opted to take two weeks off suddenly. It was holiday that Mike had signed off immediately, knowing Molly's fondness for Sherlock and he told her to come back when she was ready.

Slapping the little black book in the palm of her hand she kissed it suddenly and curled up atop her bed covers and cried. She cried for the Molly who never used the book the way Meena had planned, it cried for the hopeful Molly who first fell in love with Sherlock and she cried for the Molly she was now, knowing she was a pawn in a much larger game.