This story was partially inspired by "The Roof" by Mariah Carey...so that's what I'd recommend you listen to if you're the type that likes a soundtrack.

Sherlock backed slowly away from the edge of the roof, his coat billowing in the wind.

"Yes. That'll do," he said simply, turning back to look at Molly. She nodded lamely as a shiver rippled through her body.

"Oh…You're cold. I'm…sorry." Sherlock pulled the gray Belstaff off and wrapped it around Molly's shoulders. The move had brought him up right in front of her and they stared through the darkness into each other's eyes.

"There must be another way," Molly finally said.

"No."

Molly nodded nervously again.

"You'll do fine," Sherlock assured her.

"I trust you," he added a few moments later when she still didn't respond.

"I..I…" Molly shook her head, smiling slightly as she started to turn back towards the door to the stairs back down into the hospital.

"Tell me." Sherlock's voice wavered ever so slightly.

"You said it would be fine." Molly's words were laced anger now. Sherlock looked away, out over the lights of the city. His city.

"It will. I swear to you. I have no intention of dying. But…tell me anyway…please."

The wind blew Molly's hair, half of which had fallen out of her pony tail in the last several hours up on the rooftop.

"I love you." After so many years of holding them in, the three words came tumbling out much easier than she expected.

Sherlock nodded, his jaw flexing, and Molly pretended she couldn't tell how his eyes were shinier than normal. "Yes," he agreed and suddenly his arms were around her and he was kissing her fiercely. Molly returned every bit of his passion, even as tears started streaming down her cheeks.

"Why?...Why didn't I do this sooner?!" Sherlock cursed against her lips while his hands swept over waist, along every curve of her body.

Molly only shook her head and kissed him even harder. The minutes ticked by and Sherlock's lips found Molly's neck while his hands wandered underneath her top. He'd just hitched her leg up around his waist when he pulled away, frustrated. He paced away a step, before returning and whipping the coat off Molly's shoulders and laying it on the cold concrete beside them.

"Now?" Molly asked, shocked.

"It's now or…" Sherlock trailed off as Molly's eyes flashed. "You know that I'll be leaving the instant I wake up," he finished instead.

"Here?"

"Molly, this is the tallest building for blocks. And besides it's past 3:30 in the morning. If someone's stayed awake on the off chance that two people are going to shag on this rooftop, then I'd say they've earned the show."

Molly hesitated.

"It's up to you. We can have this…for however long I'm gone…or not." Sherlock pulled out his phone. "I've got to meet John in the lab in 45 minutes."

Molly pulled her arms out of her sweater and reached for the hem of her top. It was all the agreement Sherlock needed to start hastily pulling off his own clothes.

"Do you have…?" Molly asked.

Sherlock's hands left the buttons of his shirt to pull a little packet out of the pocket of his trousers. He tossed it on the ground beside the coat as he and molly crashed together again.

"You always…?" Molly mumbled into Sherlock's collar bone and she could practically hear his scowl as he responded.

"Of course not. Just this week," Sherlock paused to groan as Molly kissed a trail down his chest. "I didn't know how or when or if, but I knew my time with you was coming to an end…"

Molly gasped as they awkwardly dropped down on top of his coat. She winced when her head dropped back too hard against ground, the single layer of fabric providing far less padding than she'd anticipated.

"Here." Sherlock grabbed her sweater, bunched it up, and slipped it underneath her head. "Is that better?"

"A little. Next time it's going to be a king size bed and Egyptian Cotton Sheets, nothing less than 400 thread count," Molly grumbled.

"A five star hotel room…" Sherlock promised as his hands slipped underneath the open waistband of her trousers and he started to drag them down, taking her pants with them.

"I'm freez-oh!" Molly gasped because Sherlock's mouth was now between her legs.

"Mmm…it's not fair…you shouldn't…do that…the night before y-you're going to jump off a building. Ah!" Molly whimpered as Sherlock's hand drifted in below his mouth.

"Not…going…to…die…" Molly could just make out the words muffled against her skin and partially drowned out by the wind and her heavy breathing. And then Molly couldn't think to talk anymore because she was lost in a hazy cloud of pleasure. Sherlock drove her right up until the edge and then pulled away. Molly heard the foil rip and his zipper go down and then he was settled back on top of her in an amazing few seconds.

"Is this ok?" he asked, when his weight pushed her much more firmly against the unyielding ground.

