"Please God - no," Molly whispered, burying her face in her hands as Mike's words of a few moments before reverberated in her head.

"I have some bad news. Sherlock was rushed to the emergency room last night."

She looked up, steeling herself for the worst. "Was it- was it the drugs? Did he...overdose?"

Mike looked back at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Drugs? What on earth are you talking about, Molly? Of course it wasn't drugs. It was a gunshot wound to the chest."

Molly's head spun dizzily. She didn't know if that was better or worse than her first thought. She put her hands to her mouth and inhaled sharply, then tried to compose herself. "Is he...is he...dead?" She blinked back tears, sure the answer would be in the affirmative.

Mike laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Oh, God, Molly, I didn't intend to frighten you this way." Relief washed over her at his next words. "He's not dead, although it's a bloody miracle he's not, after being struck in the chest that way from close range.."

Molly stared up at Mike. "What happened? Who shot him? Is he going to be okay? Can I see him?" The questions came out of her mouth at lightning speed, and Mike held out a hand to stay her verbal assault.

"Calm down, Molly, and let me explain. I'll tell you what I know. Sherlock was rushed to the hospital last night with a gunshot wound to the chest from an unknown assailant. Apparently he was somewhere he shouldn't have been, broke into the offices of newspaperman Charles Magnussen. It seems he disturbed a robbery in progress, and the burglar panicked, shot Sherlock and escaped."

Molly listened, her anguish evident on her face as Mike continued.

"Anyway, Sherlock was immediately rushed into surgery and the bullet was extracted. He's in the ICU right now."

Molly twisted her fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking "Will he...will he be okay?" She could not stop her lips from trembling as she spoke.

"Yes, he shouod recover." Mike suddenly gave Molly an assessing look. "I know you and Sherlock have a friendship that goes back a long way, which is why I'm telling you, but I suspect there's more here than concern over a friend."

Molly looked down, as she felt colour creeping into her face.

His voice was gentle as he went on, "I heard that you recently broke off your engagement. Was it because of him - Sherlock I mean? I know you had a bit of a thing for him a few years ago." Then he added hastily, "Sorry, that was completely out of line. It is none of my business, and I should not pry into your personal affairs."

Molly looked up at him again, with eyes that were blurred with tears. "If anything happened to him, I don't know what I do. I'm a mess as it is. But it's fine, I'm just happy to be his friend, and to be there for him in whatever capacity he needs."

"He's lucky to have you in his life. I hope one day he's smart enough to realise that, and to appreciate you as he should. You've softened his edges over the past few years as it is. I think he needs you more than you know, more than he realises himself, actually." Then he seemed to suddenly recall her words from earlier. "Anyway, what would possibly make you think Sherlock could have overdosed on drugs? I'm not aware of him having any kind of problem with drug addiction. If he has a drug habit, he's kept it hidden very well."

"Well, he was here yesterday at John's insistence and failed a drug test." Molly raised a hand to her face to wipe away a tear that had escaped. "Apparently he's been 'manufacturing' a drug habit to get someone's attention. I suppose it was this Magnussen man you just spoke of. So when you told me Sherlock had been rushed to hospital, I just assumed he'd gone overboard and overdosed."

Mike looked at her sympathetically. "I do apologise for frightening you that way. I had no idea."

Molly brushed away several more tears. "It's okay, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions either. Do you…do you think I can go and see him, make sure for myself that he's going to be okay?"

"Of course you can. I know this is a shock for you. Look, there are no post-mortems scheduled for today and I think we could manage without you if you want to take the rest of the day off." His voice was kind. Mike had always been a good supervisor, and he was well liked by all of the staff.

She nodded. "Thanks Mike, I think I'll do that."

She left his office and went to her locker, hanging up her lab coat and pulling out her handbag. Then she went downstairs and inquired at the ICU registration desk about the number of Sherlock's room.

Upon being furnished with the information, she went to the room and entered quietly, dropping her handbag just inside the door. Her heart nearly stopped at the sight that met her eyes. Sherlock looked so still and pale, and she had to take a look at the heart monitor to reassure herself that he was actually alive. There was a blood pressure cuff on his arm which automatically inflated every half hour to take a new reading. There was a cannula in his nose giving him oxygen and he was hooked up to an IV. A large gauze bandage covered the site of the bullet wound.

She stepped slowly towards the bed, looking at the unconscious figure of the man she had loved for years. What the hell were you thinking, Sherlock? What were you doing, breaking in somewhere illegally?

Reaching the bed, she took a closer look at the bandage. It really was a miracle the bullet had missed his major organs. Even bearing that in mind, it was a miracle he had survived at all. She swallowed, hard.

Her fingertips brushed along his hand, lying so still on the bed next to him. Such long fingers, she thought. On impulse she bent down and picked up the hand, resting his palm against her cheek. Oh yes, his hand and long fingers practically engulfed her face and the side of her head. What would it feel like if he were to touch me like that and kiss me? she wondered.

