A/N: Arguing with my best friends is very detrimental for my mental processes. I have no idea what the hell just happened here. I love Sam, I really do. Please don't hate me for this!

Warning: References to non-con. Angst and hurt comfort abound. Remind me never to get into a fight with my friends again, okay? This literally made my brain bleed.

She couldn't move, his arms caging her in as he loomed over her. She was paralyzed, her breathe hitching up as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. Her body shivered traitorously and she could feel him smile.

"Miss me, Molly?" He whispered, and her heart stuttered.

"You're supposed to be dead." She said, keeping the mutinous joy in her heart at him being not dead and letting the utter disbelief and fear creep into her voice.

He pulled back enough for her to see the gleam of his teeth in the moonlight.

(Her back was starting to hurt, being pressed into the bookshelf like that) "Shows how much you know, eh Molls?"

"Dean…Does Dean know?"

The mention of his brother made him back further, and a flash of hurt crossed his face. She could have pushed him away now, no matter how muscular he was, but the look on his face, a look that took her back nearly 15 years, when they were young-he was visiting uncle Bobby, they were on a walk and she had accidentally mentioned his mother- "I haven't been able to go see him yet. I wanted to see you first, Molls. I haven't seen you in ages. You barely visit anymore." He closed the distance between them once more.

One of his hands traced the contours of her body before gripping her hip painfully hard.

She winced but tried to summon all of her courage ;( fight, fight, you bloody arse! Her brain was screaming, but why wasn't she?) asking tentatively, "So you decided to cross the A-Atlantic just to see me…?"

"Oh, yes. You are very special to me, ya know Molls? I had quite a crush on when we were kids." He came even closer, his mouth nearing hers; they were breathing the same air.

Panic settled in, "Sam…please, don't-" She put her hands on his chest, attempting to push him away. What she felt-or didn't feel for that matter- made her heart stop and her blood ran cold.

Sam smiled a feral smile that did not suit him. He leaned closer, easily overcoming her limp hands and nipping a path down the column of her throat.

She seemed to regain her senses, her body wriggling helplessly against this…this monster. He was stronger than her, always was stronger than her, she couldn't fight him.

"Sammy…Sam, or whatever you are…please, I'm Molly…Don't do this…Stop…"

He silenced her by mashing his mouth to hers.

She didn't realize she was screaming until she heard the door crash open with a bang. Attempting to untangle herself from her bedclothes, her heart almost stopping again at the sigh of the tall man wearing clothes too loose on him skid to a stop in front of her; she couldn't help it, she screamed again.

"Molly! Molly, it's me!"

A different voice now. Familiar and deep and it always gave her a warm feeling, no matter what cruel thing it was saying at that time.

She blinked tears out of her eyes. Sherlock…It was Sherlock. Memories from yesterday came flooding back, overcoming her nightmare. Jim…The papers saying horrible things about Sherlock she didn't believe a bit…Sherlock saying he needed her…the fall…

She reached up and grabbed his t-shirt (An old one of Sam's…no, she refused to think…)

and pulled him onto her bed, flinging her arms around his torso, attempting to burrow herself in his warmth…his delicious smell. She felt him stiffen, but she couldn't care less; for all intents and purposes she knew that if she had her senses about her she would have melted into an embarrassed puddle.

Her heart lifted when she felt him tentatively wrap his arms around her, rubbing small circles on her back. It felt a bit clinical, as if he was just following instructions on what to do. After a while, he made to move away, but she held him tighter.

"Molly…I…"

"Stay here with me tonight…please…please."

He acquiesced a bit hesitantly and lay down next to her on the bed. He didn't really mind, Molly's bed was miles better than her IKEA nightmare of a couch; but a nagging feeling was there at the back of his mind- Sherlock Holmes did not like being touched or hugged and he certainly did not sleep with someone in his arms. So why wasn't he resisting?

It was the Fall...Molly had kept him grounded. Molly had saved him. It was the least he could do: she obviously had had a nightmare and required his presence to keep herself from panicking.

Maybe he could do that. (The caring lark was scaring him…It had started with Jo-the doctor…now it was expanding to include more people…Caring was not an advantage…)

He was distracted from his line of thought when Molly spoke up from somewhere above his heart, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm…?" Why was he holding her by the waist?

She reached up and placed a shy kiss on his lips. "Thank you. For staying."

Sherlock felt a sudden alien sensation on his chest and was shocked to discover it was actual fondness for the petite pathologist in his arms.

What the hell did I just write? I'm sorry. So truly sorry. I'm a sap. NoveraDeMedeci, please, hit me on the head with your violin. And then electrocute me for not writing chapter 8 like you told me to.

Um…Review?

Love,

Adi x