A/N: Hello all, and welcome to my attempt at the 30 day OTP challenge. I will be using the Sherlock/Molly pairing :) However, due to exams, it won't actually be over 30 consecutive days, rather just whenever I have time, but I will aim to complete it by summer.

I aim to keep this chronological, and so the first prompt starts with an unestablished relationship.

Thanks for reading, please leave a review :)

"It's fine John, you should go home and get some sleep. You've been here for over five hours," Molly said, raising her voice over his protestations.

It was the day after the shooting at Magnussen's office. Sherlock had not yet woken after being operated on, and John seemed determined to stay until he did. Mary had fallen asleep in a chair in the corridor, and Molly was now arguing on her behalf for John and Mary to return home, whilst Molly stayed at the hospital.

Finally, John seemed to concede. "Ok, but you have to phone me as soon as he wakes up," he said, before giving Molly a hug. "Thanks for staying Molls."

An hour later, Molly was sat in a plastic chair next to Sherlock, who remained unconscious, hooked up to a morphine drip. "Oh, Sherlock, why do you always have to get into these situations?" Molly murmured, brushing a stray black curl from his forehead. Seeing Sherlock look so vulnerable made her feel helpless, and reminded her of when he came to her for help to defeat Moriarty.

Taking his hand, almost to comfort herself, Molly pulled her chair closer to the bed. She thought back to that day, when Sherlock 'died.'

"What do you need?" she had asked. "You," had been the simple reply, and she had known then and there that she would do anything for her consulting detective, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous it seemed. She only wished she could be of more help now, able to do more than just sit and wait.

As the hours passed, Molly found herself struggling to stay awake, and gradually succumbed to the exhaustion that washed over her.

Later that day, as the sun began to set, Sherlock woke, squinting as he adjusted to his surroundings. Still drowsy from the morphine drip, several half-formed deductions passed through his brain. "Additional weight...warm left hand...hair in face," he thought, attempting to process his current situation. As his thoughts came into focus, and he fully awoke, he made the surprisingly pleasant deduction that Molly Hooper was lying across him, asleep, her petite hand in his.

Unwilling to wake her and end this encounter, Sherlock gently shifted in an attempt to be able to better gaze at his pathologist in the fading light. Suddenly, a burst of pain shot across his chest, causing him to flinch, waking the pathologist with a start.

"Sherlock? I'm so sorry! I – I must've fallen asleep!" she began to stutter, a deep red blush spreading across her cheeks as she went to move back from the bed. Before she could, however, his hand tightened around hers. "Don't," Sherlock said, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. Then, his uncharacteristic display of affection seemed to fully register with him. "I mean, please remain as you were. I found it, um, acceptable," he said, a hint of blush beginning to colour his cheekbones.

Smiling, his confession seeming to embolden her, Molly shuffled closer to the bed again, her hand still in Sherlock's. "So did I," she said, kissing him lightly, and snuggling closer to him.

And that was how John came to find them two hours later, both asleep, hands still entwined.