It was strange, being in such close proximity to Sherlock, being able to touch him this way. Sherlock was so careful to not touch her, to not invade her personal space as it were. On the odd occasion where they had been working together for a case, either in the lab or in the morgue, and his hand had inadvertently brushed hers, he would flinch and pull back, with a muttered, "Sorry," as if she would be offended by his touch. In actuality, the reverse was true. His touch warmed her skin in a way that felt comforting.

On those two occasions in which he had actually pressed his lips gently to her cheek, she had felt the warmth again and longed for more.

Sherlock's hand twitched slightly and she hastily laid it back on the bed. Then she stepped a little closer to his face, gazing down on it, seeing how the slight crinkles at the sides of his eyes were softened in repose. She reached her hand up to brush back the curls of his forehead, leaning down to press a kiss on to the skin. Oh, how she longed to take care of him. Her heart was almost bursting with the desire to be the one who would care for him always.

She straightened and feasted her eyes upon him for some time, enjoying the unprecedented opportunity to just stare at him, memorise every feature. What was it about this man that drew her inexplicably to him? She was hopelessly entangled in his web, would always be.

She glanced back up at the heart monitor, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Then she turned to go.

She took two steps towards the door then stopped, and turned back towards him. Surely one tiny little kiss wouldn't hurt him? He would never know, after all. She returned to the bed and bent down, saying softly, "I love you."

Then slowly, hesitatingly she pressed her lips against his, feeling again that familiar sensation of warmth spreading through her. His mouth moved and she hastily drew back, flustered, after which she distinctly heard him say, "Not now, Janine."

Janine? Who the hell is Janine? she wondered in confusion.

Sherlock said no more and she knew he had returned to unconsciousness, but she quickly retrieved her handbag and left the room.

As she took the Tube home, his words continued to ring in her head - 'Not now, Janine.' Molly choked back a sob, even as several fellow Tube passengers glanced at her. Apparently Sherlock had a girlfriend she was not aware of. Why else would he say something like that when their lips had met? She hadn't seen him in the past month, discounting when she had administered the drug test the previous day.

As soon as she arrived home, she dropped her handbag, went into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and threw herself on her bed. All the anguish of the past couple of hours washed over her and she sobbed, finally allowing her misery to consume her.

She cried not only for the fact that the man she loved had been seriously wounded and had almost died, but also for the fact that despite his assertion that sentiment was a chemical defect, he seemed to have changed his mind and found a woman, a woman who was not her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Molly, as she tried to deal with her roiling emotions and her jealousy over the other woman who had somehow managed to capture Sherlock's attention. It wasn't so bad dealing with his indifference when she knew it extended to all women. But knowing that someone besides her had found a place in his heart, hurt like hell. Why couldn't it be me? she asked herself silently, in an agony of torment.

She dragged herself through the motions of eating and showering, then fell into an exhausted sleep that night.

As usually happened, when Molly woke, she was in a better frame of mind. She determined to visit Sherlock on her lunch break and demand who this 'Janine' woman was. She would do it in a nice way, of course. She just had to know, though. She would have to wait until Sherlock was conscious, though. Hopefully by now he would be awake and in a different hospital room.

When Molly got to the hospital, the first place she visited was the ICU, before starting work. To her relief, she discovered that Sherlock was now conscious and alert, and had been transferred the previous evening to a regular hospital room. She decided that she would visit him during her lunch break.

As the morning progressed, Molly forced herself to concentrate on her work, rather than Sherlock. Fortunately, she had a rather complicated post-mortem to perform, which took several hours. By the time she was done with it and glanced at the clock, she saw it was time for her to take her lunch break.

Not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, Molly purchased a bag of her favourite smoky bacon crisps from a vending machine and ate them as she made her way to Sherlock's hospital room. As she ate, she remembered the way Sherlock had provided a rather inadequate lunch of Quavers for her years earlier when he had needed her help during a kidnapping case. That day had occurred just before he had been falsely discredited and she had later helped him fake his death. The details of the whole day were still burned indelibly in her mind.

Molly tossed the empty bag in a rubbish bin close to his room, then her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted an unfamiliar dark-haired woman exiting it. The woman looked vaguely familiar to her.

Where have I seen her before? she mused, watching as the woman strode down the corridor in the opposite direction. Was this the girlfriend, then? She felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought.

Molly reached the door of the hospital room and knocked.

"Did you forget something, Janine - like these newspapers?" came a disgruntled voice from inside the room.

So, that had been Janine, the mysterious girlfriend. Molly suddenly remembered where she had seen her. She had been the chief bridesmaid at John and Mary's wedding, and she had seemed to cling to Sherlock a bit. Molly tried to fight the feelings of jealousy that welled up in her as she opened the door hesitantly.

"Sorry, not Janine, just Molly." She glanced at the bed on which several newspapers lay, newspapers that Sherlock was frantically and unsuccessfully trying to retrieve. It was too late though, she had seen the headlines.

