A.N:- Hey all, not sure what this is or even what I intend to do with it other than post it here and think about it. I kind of did it a few minutes ago, took me a few hours interrupted by sketching and sneezing... I really need to sleep now. So, yeah, I will. Hope it's alright. Cheeri-o

Needs Must

"Hysteria is impossible without an audience,"

The first words to leave Sherlock's mouth when she saw him, Moriarty escaping - or maybe not - from his grasp as John was bandaged for a rather nasty wound just below his hairline; the blood flowing heavily and leaving him a startling shade of white that made Sherlock looked positively tanned.

Molly stood completely still, her earlier sobs and apologies that had literally fallen from her lips the second both Sherlock and John were pulled from the dilapidated - and still slightly burning - building were gone and replaced with shock.

Lord, the thought that Jim had used her to get closer to Sherlock, that alone made her sick to her stomach. The fact that she had helped - in a small way, but a way nonetheless - made her feel slightly hysterical. The babbling must've been incomprehensible, because for a while both John and Sherlock had ignored her and allowed the paramedics to do their magic without so much as a backwards glance.

She had got as far as "I really thought he loved me" before Sherlock had snapped at her, eyes ablaze and breaking the silence. He was still staring at her like she should say something, but the fact that her throat had completely closed up seemed to escape him.

That had hurt, and not in the usual way. She was used to Sherlock, his offhand comments that left her feeling worthless for the rest of the week - only to be remedied with an offhand and obviously fake compliment. But this...

She wanted to say she was sorry, could even feel the words bubbling in her throat as Sherlock turned away sharply with something like disgust and nothing more than a shake of the head.

"Take it somewhere else, Molly."

And so, she did.

For the next few weeks she avoided Sherlock like the plague, didn't even look at him when he was within touching distance. He had tried, in a vague way, to smooth over the affair with some more fake compliments.

"Those trousers suit you, just the right amount of flair" had, by far, been the funniest. Even when trying to be nice, he still sounded like a strange alien who had learnt about conversation through York notes. The words sounding strange, even with the forced cheer.

She had replied with a fresh corpse and an empty lab, leaving him to it.

Yes, not caring, or even the act of trying not to care, seemed to be helping.

She didn't sit at home all night and think endlessly about her outfit for the following day, didn't fret about her hair being a messy bun as she ran into the lab of a morning. Failing to care was really freeing up her diary, she actually had time for a hobby or two.

Now all she needed was a hobby that didn't involve Sherlock bloody Holmes. Sketching, perhaps.

Molly Hooper yawned for the fifth time in an hour, before blinking rapidly at the results swimming before her eyes. The signs were good, she knew that much, but couldn't for the life of her figure out how she knew that.

Oh! Yes, that'd be because she was tired.

The brief glances she had caught in between yawns and bleary eyes had told her Sherlock would be pleased, well, as pleased as he ever got. Probably resulting in an energetic run out of the building with John trying to keep up. Except, she reminded herself, John didn't seem to be following as often these days. The good doctor had found himself a love interest, or a 'tiresome distraction' as Sherlock had once referred to her.

The following trade off of snide comments and angry looks had left Molly a teensy bit uncomfortable.

With a self loathing sigh she rose, gathered together the results and charts that she had been trying to decipher for altogether too long in one hand whilst massaging her temple with the other and placed the messy pile upon Sherlock's chair for the morning. He had seemed a bit overly excited that evening, leaving Molly with the task of waiting for his bloody test results. He had asked, in his own way whilst bouncing out the door. She had agreed, sort of, before spending the evening pottering about with her own work and waiting.

She checked her watch, blinked at it for a few moments and waited for the hands to come into focus.

Twenty to two, she'd been awake since seven... So that was, a long time. Especially when her nights consisted of panicked awakenings and hours on end staring at the ceiling, listening intently to the noises her flat made and rationalising them all.

Not Jim, of course that wasn't Jim. That was the fridge burbling to itself, and that? That was just a car driving by outside, without stopping, so no worries there.

On the worst nights she had left the light on in the hall, watching with a quickened pulse for a familiar shadow that never came. But of course the more tired she got, the further she slipped into that realm between awake and asleep, the more her imagination played tricks on her ; had that movement from the corner of her eye really been a shadow at her side, of someone looming over her? The sickening moment of fear that froze her in place, coupled with the frenzied moment where she tried to scramble to a light switch had left her with a certain hatred for sleep.

Not tonight, tonight she would sleep, maybe she would take something to aid herself.

She slipped out of the room, turning off the lights a second before and hating herself for panicking when she couldn't immediately find the door handle. Her pulse quickened in an instant, only calming once more when she reached the car park and realised with a sigh that it was raining. With a start she bolted for her car, shoulders hunched against the wind and rain that combined to sting her face and whip her hair into a frenzy.

A late start tomorrow, that's what she needed.

She got maybe three hours before her phone buzzed to life on the bedside table, waking her so sharply from sleep she almost leapt straight into the hall. Eyes wide, she stared at the screen of her mobile as it flashed in the most annoying fashion she had ever seen. It seemed to take forever to give up the ghost and turn itself back off, leaving her eyes to adjust to the darkness as she curled back up into her quilt.

She wasn't sure if she had actually fallen asleep when the next text came through or if she had merely dawdled in that strange place before sleep. All she knew was that her phone was flashing and buzzing for attention not 5 inches from her head, she glared at the bloody thing for a moment, screwing up her eyes and willing it to turn off yet again.

