Sherlock pushed through doors into the lab at Bart's and then frowned as he looked around. Typically, Molly buzzed back and forth like one of those metal ducks in a carnival shooting game but the room was as quiet as a tomb. Well, quiet save for the whirling vibrations of electronic equipment and the pop and fizz of a fluttering overhead florescent light fixture.

He advanced slowly and spied Molly passed out on a lab bench, her cheek squished against its metal surface. She still gripped a tall, graduated cylinder in one hand while the other rested on the keyboard of her laptop. For the briefest instant, his heart felt as if it were clutched by frostbitten fingers. What had happened to her? Then her lips twitched in her sleep and she snorted before exhaling a heavy breath. His mouth tweaked at the corners. Nothing nefarious had gone on. Molly had just worn herself out. Typical.

Curiosity tugged a thread in the back of Sherlock's mind. What had she been working on this late after her shift was supposed to have ended? He padded nearer, ghosting around the bench until he stood to her right. Carefully, he plucked her hand from her keyboard and moved it off her computer. The display awakened once he swiped at the trackpad.

Her email client was open as well as several document files and the web browser. Everything he read seemed to have something to do with heroin addiction.

He found himself swallowing uncomfortably. He looked down at some notes she had been taking and studies she had printed off. When he glanced at her laptop again, he noticed an Excel spreadsheet open on the desktop tab with the file name SH_project as well as a Word document by that same name. He maximized and quickly perused both. His lips parted in surprise as he realized what he had stumbled upon. Molly appeared to be in the process of developing and testing a chemical variant of Methadone in the hopes it was less addictive with fewer side effects.

And it wasn't a recent pet project either, he surmised as he scanned the dates and times of various experiments in one of the indexes. She had been at it for years. Years.

"Caring is not an advantage."

How empty and pompous that statement seemed right then, and how foolish he felt for ever entertaining it as a concept with merit. Molly was trying to save him from himself, and in the process, she could end up changing countless other lives. His face heated as her humility reduced him to feeling about two inches tall.

She groaned and began to stir. Her head jerked and her features contorted in a grimace. Without giving it another thought, he closed her laptop, slung her bag over his shoulder and scooped her off her stool and up into his arms. He was surprised and a bit disturbed by how light she felt. Molly's eyes blinked open in startled surprise. She clutched him around the neck as he began to stalk towards the exit.

"Sh-Sherlock!" She stammered. "Wh-What are y-you doing? What is happening?"

"To start, we're going to that fish and chips shop I told you about to get something to eat," he grumbled.

"B-But I'm fine," she protested. "I don't need to eat."

"I beg to differ."

"B-But I'm … erm, I'm in the middle of something!"

"It can wait."

Her lips stuck out in a pout. "You don't know that."

Sherlock hiked a brow as he repositioned her in his arms and fumbled with the lab door. Her pushed it the rest of the way open and jostled her back against him more comfortably. Her delicate arms tightened her hold around his neck.

"When will we be back?" She whispered up at him.

He swung her out into the hall and continued in his mission. "We're not returning here tonight. You're coming home to Baker Street with me."

Her brows drew together. "Why? What is it? Is something wrong? What do you need?"

"What do I need?" He inhaled a deep breath. "You, Molly. I need to take care of you for a change."