The Woman Who Counted (A Sherlolly Tale)

Chapter 6

Author's Note: This chapter was revised on 8 February 2018, so it is possible that all of the little details won't 100% add up with the rest of the story yet. But don't fret, I will get to the rest of it! One chapter at a time.

An hour and a half later Molly was pushing a trolley up and down the aisles of the nearest Tesco. There were supermarkets closer to her flat, such as Sainsbury's and Waitrose but Molly knew that she'd be able to find everything on Sherlock's list, aside from the nicotine patches, at Tesco. She had to stop at a pharmacy on the way to Tesco for those.

When she reached the electronics she saw that the different televisions on display all played the same, muted channel: the news. Photos of Sherlock's face, hidden by that silly deerstalker, spun onto the screen as Tina Daheley spoke to various pedestrians and detectives. Molly fought back the tears stinging her eyes. She shook her head and pushed her trolley to laptops.

After an hour of shopping she had made it through Sherlock's list and was left with her own. Simple items: milk, coffee beans, eggs. She stopped by the dairy first, grabbing some Lactofree. When she turned back to her trolley she nearly dropped the milk.

"Molly?"

She bit her tongue, forcing herself to stay quiet. To not say what she really wanted to say. He's alive. He is alive.

"Molly, how have you been?"

She let go of her tongue, swallowing as she thought through her next few words, making sure that nothing gave away Sherlock's survival. "I'm ... alive." Bad choice of words. John flinched and Molly squeezed her eyes shut. "No, sorry. I-"

She opened her eyes to she John giving her a forced smile, his head shaking. "No it's ... erh ... fine. Gotta come to terms eventually." He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "It's Saturday, the ... funeral. It's being held at Poppy's." John's eyes were bloodshot, watery. Tired. Molly's heart ached for him.

As much as she wanted to tell him the truth, all she could do was nod her head. "I'll be there."

"Yeah." He opened a fridge door and grabbed a carton of milk. "Now then, back to my shopping."

Molly told him goodbye and hurried off. She had to get out of Tesco, away from John. Just being in the same building as him tore at her heart as she fought with herself. She hated seeing him so depressed but she knew that this secret wasn't just a game. It was for the safety and wellbeing of England. Maybe even the world.

As soon as she arrived at her flat Sherlock headed straight for the pharmacy bag, tearing open the box inside and slapping a nicotine patch onto his forearm. With a sigh he sank into Molly's sofa as she began putting away the cold things.

"Only one patch?"

The corner of his lips twitched in a smirk. "I'm saving the rest for when Mycroft gets here."

"Does he smoke too?" Molly couldn't keep the disapproval out of her voice, but she knew Sherlock didn't care. He knew she didn't approve of his smoking. She was a doctor of course, one who had laid out too many cadavers with dark, mottled lungs.

"Tries to." He looked over at her. "Low tar."

"Well at least you're trying to quit."

"You won't let me smoke here. But I still need a fix. Especially now." He held up his hand, his fingers twitching in the slightest.

She looked away, instead occupying herself by searching through her bags from the market. She began setting aside everything that belonged to Sherlock, which was a majority of the bags. When she happened upon a certain bag though, she took out the box it held and tossed it to Sherlock. He caught it with cat like reflexes and examined it.

"What do you think?"

"Appalling." He smirked. "It should do just fine."

She ran her stained, gloved hands through his hair, her fingers getting caught in certain areas forcing her to tug them free, likely giving Sherlock split ends in the process.

"For Christ's sakes, Molly, you're dyeing my hair not pulling weeds."

She rolled her eyes, though her lips held the slightest smile. "Sorry, but it would have helped if you had combed your hair beforehand."

"Comb my hair?"

"Yes. That is a thing that people do before messing with their hair."

He scoffed. "And where was I supposed to get a comb from?" It was as if he couldn't even fathom the idea that Molly would own such a thing. She tried not to be offended.

"Sherlock, there's one on my sink."

"Hm."

"Right, let's rinse it then." Molly took off a glove and pulled down the shower head. She twisted the shower knobs and aimed the water at Sherlock. She ran her hands through his damp curls, squeezing strands and rubbing away clumps of dye as the water rinsed the colour from his hair. As more and more dye washed out his hair got brighter and brighter and Molly couldn't help but laugh as the water cleared.

"What? What is it?"

"Well," she began, stifling another giggle, "you did say it was appalling...."

He stood, taking an old towel from the sink and setting it around his shoulders to keep the water from dripping onto his shoulders. He looked into the mirror and gasped. He knew it was going to look horrid and definitely not him - that was sort of the point - but he didn't expect it to be so...

"Red." He looked to Molly, who was now missing both gloves, her hands hiding her mouth. "It's red."

"Not ginger."

"Definitely not ginger. That is telephone booth red, Molly."

"You said it would work!"

Sherlock sighed and began rubbing at his hair with the towel. "And indeed it does. I definitely don't look like myself. Still shouldn't leave your flat but if it become necessary then this will at least help us out a bit."

Molly clasped her hands behind her back. "You know, Sherlock, some people can just pull off hair as bright as that."

"They can?"

"Well, you definitely aren't one of those people."

He stared at her for a moment, but then a smile began to crack his stoic expression and he chuckled. It was a real chuckle. And it mad Molly smile. Really smile. She smiled like nothing was wrong. She smiled like she was having fun for the first time since Sherlock told her about the Lazarus plan.

She couldn't imagine that the next few weeks or months would be easy, but maybe they would be easier than either of them thought. Sure, Sherlock would be stressed as he tried to plan out his taking down Moriarty's network and Molly would be stressed as she kept this secret from their friends while making sure that Sherlock ate and didn't go stir crazy in her flat. But at least they'd have each other.