The day had been particularly hectic for her. there was a serial killer on the loose. 3 bodies had come in needing her attention and she barely had slept in the last 3 days. Rubbing her temples she locked up her office and began the long walk to the door. Molly sighed as she fumbled for the keys to the morgue, then promptly dropped them with a scream when she heard the sexy baritone of the bane of her life, sherlock.

"You were wrong you know."

"Sherlock what?.."

" you do count and you have always counted and i have always trusted you. You were right..im not okay."

As he walks closer to her she sees the sheen of tears in his eyes. Sherlock, the man who so rarely showed emotion had tears in his eyes! Tears rushed unbidden into her eyes.

"Tell me what's wrong."

" molly, i think i am going to die."

"What do you need?"

"If i wasnt everthing that you think i am, everything that I think i am, would you still want to help me? "

"What do you need?" Her voice is a heartbreaking whisper.

"You."

Her heart almost stopped. He was gazing at her with such intensity. He stepped up closer to her, so close their bodies almost were touching. She could hardly believe this was happening; let alone what he just said. His hand came up to caress her face, gently cradling her chin, using his fingertips to wipe away a stray tear. The silence, charged with so much emotion, she can hardly believe that it is the same man holding her chin as if she would break, as if she were fragile, as if she was precious.

"I've hurt you havent I?" Sherlock's eyes were full of regret and an emotion that molly was scared to name. She mutely shook her head, still in shock that this was happening. Her lips parted in an unconcious invitation, her pulse sped up, her pupils dilated.

The detective in sherlock noted all the signs, yet was unable to process them rationally, the way he had with irene adler. Suddenly all he could think about were the countless times he had hurt her, all the times they had worked together in the morgue, her silent support, and the look in her eyes last christmas when he had analysed her gift. Fool! He silently berated himself, feeling guilt wrack him.

Molly looked at his eyes, the very same eyes that had haunted her dreams and saw his pain. Desperate to ease his pain she stood on her tiptoes and closed the small gap between them. Their lips touched, caught, clung. The kiss was sweet, and hesitant. Since she was already standing against ; the door sherlock simply stepped closer to her closing the gap between their bodies, trapping her against the door with his body. Her arms came up to twine around his neck and his hands went to her waist, simply holding her, feeling her warmth through layers of wool and polyester.

Molly broke the kiss remembering what he had said earlier about dying. "Sherlock, what happened? What do you need me to do?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, stepped back from her hoping to restore his intellect.

"I need you to help me fake my death."