The third came through before her phone even had time to switch the screen off once again, the buzzing seemed to grow more and more frustrated as she reluctantly - and rather moodily - snatched it up from beside her head. Molly swore under her breath and squinting at the offending object, running her thumb over the screen until it unlocked.

MOLLY
NEED A CORPSE, URGENT
SH

The nerve, she scoffed and tucked her chin further into her chest and under the covers with only her eyes peeking out at her phone. Well, that one was straightforward, no. She deleted and moved to the next two.

MOLLY
I REALLY NEED YOUR HELP, IM AT BARTS
SH

She groaned, moving to the next while trying to formulate a plan.

GET OUT OF BED MOLLY, COME ON
SH

Sod. The needy sod. She wasn't getting up, there was no way. She blinked a few times and tried to text a reply, repeatedly hitting the wrong keys in her tired state.

JUST LOOK AT THE CHART, FOR GODS SAKE.
LOTS OF CORPSES THERE.

Ha, and with that she rolled over and went back to sleep.

She cried out loud when her phone buzzed again, rolling over with her temper reaching a crescendo. She was going to kill him, or at least text him something cutting and preferably a swear word or two.

NEED A SPECIFIC CORPSE.
SH

What a pain in the sodding arse.

She strolled up to Barts not 10 minutes later, eyes stinging and a glare ready for the giant idiot who sat waiting patiently outside in the freezing cold. She gritted her teeth as he gave her the most charming smile she'd ever seen him wear.

"Sod off, Sherlock," she deadpanned and passed him without missing a beat. His smile dropped so fast a little part of Molly missed it, but she quickly smothered that part until it shut the hell up. She heard him walking beside her, rather than saw as her hair fell around her face like a curtain.

God, she was cold and tired.

"Well, I would say sorry but I fear you'd merely bite my head off again," he chimed beside her, clearly trying to rile her up. She didn't answer, wouldn't give him the pleasure.

The door to the morgue swung open and a second later Molly flipped a switch, walking to the centre of the room and flashing him a dangerous and positively killer glare. He stayed by the door, arms crossed and a frown creasing his brow. He almost looked confused.

"Well?" she chimed, trying to keep her cool and failing so bad she was a little worried she'd be leaving the morgue after a rowdy argument.

Sherlock frowned a moment longer, studying her as she felt the muscle clench and re-clench in her jaw. "Ms Doyle, came in a day ago," but Molly was already moving to the line of morgue drawers before seeming to pluck one out at random and unlocking it with a thud. The cadaver was wheeled out swiftly and Molly already had the body bag unzipped before Sherlock had time to push himself from the wall he was leaning again.

"Ms Doyle, apparent," she gave him a look. "Cause of death, respiratory failure. Aged 62," Molly took a step back, allowing him to waltz around the woman and carry on his examination. She counted to 10 in her head, waited for him to realise her existence now a dead body was about and once again felt as if she had suddenly turned invisible. Time to leave.

"Molly," he muttered, still peering intently at the corpse before him yet waiting until she turned fully to watch him. "Give me a minute."

And she did, for no apparent reason other than confusion and that annoying bloody voice that wanted to spend as much time as possible watching the man before her work. It was fascinating, or at least, it would be had she not watched the same scene a thousand times before. It became a sort of comfort now, a familiar scene that meant she had done 'good' and was now of no use.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Molly sat as quietly as possible on one of the stools scattered about the room and tried not to cringe at the squeak the wheels made in the otherwise silent room. He carried on without reaction to her existence, bent at the hip over the corpse with a keen look in his eyes. "I suppose she has already had an autopsy?" he glanced at her very briefly, giving her barely enough time to process the question. The body bag was re-zipped swiftly and slid away

"Yes," she refused the yawn just dying to make itself known and instead gestured with a nod of the head to the worktop to the stack of paperwork she had been sorting a few hours ago. "She lived alone, wasn't found for 3 days,"

And just like that, Sherlock smiled his strange little smile and straightened.

"Well then, how convenient," he was staring at something about her head, probably at nothing but in deep thought before turning keen eyes to her. The smile faltered the tiniest bit, before being replaced in a much more forced manner. "All done, thank you Molly." she shrugged.

He waited for her to say something, or maybe for her to leave. She slid from her seated position and to her surprise, Sherlock moved to the door a second before she had time to register the movement.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence, Sherlock already taping away furiously at his phone while Molly yawned discreetly into her sleeve.

"Cab?" he asked, waiting until Molly turned her gaze lazily to him.

"What?" he rolled his eyes, she was too tired to care and turned away in the same lazy manner.

"You didn't drive, so, cab?" And there was a cab, just in time for Sherlock's sweeping gesture to the door. She always wondered how he did that, who could just text for a cab and have it there within a few minutes? Another 'favour' perhaps, she didn't think about it any further and scurried in.

The drive to her flat was silent, both staring out of the window and leaving each other to their thoughts until she felt Sherlock readying himself for a conversation. She closed her eyes, not at all surprised when he turned to her.

"You've really nailed the bed-head look, it re-"

Molly turned, eyes screaming 'bored'. "You don't need to do that now, Sherlock. We've seen the corpse." And feeling overly pleased with his eyebrows vanishing into his hair she turned away, gathering her coat closer to herself as the car slowed to a stop outside her flat. She stepped out, priding herself a little too much for not looking back.