"Uhm…uh huh…" Molly bit her lip and attempted to shift into a position that put less pressure on her shoulder blades.

"Really?" Sherlock pushed back up on his arms and Molly shivered as the cold breeze hit her breasts again. She pulled him back down again.

"Yes…much warmer." And this time, because she was prepared for added pressure, Molly was able to focus on how nice it felt to have his chest pressed against hers and to feel his breath against her neck.

"That's not what I meant. We could try with you-"

"I'm fine," she insisted, even though the position was still much less than comfortable. "Hurry up, we're on a time limit, remember?"

"I am well aware," Sherlock responded and they both went silent as his hand slipped in between them. They both exhaled sharply when he slid into her and an awkward few moments passed as they struggled to find a rhythm. Finally, Molly pulled Sherlock's lips to hers and he stilled inside her. When they started up again, he followed the tempo of the kiss and it wasn't awkward anymore.

Molly wished she could see the color of Sherlock's eyes, but she tried to let her hands make up for the darkness, attempting to memorize the angle of every bone, the curve of every muscle, the texture of his skin. Sherlock sped up and Molly reached down to rub her clit, but he brushed her hand away and did it for her. She came a few moments later and Sherlock followed quickly after.

There wasn't time to lie in each other's arms or whisper sweet nothings, even if Sherlock were that kind of guy. They both got up and immediately started putting their clothes back on. When they were fully dressed they stood there staring at each other once again. Sherlock pulled out his phone.

"Five minutes, this is it." Sherlock's voice was mechanical again and Molly knew she'd see no more emotion out of him. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she knew they'd all just make things worse. And she'd already said what she needed to.

Molly put her hand on his cheek and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips and then turned and pulled open the door to the stairwell.

Three Days Later.

Molly shifted uncomfortably as her black heels sunk into the grass.

"Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust," the priest finished the graveside service and guests began to approach the casket, and Mycroft, who stood just beside it as Sherlock's only relative. Molly sighed; Sherlock wouldn't have wanted a religious ceremony, but then she supposed it didn't matter, since the body in the casket wasn't his.

And yet, somehow, she still felt as if she'd lost him, that he was gone forever. No. He'd be back. He'll come back, she mentally reassured herself.

Molly reached Mycroft.

"Dr. Hooper, thank you for coming. I know that my brother was…special to you." Something in his eyes made Molly wonder if was in on the secret as well. Sherlock hadn't told her. Nothing more than what you need to know, he'd said.

"Yes…I'm sorry for your loss," Molly said lamely.

"And for yours," Mycroft responded knowingly. Molly forced a weak smile and walked away. A few steps later, she ran into John.

Before she could get a word out, he pulled her into a tight hug, which she gratefully returned.

"Molly…" He said her name like a desperate prayer.

"I know," she answered. John pulled away but kept ahold of her shoulders, making sure that he'd caught her eyes.

"No but I…there's something that I feel sure…If he'd had more time I'm sure that, one day, something. Between the two of you. There would have been something. Sherlock was never much for…sentiment, but there were times I could tell how he cared for you. If there had ever been anybody, it would have been you." Molly was grateful that she didn't have to fake the tears that filled her eyes and then spilled down her cheeks. Her sorrow was real.

"Thank you…" Thank you for making me cry. Thank you for helping me make this look real. And yes, thank you for telling me…even when I already know.

Her tears turned into sobs and Molly turned away.

"I'm sorry," she choked out and John shook his head. He'd remained amazingly composed throughout the funeral, the old army training so heavily ingrained in him: get on with it, do what needs to be done, grieve later. Self-preservation. But Molly knew it was all a farce…she'd caught a glimpse of him unraveling on the pavement outside Bart's. A wave of guilt washed over her. But then John's attention was pulled away by someone else, and Molly slipped away, weaving her way through the whispers and the gravestones back to her car.

Three Months Later.

It had been three months since she touched herself. It wasn't that she hadn't felt horny in that time, her reasons were purely sentimental. Her last orgasm came from him. She wanted it to stay that way… forever. She was like an obsessed teenage fan girl who walked away from an encounter with their idol declaring that they'd never wash their hands again.

But he would hate that. Sentimentality. Get on with it, Molly. She heard his voice say the words in her head.

