Hello, this is the Queen speaking.

This is the sequel to 'The Present' so if you haven't read that one then you might get a little confused. This is a sherlolly fic through and through. I've rated it M because there will be a bit of talk about torture, mental health, suicide and other sensitive subjects. Some sauce may come up, but if it gets too steamy I will warn you ; )

Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters.

...

The Adler case was long past. Solved and over with. The Woman was supposedly dead and buried six feet under ground, and she would be if Sherlock hadn't intervened. He had been feeling a deep sense of what John told him was 'guilt' in the pit of his stomach, so when he had found out about Irene's execution he felt he had to stop it. He wasn't sure as to why, but he did it, and then regreted it.

After having saved her, he had to stay in a hotel for three days before the flight back. During these few days he had Irene flirting with him constantly. Usually he would have brushed it of as nothing but for some reason he felt angry with her for doing it. Every time she would come near him and attempt to seduce him, Sherlock blocked her off, coldly. The only way he could cool himself down after her aggravating attempts was to think of a sweet voice and a soft hand.

Molly seemed to haunt his dreams. It seemed as though every night, no matter what dream he was having, it would always end with Molly in his arms, bleeding to death and refusing his help. It terrified him, and he wasn't sure he would have been able to come and save Irene if he hadn't convinced John and Greg to watch over her while he was away.

It was a week after he had gotten back and John was only now telling him what he really wanted to hear, what Molly had been up to.

"Nothing."

"...What do you mean 'Nothing.' She has to be doing something."

"Well... aside from asking someone to come with wherever she goes, she's fine."

"What do you mean... she's never asked me- "

"Yah, well there may be a reason for that Sherlock."

John leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Sherlock really didn't understand. "Greg is with her now. I was with her yesterday and the day before. She also asks alot of her friends from work. I'm not to sure why she hasn't asked you...hmm... maybe it's because she thinks you don't like her."

"What! That's ridiculous. Of course I like her. She's my friend. Why would she think I don't like her?"

"Maybe because you ignored her when she had just had a traumatic experience." Sherlock made to interrupt but John held up his hand in a patently way, the'you better listen the hell up, right now mister.' was implied within it. "I know seeing Moriarty was hard on you, but think how she felt. Still feels. He bloody tortured her, Sherlock! He took what she was and crushed it a hundred times. Think how scared she must have been to cut her own wrist down to the God damn bone! "

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I thought it was a scrape..."

"No scrape could make her lose that much blood, Sherlock. If you actually bothered to go and see her you would see that massive fucking scar."

"...Scar?"

Sherlock watched John with large worried eyes. The piercing blue cutting into him with childish questioning. John had never thought of Sherlock looked more like a little, scared boy then in that moment.

"Sherlock. She is okay. It's just... her mind isn't letting go that easily. She thinks she sees Moriarty and his guards everywhere. She's bloody terrified all the time."

Sherlock sat in his chair a few moments longer, staring deeply into John's eyes, asking what he should do. When John was about to suggest something new Sherlock shot up. He strode over to the door pulling on his coat and scarf. John watched him from the stairs.

"Er...Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"What'chya' doin'?"

"Going to see Molly."

Alarm bells went of inside John's head. "NO, No, no. You can't go now..."

"Why not?"

"She still needs time to heal before she can deal with you!"

"Deal with me? What's that supposed to mean! Plus, it's July, it's been seven months, she had surely had time to heal, like you said, foot healed, cuts are now wounds, yada yada I don't see the problem."

"WELL I SEE THE PROBLEM! "John yelled. Realising he was shouting he lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "You haven't visited her for six of those seven months! You have no idea what she is like now, she jumps at nothing, she screams in her sleep every half hour, until you have to literally shake her awake, she sees her kidnappers bloody everywhere! She does not have the mental stability to deal with your shit right now Sherlock! And, it's what...1:57, so when you get there it's gonna be 2:05. "

John heaved a heavy sigh. Sherlock was looking at him like he was mad. If only he could have heard he screams he would know why he can't go...

