Following the sociopath (Sher/Johnlock one-shots)

Today was the day

(A/N: Just an FYI before we begin, this is a Sherlolly fic. I don't know where the inspiration came from but here it is! I hope you like it! And as always, any type of feedback is greatly appreciated!)

I paced around my apartment all morning before I headed over to the lab to meet Sherlock. Today was his last day here, today was the day the world's only consulting detective was going to die. Well, he would die to everyone except Mycroft, some of his homeless network, and myself. We were helping him fake his death. I'm not sure I could handle this. I said goodbye to Toby(my cat) before grabbing my purse and heading out the door.

Sherlock and I were the first ones there today so we could discuss what we needed to do. He was already there when I arrived and he stood and actually gave me a hug when I entered the room. That was nice.

When we were sure we had everything in order and we were about to leave, well when Sherlock was about to leave, he stood up and kept getting closer to me. I smiled nervously. What was he doing? I thought before he closed the distance between us and my lips were greeted with his. I stood there for a moment in complete shock before I kissed him back. "Thank you Molly Hooper. I hope to return home soon." Is all he says before he turns to leave, the door swinging shut behind him. "Goodbye Sherlock Holmes." I whisper with a smile upon my face.

Later that day I watched from one of the windows of Bart's hospital as Sherlock fell from the rooftop, his arms flailing in circles and his signature wool coat billowing out behind him. I took in a shocked gasp, even though I knew this was going to happen. I helped plan it. I also saw John as he ran up to his best friend, tears forming in his eyes, not believing Sherlock was really dead. I felt bad for him, but of course I couldn't say anything. I wiped a stray tear from my own eye and sighed before turning my back to the scene outside window and leaving to return to my work, patiently awaiting for Lestrade to come bursting through the door, telling me what happened.

"Molly!" As expected, it was Lestrade running in. He was sweating, his hair was a disaster, one suit sleeve was pushed up higher than the other, his tie had been loosened, and he had tears in his eyes. I walked over to him, an expression of concern on my face. "What's wrong?" I asked immediately.

"You-you might want to sit down." He says. I do as I was told and pulled out a lab stool and sat myself down onto it. In turn he half way sat on the edge of one of the lab tables. "Sher-Sherlock is...dead." Lestrade's voice broke.

"Wha-what do you mean?" I asked.

"He, uh, he flung himself from the rooftop. Suicide." I could see him fighting to keep himself from crying.

I went home that night and settled myself into bed, listening as it started to rain outside. How fitting. I could see Toby in the corner of the room, curled up in his own bed. How could he be so oblivious to the things that have happened today? I sighed and called him up beside me, enjoying the comfort it gave me to pet his soft fur and listen to him purr. I eventually fell asleep to the feeling of the little fur ball cuddled into my side.

A couple of months later I was laying in bed again. I had just finished a grueling day at work and I was exhausted. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

What must've been a couple of hours later I was woken up by a thump coming from the corner of my room. I sat straight up and strained my eyes to make out a shape of any kind, but finding nothing I brushed it off as a tree limb against the window.

A few minutes later, I could've sworn I heard the floorboards creak. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, gripping my blanket tight. I stayed in that position for at least ten minutes, watching and listening for something-anything. After a while I eventually laid back down and tried to go back to sleep, but my mind was on hyper alert.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. Not a couple of minutes later I felt a gentle pressure on my forehead, like a kiss. I screamed and my hand flew up, hitting whoever had made their way into my room. The person made a muffled grunt. I kept swinging my arms until I made it off my bed and grabbed my guitar from where it lay resting against my closet doors, ready to use it as a weapon. As soon as I brought it over my head I heard a familiar voice say "Molly stop, you know me." I froze and the guitar dropped from my hands.

"Sherlock?" I asked astounded.

"Who else would it be?" he asked.

"I don't know...Some creep, I suppose." I say, clicking on the lamp on my dresser. And there sat Sherlock, the supposed to be dead consulting detective, on my bed holding his now bleeding nose. "Sorry about your nose." I apologize.

"At least I know you can take care of yourself." He says.

"Oh Sherlock!" I cried and threw my arms around his neck for a tight hug. He held me back gently. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" I inquired after I pulled away, already on the way to the restroom to grab a wet cloth.

When Sherlock had gotten himself cleaned up and the bleeding had stopped, we sat in my bed and cuddled until the sun rose and then some. We murmured small comments every now and then, but we didn't need to; it was a comfortable silence.

Eventually it was time to get up and I dragged Sherlock out of bed after me, ready to go tell the only three people I could trust with the secret of Sherlock's return.