Author's note: Hey all! This is my first story that isn't Fablehaven. My Sherlock oneshot. P.S. If you don't like Sherlolly, I apologise in advance. Please review! Thank you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing... :( *Shakes fist* MOFATT!

Molly shivered in the bitter cold. She stood in front of Sherlock's grave, waiting to meet up with him. She and Sherlock met there occasionally so they could update each other on their progress. Well, technically Molly told about her progress. Sherlock refused to tell much. All the young Hooper knew was that he was scouring the country looking for all Moriarty's associates. Molly told Sherlock about his funeral and how his other friends were taking it. Mycroft seemed alright, Molly didn't know much otherwise, Lestrade kept up with work, but was definately frustrated without the consulting detective, Miss Hudson still ran 221B nicely, but missed Sherlock deeply as if he was her son.

John made Molly most nervous though. He had stayed in 221B, much to Molly's suprise. But he had defineatly taken a toll on watching Sherlock's jump. Molly felt awful for him. Sherlock had told her why he had to do it, of course. Molly Hooper could be very persuasive at times. He jumped to save John's life.

Molly shivered more. Sherlock had never kept her waiting this long. Was he coming? Maybe not... Molly hoped he would come. She hadn't seen him for three weeks. Last time they had met, he had stayed for a while. Not thinking she'd need her coat, she'd left it at home. As soon as Sherlock got there, he had wordlessly given her his long signature trench coat. They talked for a while, more than their average meeting about Sherlock's current case of Moriarty. Molly didn't think she had ever spent so much time with him before. Sherlock did accidentaly insult her a few times, but Molly was used to it. She couldn't get everything she wanted.

With another shiver, she wished for her coat. Her thoughts were interrupted by a car door shut by the side of the road.

"Molly?" The war veteran asked.

She turned, "Oh, hello, John." she had a pit in her stomach, she was sure he had recognised her shivering studder.

"Molly, why are you here alone?" He noticed her shiver. "How long have you been standing here?"

Molly stood frozen in more ways than one. She looked at her boots, she knew that as soon as she looked at John, it'd be extremely difficult for her to hide her thoughts. She just wished she could tell John everything. She wanted to say that Sherlock's alive, that he misses him. Molly felt awful for deciving him, even though it wasn't her fault.

Apperently, she began to speak her thoughts aloud. "I just... I wish I could..."

She heard John sigh. "I know."

Molly was terrified. How much did she say?

"I know how you feel," John continued, "wanting to have helped him, I mean. I really wish he was alive. I wish I could at least know. Why did Sherlock jump, Molly?" John choked his tears back. "Nevermind, I'm sorry. What a jerk for leaving you here, alone where he "

Molly felt tears of her own stream down her cheeks. She burried her nose in her scarf. Why did Sherlock make me promise? Why ask for my help in the first place? I'm useless! Why can't he see how much he's hurt John? Why? Why!? WHY?!

Molly napped out of her thoughts when she heard her name called. John had grabbed her shoulder. For the first time, she looked at Watson's face. His eyebrows were contorted in worry.

"Oh John," she cried, "I'm so sorry." She was shivering again.

"No worries." he said calmly. "I need to get to Miss Hudson, just call me if you need anything."

Molly nodded, not trusting her voice. John left, getting in the cab and driving away. Molly sunk to her knees, sobbing. Snow melted on her knees, her hands shook, her lips chattered, but she didn't care. She jumped when a coat was draped on her shoulders. Molly turned around to face the infamous Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective, the world's only Richenbach genieous, and the world's only man who could make the little mouse, Molly Hooper, feel the way she does. As of that moment, it was anger and sorrow.

"How dare you?!" Molly asked sternly.

Sherlock wore a look of suprise on his alabaster face. "Why are you angry with me, Molly? You looked cold. You're sure to get pnemonia, I'd be suprised if you didn't. You really need to remember your coat-"

"Not that, Sherlock! How could you not see how much you've hurt John, and Miss Hudson, and Lestrade, and Mycroft, and..." Molly stopped, choking back fresh tears. She wouldn't let him see her cry. But he did.

Sherlock nodded, his dark curls bouncing slightly across his cheekbones. "and you."

"Sher-" Molly began.

"No, I know exactly what I'm putting them through. I miss them too. The only reason they can't know is because this is a delacate operation and- You know I can't get into the details."

"But why make me swear not to tell anyone? Do you realise how hard that is for me? I've had to do all your dirty work while you run off to do who knows what. Why not have John keep your secret? Or you brother? Why me? I'm useless to you! I have no military training- no govornment contacts- no-"

"Stop that." Sherlock said sharply. His ocean green eyes narrowed. Molly was frightened, she hadn't meant to go that far, but she didn't think downgrading herself would make him angry. Afterall, Sherlock did it too.

"Wha- What?" Molly stuttered.

"Stop that. Of course you matter. I've told you before. Of course I know that you're no army soldier, no high politician. But I trust you."

Sherlock's face softened. Molly was startled. Since when did he decide this?

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke, "No matter when, Molly. Mycroft is not a trustworthy person, anyone could tell that. He's a politician for crying out loud and since when were politicians honest? Definately not going to him. Lestrade is a good man, I know, he walked you home from the Christmas party two years ago, He's more of a brother than Mycroft, but he has no way to help me without being noticed by the press. Molly don't get me started on John, you know that if he finds out before all of Moriary's goons are out of the picture, he will be killed. Molly, you are smart, honest, clever, you had all the resorces needed to allow me to fake my death, and you can blend. You are the perfect person to help me finish my job as soon as possible."

Molly pondered a moment. "So the only reason you needed me was so that I could be your little spy?" Molly tried to hide the anger in her voice.

"No, Molly. You are blinding yourself because you don't want to lean on me. I realise my possible instability and my inept bluntness, and you don't want to get hurt. But Molly Hooper, you know that I need you." Sherlock's eyes were nearly pleading.

"Please." It was the first time she had ever heard him say the word. Sherlock means what he says.

Molly blushed furiously, but she doubted Sherlock could tell easily. Molly's face was red with cold, the ice nipped at her nose and ears.

"Molly, I need you." Sherlock thought for a moment, then stepped closer to Molly, wrapping her up in a hug.

Suprised, Molly returned the embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she realized worriedly, they Sherlock hadn't been eating again. She could easily feel his malnourished body. She lay her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat that wasn't supposed to be there. Molly winced when she realised that she was still crying, and that she was leaving a subtle spot of tears on his shirt. Molly tried to push away until Sherlock held her tighter, warming her up from the bitter chill.

For the first time in a long while, Molly felt safe. Sherlock rocked her ever so gently side to side, then began to say something to her in his deep mysterious voice.

"Molly, I know this has been rough for you. I recognise that I've given you the most difficult job I can imagine, but I don't regret it. If I had to silently see you from afar, knowing that you thought me dead, I could barely stand it. I know you can do this. Will you still do this, for me?"

Molly nodded, holding herself closer to Holmes. I can do this. Thank you, Sherlock.