"Don't go, Sherlock. She isn't ready yet."

"Then when will she be ready?"

"I don't know. Maybe next week, maybe next month, maybe next year, or two..."

"I can't wait that long. And maybe I can help her. If I promise not to be an arse, will you let me go?"

John pondered for a moment. He nodded slowly. "Fine Sherlock. Go. See if you can help. God save us if you can..."

...

When he arrived at Molly's flat he let himself in with the key he knew she kept under the plant pot. Whe he got inside he walked straight to her bedroom. He opened the door to see Molly lying in her bed, hair spread out over the pillow. One of her friends was stroking her back as she slept. The friend looked up as Sherlock walked in. She placed a finger over her mouth and got up.

The two of them walked into the kitchen, where they started to talk in hushed tones.

"You the replacement?" Molly's friend asked.

"...Yes... I'll take over, you get some rest."

"Thank you, and good luck. Oh, poor girl. She always has been so fragile but that evil man completely broke her." She turned and left, stopping at the front door. "Get ready for a bit of screaming." And closed the door behind her.

"Yes...I've been warned."

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do. He had got there, thinking he would just talk to her and see if she was okay, but sitting in her room, watching her sleep caused him to rethink what he might do.

She looked so small and breakable lying there beneath the sheets. Sherlock felt the strangest desire to protect her. He slowly walked forward and sat down carefully on the bed beside her. She seemed to tiny next to him anyway, but curled up and sleeping caused her to seem so much smaller.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, lost in his mind. He could almost feel the protective bubble that surrounded them. But all of that was shattered when she started to scream. Her screams ripped through his head, filling him with panic. He quickly pulled her into his arms and started to cradle her, trying to comfort her, but she just started to scream louder.

"Molly! Molly wake up!"

She started to stir, struggling against him. Painfully slowly, she woke up, her screams growing quieter. Finally awake, she moved, turning her body. Then she seemed to realise that it wasn't her friend that had put her to bed that was holding her. She started to scream again.

"Molly! Shhh, it's Sherlock! You're okay. He can't get you. I won't let him." Turning hin his arms, she looked up into his face, peering through the darkness. Her eyes glittered with tears, and she started to cry. Sherlock held her as she sobbed into his shirt, the material dampening. It was then that it dawned on him just how much Moriarty had damaged her. He had torn i to her and cut her to pieces. Although everyone had tried to piece her together again, Molly was still missing so much of her old self that she may never be the same.

Sherlock let her cry and pulled her closer. He wasn't sure how long he had sat there holding her but he still remained there long after all the tears had gone, long after she had fallen asleep, and long after the tears had dried on his shirt. He was barley aware of the slow summer sun seeping through the gaps in her curtains. A while later he looked at his watch. Half past five.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. Molly was snuggled against his side. When she had screamed last it was half past two. 'She screams in her sleep every half hour, until you have to literally shake her awake, ' John's voice ran in his mind. It had been three hours since she had last screamed. He pulled Molly's sleeping form closer against his side.

Her hands curled into his shirt and she let out a content sigh. She looked so peaceful. Sherlock thought that she looked so... right sleeping next to him. He looked at his watch again. Molly wouldn't have t obe up for another hour. Should I stay? If I do there will be no doubt an uncomfortable conversation on why he had never come to see how she was getting on, but if he didn't she would most likely wake up terrified. I can't do that to her, not again.

Sherlock sat back against the head board, holding the slumbering woman next to him against his side. He let her steady breathing lull him into his thoughts. Whatever was coming tomorrow he could deal with it if it meant saving her the pain her mind was inflicting on her.

...

Yay! First chapter of the sequel down! This story is mainly going to revolve around Molly's recovery because, I mean, if you were kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath, there is no way you'd leave without some kind of mental damage. Lets just hope, for Molly's sake, that Sherlock will be able to stop mistaking his ass for a hat.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.