A/N: For right now, this is intended to be a one-shot, but chances are that I will end up writing a second and possibly third chapter. So I will not put it as completed to leave it open. :) Thank you for reading and an even bigger than you if you review!

Molly began sewing up the chest cavity of forty six year old Mr Wilson who had suffered from a heart attack. She was trying her best to make it through the day, and trying even harder to tell herself that she was totally and completely not sick.

The flu had been going around her department. She wasn't even supposed to be working this late; she was covering a few hours of the person who had called out sick from the same thing. She told herself that she would suffer through and be fine, because she refused to let this night be ruined.

And Molly would make it through the night, this very particularly special one, if her boyfriend would not notice right away that she was ill. Today was Sherlock and Molly's one year anniversary. Molly was surprised that he had even remembered the sentimental day, let alone actually make plans for it (John probably had at least a bit do with this). So when he told her he was taking her out somewhere for it earlier in the week, it was all that she could think about.

She wanted it to be perfect, but she was struggling through her day and she was exhausted. If this wasn't a special day for her she would've spent it buried under the covers sleeping and recovering. And if Sherlock was going out of his way to make special plans for the day, it obviously meant something to him too, and she didn't to ruin it for him.

Over the past year everything had changed so much. His behaviour towards her was much different. He wasn't so repelled to the idea of sentiment, though his logical, calculating personality shone through at times. Molly did not want him to change who was, and she would never ask that of him, but he wanted to be kinder to her once he realised how much he cared for her, and so he did. Their relationship had flourished, and she was even living on Baker Street now.

Sherlock did not think of Molly as weak and mousy as most people saw her. Sure, she could be sensitive and emotional, but she pulled him out of a bad spot. She helped him fake his death, assisted him along the way as he took down Moriarty's network. If it wasn't for her, he would not have been able to return to London. He was afraid to hurt though, and when he would look at her tiny frame, sometimes she seemed as delicate as glass.

As she cleaned up her work space, she went to her desk to finish up paperwork. Sherlock was going to pick her up, s from work, so she wanted to keep herself busy while she was waiting. If she stopped to think about it, she would not be able to get herself to go out tonight.

He was very quiet coming in the door, and so she didn't even hear him. When he went over to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and Molly jumped a bit before he leaned in close to her and she realised who it was. "Hello," she said happily before trying to suppress a cough.

"Dr Hooper," he said, but then paused as she stood up, pulling his hands away from her shoulders. "Molly, are you shivering?"

She still kept her face from him, cleaning up her space to get ready to go. "Just a bit cold in here is all," she put on a smile even though he couldn't see her, trying to convince herself too that she was fine.

"It's the same temperature that it normally is in here," he stated, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

He gently put his fingers back to her shoulders and turned her towards him. She smiled up at him, but her illness was very evident. She was a shade paler than usual, which made her look sickly in the first place. She was still shivering, but he could see the light sweat above her brow.

"Molly-"

"I'm fine," she cut him off, sounding a little harsher than she intended to. His eyes only narrowed further as he examined her over.

He held her face in his hands and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You have a fever," he told her as he pulled his head away.

"I'm not sick," she whined now, a small pout in her lower lip, "I'll be fine."

"Molly," he said, one hand dropping to his side as the other lifted her chin so that she was looking up at him. "You are ill; you need to go home and rest."

Molly sighed, not wanting to give in, but she knew she would not win in an argument about it. She put on her coat, shivering as she tried to suppress a cough again, which ended up making it worse. She was in a fit of coughing now as she covered her arm over her mouth.

Sherlock pressed his hand against the small of her back, close next to her as he led her out of the hospital and onto the sidewalk. When she began to shiver further from the sharp winter weather, he opened his large Belstaf coat and wrapped it around her. She was quiet, but seemed irritated.

It was only a minute or two before Sherlock was able to hail them a cab, and they both climbed in. Molly kept her head on his shoulder and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist, her nose nudging against his neck as she pouted.

When they reached Baker Street, they went into the flat. Molly tried once more to convince him that she was perfectly fine as she was putting pyjamas on.

"Molly," in his familiar warning tone was all that he replied as he handed her his blue dressing gown, knowing it would comfort her. She always pretended that she didn't wear it when he was away on cases and she missed him, and he pretended that he didn't know about it to appease her. She took it willingly and wrapped it around herself as she sat down on the bed, still looking frustrated as she let out another cough.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed next to her when he saw Molly rubbing her hands together. He took her small hands between his, bringing them up to his face before puffing his hot breath on her freezing hands.

Sherlock was being so sweet to her, and it was making her feel even more guilty. She wanted his comfort, but she didn't feel like she deserved it at the moment. "Stop being nice to me," her voice broke off.

She felt a few tears slip down her cheeks and felt both silly and stupid, angry at herself. She just wanted everything be perfect and she messed it up. Sherlock looked at her, cupping her cheek as he gently lifted her head so she was looking at him. "Molly, what is the matter?" his eyes were soft, but he looked confused.

"I've ruined our anniversary," she pouted. "And now I'm crying like an idiot about it."

It finally clicked in Sherlock's head as he realised what she meant and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Molly," he said, "both our anniversary and reservations are for tomorrow night."

Her eyes went a bit wide. "But it's the 17th."

"The 16th, actually, and only Thursday," he replied.

"Oh," she scrunched her nose up as she said it.

Sherlock laid down on the bed with her now and pulled her over to him. She rested on his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair, kissing the top of her head. "You will feel better tomorrow if you actually relax."

Molly tried her best to relax and ended up falling asleep on him, but was woken up twenty minutes later by a tickling cough rising in her throat. She sighed, knowing she wasn't going to sleep that well all night. She began tracing shapes on Sherlock's chest as they lay there together quietly.

"Well," Sherlock chimed a few minutes later. "It's Friday now." Molly looked up to the clock to see that it was 12:04 am.

She looked to him now, a smile on her face and her eyes a bit brighter. "Happy anniversary!"

"Happy anniversary, Molly," he said softly as he wrapped his arm tighter around her. He kissed her once, but then leaned in to give her more as Molly went a little wide eyed.

"Sherlock," she said, as he ignored her, already knowing what she was going to say. "I'm going to get you sick," she tried to tell him, but by the end of her sentence she forgot what she was saying. She kissed him passionately, biting at his lower lip as she rolled on top of him, the dressing gown partially draping over him as it was much too big for her.

Sherlock gripped her waist as Molly slid her tongue into his mouth, exploring him as he let out a low groan. She let her hands entangle in his curls as she ground her hips against his, a small whimper coming from her throat.

Sherlock smiled as he felt her hands come down, beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt as she kissed him fiercely. She seemed very intent to rip his clothes off of him, but he gently took hold of her hands and placed them at her sides, giving her a few more gentle kisses before breaking away.

He rested his forehead against hers, his thumb resting on her lower lip as a small pant escaped from between them. "You need to rest," he told her, placing soft kisses along her jaw.

Molly groaned as she moved her head down, finding his mouth again. "You're not being nice anymore."

Sherlock chuckled as he rolled her off of him, and she went back to her previous position lying against his chest, his shirt half open now.

"Tomorrow, or when we wake up rather, will be nice," she said tiredly as she twisted one of the opened buttons on his shirt.

"It will," he said, his arm wrapped around her protectively as his thumb caressed over her arm. She relaxed quickly as she fell asleep, feeling better that she would wake up and hopefully be able to have a perfect anniversary.