A/N: This has been in my head for the last week and I've finally got round to writing it, it's set after the end of Reichenbach Falls so SPOILERS. Anything you recognise belongs to (or is the brainchild of) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and/or Mark Gatiss. Please read, enjoy and review. DFTBA!
Molly had instantly agreed when Sherlock had asked for help. They were friends, at least in her eyes, and friends help each other. Molly also knew he was the type not to ask for aid unless he was desperate, and he wouldn't joke about the gravity of the situation.
Molly trusted Sherlock explicitly and believed what he had told her, he may be a self proclaimed sociopath, but he wouldn't resort to kidnapping just to boost his ego. Having been used by Moriarty she knew what he was capable of, the mere idea of him getting away with everything, while Sherlock rotted in a cell, sent a shiver down her spine.
It was only now that she began to question her decision to help. So far Sherlock's plan had gone without a hitch, the bedding lorry had broken his fall and the cocktail of drugs had convinced both John and the police he really was dead. Molly had done her part switching his body with the corpse of a homeless man found dead a few days earlier, someone no-one would miss.
Though it sounded morbid, the body switching wasn't Molly's problem, it was what came next. She had agreed to let Sherlock lay low at her flat for a while. Molly knew she wouldn't be able to keep her secret if he was living with her, but she couldn't turn him away now. He had just faked his own death to save his friends and she was contemplating kicking him onto the streets. It was wrong. She would just have to tell him the truth, how hard could it be?
As Molly waited for Sherlock to regain consciousness she tried to decide on the best way of telling him. She had vigilantly been keeping it from him since they had first met, almost two years previously. Molly didn't know how he would react, would he be angry at her, or disappointed in himself for not working it out?
Probably the latter, she decided, but looking down at him she couldn't help but hope he'd understand. Lying on the slab he looked peaceful, his curly hair slightly damp from where she had cleaned the fake blood from his head. Molly had never seen Sherlock looking so calm, he was always so busy, both in body and mind.
While watching the reassuring movement of his chest, the drugs had only stopped his heart for a few minutes, she made up her mind. She would tell him outright and then let him decide everything else for himself.
Suddenly Molly noticed Sherlock's eyelids flutter, he was waking up.
Approaching slowly she spoke to him a soft voice. "Sherlock, you're safe. Everything worked perfectly."
"John?" Sherlock mumbled groggily.
"No, it's Molly, Molly Hooper." She moved towards him and took his hand gently. Expecting him to push her away, she was surprised when he gripped her hand tightly, obviously he was still confused. "Do you remember what happened?"
"No... Yes... Where am I?" His speech was improving, but he still wasn't making a lot of sense.
"You're in St Bart's. Moriarty was after John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. You jumped off the roof." She was about to continue when recognition flashed across his face.
Sherlock sat up quickly, pulling his hand from hers. "It worked? They're safe?" His questions were hurried, urgency colouring his voice.
"Yes and yes." Molly answered briefly, she could see his eyes flickering around the room, easily deducing the answers for himself. "We just need to get you out of here."
"Of course." He replied, abruptly standing up. "Do you have the clothes?"
Molly just pointed to the counter where his simple disguise was neatly folded. Sherlock grabbed the pile and walked out of the lab.
Molly used his absence to get her breath back, she hadn't expected him to recover so quickly. The combination of drugs he had consumed would have nearly killed an average person, but then again Sherlock was anything but average.
Hearing the door reopen she quickly turned to face him, Molly barely recognised the person standing there. So used to his suits, the sight of Sherlock slouching in jeans and a hoody was shocking. The hood pulled up over his head meant anyone sparing him a passing glance would never realise who he really was.
"Let's go." He stated, turning to leave again.
Molly grabbed her bag and hurried after him, having trouble keeping up. She followed him out of an exit even she didn't know about and they quickly ended up on the street.
It was now or never Molly decided. "Sherlock we need to go this way." She called to him, pointing in the opposite direction.
"But that's not the way to your flat." He quickly countered.
"I know, I haven't been entirely honest with you." Molly spoke quietly, half not wanting him to hear. "I'll explain everything if you just follow me. Please." She crossed her fingers, hoping he would trust her. He was already staring at her with a calculating look on his face. Blatantly trying to deduce what she had been hiding from him.
After a few moments he hesitantly agreed, motioning for her to lead the way.
Molly started down the street, Sherlock sticking close to her side, head ducked to hide his face.
"You said you'd explain." Sherlock said.
"I will." She quickly replied. "Or at least I'll show you. Just bare with me." Sherlock didn't reply, still attempting to figure it out. Molly could almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring as he rapidly rejected idea after idea. She briefly wondered if he would work it out, he was brilliant and intelligent, a genius by anyone's standards. But Molly had been careful, making sure she left him no clues.
Molly stopped outside a nondescript building. "Can you just wait here?" She was nervous, still unsure of what his reaction was going to be. "I'll only be a minute."
Sherlock nodded and Molly quickly entered the building, leaving him leaning on the wall endeavouring to look inconspicuous.
Knocking on the first door she came to Molly waited briefly for it to open. A few seconds passed before a cheery looking woman pulled the door open.
"I'm so sorry Vicky. I was held up at work."
"It's fine Molly. Any time." Vicky replied. "I'll just get him for you."
Molly wouldn't have been able to cope for the last two and a half years if she hadn't found Vicky. She was a godsend.
Vicky quickly returned carrying a small boy. "Here you go." She said, passing the child carefully to Molly. "He's worn out, it's been a long day."
Holding the sleeping boy to her Molly spoke quietly. "Thanks again. I've got the next few days off work so we probably won't be back until Thursday, but I'll ring and let you know for definite."
They said their goodbyes and Molly left the cosy flat. As she approached the door to the building she paused, steeling herself.
Leaving the building she stepped in front of Sherlock, he was still in the position he'd been in when she left, not appearing to have moved a muscle. Molly took a deep breath before finally speaking.
"Sherlock this is Ben, my son."