'7 times a night in Baker Street.'

'He made me wear the hat.'

'Shag-a-lot Holmes.'

Don't cry, Molly, she ordered herself fiercely, silently. Painting on a bright smile, she greeted him with, "Glad to see you're awake today."

She walked over to the bed and picked up the offending papers, putting them together neatly and handing them to him.

He took them and looked up at her. "It's not what you think, Molly."

She shrugged. "It's none of my business that you suddenly found yourself a girlfriend after all these years of asserting that most human beings suffer from chemical defects because they allow themselves to fall in love. She must be very special, Sherlock." She couldn't help the acid note that crept into her voice, try as she might to disguise it with indifference.

He looked at her steadily. "Janine and I are not together." Then he amended it with, "Well, not anymore."

She raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "Really? I suppose she's moving on now that you're not in any condition to have sex with her seven times a night." she tried, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the hard, bitter tone from her voice. She had no right to judge him for his actions, after all.

Sherlock flushed. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in the tabloids," he said tersely.

Molly folded her arms and tilted her head in a considering manner. "What - are you trying to say you weren't sleeping with her?"

Sherlock's hands were clenched around the newspaper articles. "Well, no.." he began, but Molly cut him off.

Anger she had no right to feel was welling up within her, and she dug her nails into her skin as she tried to keep her composure. "Whatever, Sherlock. Whether it's seven times a night, once a night or once a week doesn't really matter." All of a sudden the anger she felt faded away, and her eyes blurred with tears. She turned away from him and tried to keep her breathing even as several tears escaped. Dammit, she thought miserably to herself. I thought I'd cried myself out yesterday. She tried to control the wobble in her voice, keeping her back turned. "I can't deal with this right now. I'll see you later."

she made a move towards the door but Sherlock's voice arrested her.

"Please, Molly, listen to me. It's not what you think." There was a pleading note in his voice that she had never heard before. Sherlock Holmes never pleaded with anyone. Sherlock Holmes was always in control of himself.

She hesitated, keeping her back to him, surreptitiously reaching fora tissue from her trouser pocket and quickly dabbing at her eyes. She really wanted to sniffle, but that would most definitely alert Sherlock to the fact she was crying. In a low tone she asked, "It's not?"

"No, it's not. Janine and I, well, we slept in the same bed a couple times but that's all. Those tabloids were a fabrication she made up to get back at me for using her. I swear to you, we never slept together, at least not in the way you are thinking. In fact," here she heard his quick inhalation of breath, "I've never been with a woman in that way. The thought of intimacy frightens the hell out of me. I don't think I'm capable of it."

Molly still stood silently, blinking in astonishment. Was he telling the truth? Sherlock had always been good at manipulating her when he needed her. But this was different. He sounded sincere, and he had also said he had been using Janine.

"Please, Molly. Come back and sit down on the bed so we can talk."

That's twice he has said please, she noted internally. She still couldn't look at him but she edged back towards the bed and gingerly sat on the side of it, keeping her face averted from him. Her tissue was still wadded up in her hand and she would have very much liked to wipe her face again, but Sherlock would notice for sure if she did that. She sighed and spoke again. "I'm listening."

He groaned suddenly and involuntarily her head whipped around to look at him in concern. "What is it, Sherlock?" she asked anxiously. "Do you need me to call for a doctor?"

He groaned again. "No," he uttered. "I turned off the morphine tap. Trying to wean myself off...the drugs."

Despite herself, Molly was impressed. He must be in excruciating pain. Bearing that in mind, she knew this was no time for a serious discussion. He needed his rest. "Look, Sherlock. You don't need to explain. Especially not now. You need to rest and get well. There's plenty of time for us to talk later if you want to tell me what has been going on with you."

Sherlock dropped the newspapers which he had still been holding, and he grasped her hand which was still clenched around the darn tissue, squeezing it gently. "Very well. When we do talk though, I want you to tell me why you've been crying."

She did sniffle then, there was no point in trying to hide it anymore, seeing as she had turned her head towards him. "It has just been a stressful couple of days, that's all," she hedged, pulling her hand free so she could use the tissue again. Then she stood once more. "I'll come and see you tomorrow."

With that, she bent her head and kissed his cheek. After all, wasn't that what friends did?

He seemed a little surprised but not at all uncomfortable with her affectionate gesture. "Tomorrow then," he agreed.

Unfortunately, the following day he was gone.

Author's note: Okay, so this story began at around the same time as the Sherlock dream I just finished publishing. I'd really be interested in seeing which one you like better. This time we get to see a Molly-centric story and a slightly different sequence of events following Sherlock's shooting. Are you intrigued so far?

I've tried to put myself in Molly's shoes, think about how devastating it must have been for her to hear about the shooting of the man she has always loved, and for her to have thought at first maybe it was a drug overdose. Can you imagine how awful it must have been for our lovely heroine?