The hospital was over-crowded, and while John knew the bomb could have done so much more damage than it did, he still found it hard to be grateful it only did this much damage. Sherlock, having done his job and found the ones responsible, and being useless in this sort of capacity, was sent home. Mrs. Hudson would see that he took a shower and had his tea and rested. He certainly deserved it. God it could have been so much worse.

John picked his way through the emergency room, helping those he could, doing his best to ease their pain. Any spare hands were sorely needed, and though John was exhausted from the case, he couldn't stand idly by while innocent people bled to death. Seeing a man yet to be tended to, John stepped over another patient, coming to kneel beside the man half-propped up by the wall.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Bill, was driving a cab when the bridge went over. Wot's the news? Did that Holmes feller get him?" John managed a genuine half-smile then.

"Yeah, he got him."

"Good on him then. Glad it was only the bridge...heard it was meant for a school."

"It was." John nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what we found out."

"You a doctor?"

"Yes I am, can you tell me if you have any other injuries?"

"Feel sort of numb…all over…" the man lurched forward, vomiting blood.

"I need a nurse!" John shouted, finger on the man's pulse. "Hey, Bill, look at me, look at me, keep still for me, alright? Can you do that?"

"I'm okay," Bill rasped, voice faint. By the time the nurse came with supplies, the man had passed away. Feeling the weariness down to his bones, John bowed his head, sighing.

"That's another to go to the morgue," the nurse murmured. "I'll send for another gurney, Doctor Hooper-" at the familiar name, John lifted his head, hope forcing his heart to skip a beat. The nurse motioned over the crowd and a familiar face turned toward them. Relief flooded dark eyes and she pushed her way over.

"John!"

"Molly-"

"Thank God," they reached for each other, weary faces lighting up as if each was a light in such a dark place. They held the other tightly for a moment, unable to break away. "I hadn't heard anything-" Molly began, and then realized. "Sorry- sorry-" she remembered the nurse had called her over for a reason. John couldn't look away from Molly. She was safe. She was alive.

"Another one for the morgue." The nurse said, breaking through his thoughts.

"Right, thanks Colleen, if you see Doctor Brenner let him know the first four sent down are done, the paperwork is waiting for him to read."

"I will, ta," the nurse waved in response and headed to the next patient.

A gurney was wheeled over and John helped Molly lift the man onto the bed with as few grunts as possible. Short-staffed meant few people on hand to help move bodies, and dead bodies needed to get out of sight of the living.

"Still here, John?" another nurse passed by.

"There's still work to be done," he shrugged tiredly. "I'll help Doctor Hooper bring this one down," he said as Molly fixed the sheet over the body. "She'll need hand."

"Right."

The elevator down to the morgue was silent. John looked over at Molly, who seemed bone-weary. So was he, come to think of it. The lift came to a jolting stop and the doors opened. Unlocking the brakes, Molly pulled hard on the gurney, getting it over the lip of the elevator and tugging it down the long hall, John close behind. Once the corpse was transferred to a storage rack, Molly folded up the sheet, tossing it in the laundry bin, which John noticed was almost overflowing.

"I should get back upstairs," he began.

"Stay for a bit…please." He looked over at her, and Molly turned away, ducking her head.

"Molly," slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself, and she began to cry.

John's arms came around her, drawing her close, his chin rested on her shoulder. After the briefest of moments, he pressed his mouth to her cheek, squeezing her gently.

"It's okay," he murmured. "It's going to be okay, Sherlock caught him. It could have been so much worse."

"I know it could have been- I know he's gone but…John- John I thought you- they said you'd been close to the bridge when everything-" she turned in his arms to face him. "No one knew where you were or if you were safe and-every single body they sent down here, I was so afraid to pull the sheet back and see you, I couldn't do that John, I couldn't-"

"Shh, hey, it's okay. I'm okay." He kissed her forehead, soothing her. "I'm glad you're okay too," he murmured. "I saw the bridge go up and I thought, God I thought 'where is Molly?'." His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep as he regarded her, warmth filling his tired eyes. "Can I- would- maybe it's the wrong time but can I-" she nodded, knowing what he was asking and he bent, drawing her close to kiss her properly. "This isn't the time, it's hardly the place," he murmured at last, when they broke apart. "But maybe after, all this, after we get to go home and get cleaned up…dinner, just you and I? Or lunch or…I don't care, breakfast. Anything."

