Lo Stesso Tempo (Sherlolly)

Chapter Twenty

Molly turned back to her notes. "What did you mean, I.O.U?" He looked up with his eyes only as John walked past. "You said, I.O.U? You were muttering it while you were working."

"Nothing. Mental note."

She thought for a moment, trying to work up the courage to say what she felt he needed to hear. "You're a bit like my dad. You remember him?"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

She took a breath and pushed on. "When he was... dying. He was always cheerful. He was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked... sad."

"Molly." He warned.

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you." She nodded towards John. Sherlock looked up slowly and then turned to her. "You okay? And don't just say you are because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you." She knew it well.

He was silent for a long moment. "You can see me."

"I don't count." She'd stopped counting the day she left him to the mercy of his brother. The day he'd turned to help her only to find she was betraying his trust. She'd stopped counting years ago. He stared at her. She looked down. "What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me." She grimaced. "No, I just mean...I mean, if there's anything you need..." She shook her head and turned away. "It's fine."

He was silent for a moment, confused. "B-But what could I need from you?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

He looked away, obviously trying to understand what was happening and how he should respond. "Thank you?"

She needed to get out before she embarrassed herself even more. "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything?" He opened his mouth but she waved away the thought. "It's okay. I know you don't." He didn't eat on cases.

"Well, actually, maybe I w-"

"I know you don't." She shook her head and hurried out. When she finally returned, they were gone. She cleaned up slowly, turning in her mind the things that had happened recently. The way Jim had gotten away, the way Sherlock had looked at her, the way he'd looked at John... it was all one big mess and there was nothing she could do to help. Finished finally, she turned all the lights out and started leaving.

"You were wrong, you know." A baritone voice cut through the silence, making her heart leap into her throat. She turned, leaning against the door. Sherlock stood by the closed windows, staring blindly at the air. "You do count." He murmured. "You've always counted and I've always trusted you."

She felt her throat close up as he proved wrong all the things she had thought since that dreadful night. After what she'd done to him...

"But you were right." He turned to her finally, his eyes desperate and full of fear. "I'm not okay." He breathed.

"Tell me what's wrong." Whatever it was, whatever he needed, she'd do it for him. She'd couldn't tell him no.

He hesitated and then walked towards her. "Molly... I think I'm going to die."

Her heart stopped. Oh god... This was it, then. Moriarty was going to play his last card and Sherlock, the great Sherlock Holmes didn't know what to do. She steeled herself for the terrible night ahead of her. Her eyes filled with tears. "What do you need?"

He kept coming closer, his lost expression cutting her to the core. "If I wasn't everything that you think I am... everything that I think I am... Would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?"

He stepped closer, staring at her as he'd never done before. Fear and need and desperation all coalesced into that one look. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"You."

***

They worked tirelessly throughout the night. Sherlock took her to Mycroft where they filled her in on all that they had been working on. But the game plan had changed ever so slightly. Now, Sherlock had to "die." And they needed Molly to make sure it happened.

She searched through the morgue, knowing that a body had come in recently of the man who looked like Sherlock. She'd had no idea he was a criminal, only that he'd been found dead by a heart attack with later turned out to be poisoning. It was perfect. The body had no marks or scars thanks to the way it died. She prepared it, dressing it in Sherlock's clothes and Sherlock dragged it to the window.

They stayed up all night, planning and preparing for all thirteen scenarios that would allow for Sherlock's death. There was a fourteenth that they wouldn't speak of. If all else failed, Sherlock was prepared to die that his friends may live.

The next morning, waiting by the window that looked out on the street, Molly got a text from Mycroft.

Lazarus.

She nodded to the three men that stood beside her with the body between them on a gurney. And then she waited. The airbag was pumped and pulled out in front of the building. She watched the staged nurses and passersby. Everything was ready. Silence reigned in the stillness of the morning until a scream pierced the air.

"Sherlock!"

A black shadow sped past her. She gasped, stepping back. Pushing herself into action, she opened the window. They shoved the body out and onto the pavement, watching as everyone raced to do their jobs below. John ran around the ambulance station and fell, struck by the bicyclist. The body was moved and Sherlock raced to take its place. A crowd of actors covered him as the scene was prepared. And then the moment came.

John collapsed to the pavement, watching as his best friend was dragged away. Molly thanked her helpers and they left. The street was opened up, the area cleared. John was gently led away. Sherlock was brought into the morgue. He pulled a ball out from under his armpit and shrugged out of his coat. Molly brought a damp cloth over and washed the fake blood from his face. He bent over a counter and she washed it from his hair. Drying it quickly with towel, he nodded to her. She handed him a bag in silence and turned her back. He dressed quickly.

He wore a pair of old dark jeans and a green t-shirt. He shrugged on a grey hoodie and changed his shoes out for a pair of trainers. She handed him a new wallet with a new ID and some money. A new phone sat on the counter. She handed it to him. The door swung open. Anthea stepped in and nodded to him.

"The car is waiting." She left.

Silence followed. Sherlock sighed and put his hands in his pockets. He turned to Molly with a hesitant look. She swallowed. "When will you be back?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." His phone buzzed, no doubt Mycroft urging him to hurry. They were counting on John's grief being enough to keep him from wanting to see the body. But they still had to get Sherlock out of the country. He sighed and pocketed the phone before bending to Molly. He kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Molly Hooper." She gave him a wobbly smile and he turned to leave. "Goodbye."

The door swung closed behind him and Molly fell into a chair, allowing herself to cry just this once.

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Aaaaaand, that's it! Book one is over. I make no promises but I will try to start Book two this week or at least next. I hope you guys liked it and stick around for the next one!