Molly closed her eyes and slipped her hand underneath the covers, then inside her pants. She was much wetter than usual. She'd done this before of course…thought of him while she got herself off. What was different this time? She usually had to rub and fantasize for quite a while before she was this aroused. Fantasize. That was it…they weren't fantasies anymore, but memories. And memories were, she discovered now, so much stronger. She didn't have to wonder what his tongue would feel like on her clit or what his skin would smell like…she knew.

Despite the covers and her temperature controlled apartment, Molly felt herself shiver...she was back on the roof with him at Bart's. He'd been a far more considerate lover than she'd expected. He always seemed so self-absorbed. And yet the first thing he did was go down on her. And then worry about her comfort. Is this ok? That was sexier than any dirty talk she'd ever heard. But it was the thought of how he'd pushed her hands away when she'd reached for her clit that had her shaking and gasping in her bed now, months later.

As her heart slowed and her breathing quieted, Molly wondered if he ever thought about her…and… if he would revisit that rooftop again and again between now and when he returned, like she would. Something he'd said made her think so: We can have this, for however long I'm gone…or not.

Three Years Later.

"Someone paged me?" Molly asked the girl at the front desk at Bart's. "Dr. Molly Hooper?"

"Oh…yeah…" The girl smacked her gum and gestured behind Molly to the set of glass doors. "There's a car here for you."

"A car? For me?"

"Uh huh." Molly waited for the girl to give her more of an explanation, but none ever came. She turned and walked out into the sunshine, approaching the passenger's side of the sleek black car waiting on the corner. The window rolled down.

"Dr. Hooper?" The chauffer asked.

"Yes, but there must be some mistake, I didn't call for…" Molly stopped as the man jumped out and came around to her side of the car and opened the door to the backseat.

Molly shook her head. "You don't understand; I didn't call for a car. I've nowhere to go, and besides my shift isn't over for another three hours."

"Your boss has been notified that you're taking the rest of the day off."

Molly felt her face flush and the tone of her voice raise with her temper.

"Has he? And how would you even know who my boss is to tell-"

The chauffeur cut her off. "Look lady, can you cut me a little slack here? I'm just trying to do my job. I've been instructed to take you to the Four Seasons…can you please just get in the car? If there's been some mistake, you can explain that to…whoever, when you get there. Please just don't bring this down on my head. I've got a wife and two kids, alright?"

Molly sighed. "Fine, but this is a massive waste of my time and somebody is going to hear about it."

The chauffeur smirked. "I have no doubt, doctor."

Molly's mind was racing as they made their way across town, but she honestly couldn't imagine who would want her taken to a luxury hotel. When she arrived, she turned to tell the driver to wait, but he'd already gotten in the car and started to pull away. Great. Now she'd have to find her own way back to Bart's.

Molly approached the front desk and the young man who stood behind it. "Hello, I'm Dr. Molly Hooper and I honestly don't know why I'm here, but I was told that you'd be able to help me."

"Yes, Dr. Hooper. Your room is ready," the desk clerk responded immediately.

"My room? I don't need a room. I just need to know-"

"Do you have any bags?"

Molly looked pointedly down at her lab coat and empty hands and leveled the man with a thousand yard stare.

"No? Alright. Well, you'll be in room number 85; here's your door key. Would you like someone to show you the way?"

"No, I don't need someone to show me the way, because I am not going up to the room, because I do not need a room. I live just across town."

The desk clerk looked around surreptitiously and then leaned over the counter. His name tag identified him as "Alex."

"Trust me honey, you want to go to the room. I don't know who that man is you…but all I can say is…congratulations," Alex whispered, with a flamboyant flip of his hand.

"What?! What man?"

"Just trust me on this, sweetie," he said, before finishing loudly with, "Welcome to the Four Seasons London at Park Lane. We do hope you enjoy your stay, and please don't hesitate to ask if we can in anyway be of assistance to you." Alex dismissed her with a smile.

Molly's heart was racing as she turned away from the counter. Man? There was no man in her life. She'd been completely and utterly single for years…since…since…

She tried to squash the hope the swelled in her chest as she entered the lift and pressed the button for the 8th floor. There was no way. It couldn't be him. She hadn't heard anything about him coming back. She'd just spoken to John on the phone this morning; he gave no indication of being aware that Sherlock was alive. And he wasn't that good of a liar.

And besides, why would he have her come to some fancy hotel when he could simply have walked in to Bart's?