"Yes," Molly's face brightened, her tired eyes twinkled at him, and her pale cheeks were a rosy hue. "Yes to all." Again he bent and kissed her and suddenly a throat was cleared, startling them.

"Excuse me," Stamford was in the doorway, holding back a grin as best he could. "Molly, Doctor Brenner says you'd better go home, you've been here almost forty-eight hours, you'll be no good to any of us passed out on the floor."

"I still have a couple autopsies," Molly said.

"The next shift will see to them, he'll be down in thirty minutes. Go get your coat. John, you'd better head home as well. Upstairs has a new shift coming in, Brenner said to thank you as well, you've done more than your share." John nodded his thanks, because there wasn't anything else to say. What was he to do, leave the understaffed emergency room to wade through the hundreds and hundreds of victims by themselves? Instead, he thanked Stamford, who waved goodbye and clocked out. Molly was pulling off her lab coat and hanging it up in her office. John waited as she got her things, helped her into her coat and waited for her to punch out. Rubbing her aching shoulders and neck, she eyed John wearily, a smile just forming.

"So…breakfast? Or lunch-" she blinked suddenly. "What time is it?"

"Um..." he pushed up his cuff, blinking at his watch. "Cripes it's almost three."

"In the morning?!"
"Mm." They entered the elevator, leaning against the wall, eyes shut as it began its slow ascent to the ground floor. "Tell you what," John said after a long moment. "Come to Baker Street. Sherlock said the roads are blocked by your place anyway. And Sherlock has a big lounging tub in his bathroom, so you can have a good long soak. I'll use Mrs. Hudson's shower, and if we ask nicely, Mycroft should be able to have breakfast brought to us."

Molly sighed, delighted.

"That. Sounds perfect." She linked her fingers with his, then leaned over, pressing the corner of his mouth.

John scrolled through his messages as she hailed a cab.

"Oh. Sherlock said he had Anthea fetch Toby, brought him to Baker Street."

"What for?"

"He must have figured with traffic being blocked you'd be coming over."

By the time they got to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson was waiting at the door for them, ready to take their coats.

"Sherlock told me you were coming home, I ran you a bath, Molly," Mrs. Hudson said. "Go right upstairs, John, take your shoes off, I've got your clean pajamas waiting in the bathroom."

"You didn't have to do all that, Mrs. Hudson, it's nearly five in the morning."

"Yes I did," she answered firmly. "Go on now. That brother of Sherlock's should be here shortly."

Baths taken, work clothes exchanged for pajamas (John loaned Molly a sleep shirt and his dressing gown, and declared her to be a dreadful distraction). Food arrived and though try as they might, Sherlock was fast asleep and unmovable, even for food, so Molly and John got to have Baker street somewhat to themselves. When they finished, John immediately offered his bed to her, but she wouldn't hear of it.

"Honestly, the sofa is just as good." Blankets and sheets were produced from the hall cupboard, and while Molly knew she had everything she needed to sleep, she couldn't keep herself from wistfully looking after John as he headed up to his room. After a moment, he came back downstairs.

"I don't want to sleep alone." He declared. The corners of Molly's mouth turned up, relief washing over her.

"Neither do I."

"Bunch up."

They slept on opposite ends of the couch that day, John hugging her legs as if they were a life preserver. Feeling the solid presence of John behind her, Molly fell asleep quickly, much faster than she'd thought. She was afraid her dreams would be plagued by what she'd seen, and some of them were. When she woke up, tears streaming down her cheeks, calling for him, John shifted to her side of the couch, throwing an arm over her waist, still half-awake as he soothed her.

"S'okay. M'right here. Not going anywhere." He squeezed her hand. "I'm right here."