She reached the door marked 85 and hesitated outside it. Should she knock or just slide the card and go in. She opted for the latter when she noticed a family approaching down the hall. Whatever was behind that door, she'd rather not greet it with an audience.

Molly pushed the keycard in and entered the room. The door opened onto a small sitting area, stylishly appointed in modern furniture. It was empty. There was a vase of red roses on the coffee table and a bottle of champagne cooling on ice in a bucket. Beyond the windows, which covered most of one wall, Molly saw a lovely view of the city.

Through a door way, Molly could see the corner of a bed. She'd made it halfway across the room when he stepped into view and she stopped dead with a few feet still between them.

"Hello, Molly." The same old greeting. The one he used when it had been three days instead of three years since he'd seen her.

"Sherlock!" Molly gasped and then rushed over and hugged him tightly. He wasn't prepared for the hug, but in a few seconds, he brought his arms around her.

"You're okay?" she asked, pulling back to look over him. He looked pretty much the same as when he left, though his hair was different. About the same length, but a few shades lighter and redder.

"I'm fine." Sherlock returned her gaze calmly.

"Thank god…you…you bastard! You could have contacted me once or twice just to tell me you were still alive!"

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Would that have made it easier?"

Molly winced, knowing he was right. So she dropped it, quickly changing the subject.

"But you're back for good now?"

"Yes…" Sherlock's answer was a bit absent and Molly blushed, noticing he was studying her face intently. No doubt cataloging every new wrinkle she'd acquired in the past 3 years, she thought.

"But…what are we doing here? I mean…why go through all this? Have you been to see John? You could have just stopped at my flat or come to the hospital!"

"I…haven't been to see John. Once I'm back…I'll…the press will go wild. I'll be...that will occupy my time for a while."

Molly nodded, but still stared at him in confusion and Sherlock began to look incredibly uncomfortable.

"You don't remember?" he asked.

"What?"

"What you said on the roof? The morning before I…left…" Sherlock raised a hand to run it through the hair on the back of his head.

Molly's mouth fell open as she suddenly understood. "Of course I do! Is that what you're worried about? I love you. I still love you…there's no one else…"

Sherlock let out a breath and smiled. "No…not that. When we were…you said that the next time…"

Molly's froze when her own words came back to her and Sherlock watched as her eyes drifted to the huge bed in the room behind him.

"California King. Egyptian cotton. Six hundred thread count. I checked."

"Oh, you are a bad, bad man," Molly said, even as she latched on to his neck with her lips and reached for the button of his jacket. "Your best friend, your adopted mother, everyone…still thinks you're dead, and you've made a pit stop on your way back to the land of the living for a shag with me."

"Hmmm…a shag? We've got the room all night…" The way Sherlock's hands started sliding over her clothes, along her waist and around the curve of her backside instantly brought back memories of that night on the roof, and Molly bit back a smile.

"You know you didn't have to…any private place with a bed would have been fine," she murmured while Sherlock started pulling her back towards the bed.

"I promised." Sherlock's answer came against her lips as he leaned down to kiss her.

"And you always keep your promises?" Molly slipped her arms out of her lab coat and it dropped at her feet.

"To you."

They both kicked off their shoes and climbed up on the bed. There was a silent disagreement over who was going to be on top as they both waited for other to lie down. After a few seconds, Molly sighed and dropped back against the pillows.

"Only because you died," she qualified, as Sherlock's hips slid down between her open legs.

"I did not die." Sherlock pressed a quick kiss against her lips and then trailed his mouth up her jaw, coming to nuzzle the skin behind her ear. Molly turned her head to allow him better access to the sensitive skin there.

"I promised you I wouldn't," he added quietly.

"Do you promise never to leave me again?" Molly punctuated the question by twisting one of her legs around his and wrapping her arms around him more tightly.

Sherlock looked genuinely concerned as he brought his head back up to look into her eyes. "Well…no…if there's a case…circumstances may arise…"

Molly laughed. "Just checking your honesty."

There was a long moment of silence as they both stared at each other. Molly brushed a curl back off the detective's forehead.

"I promise never to die again," Sherlock finally offered.

Molly smirked. "If you do, I'll kill you."

This has always been my head canon for what happened that night, and somehow that makes this story feel kind of personal to me, so I really hope you liked it!

I adore comments. :)