In the eyes of anyone even remotely sane, Sherlock Holmes was both psychotic, and a complete cold and unfeeling dick. However, it was pretty much safe to exclude Molly Hooper from the "Sane category".
After Sherlock made his return from his 2 year game of playing dead, he realized that she was one of the very few people he could really trust, and though he would never admit it… he liked that idea.
After the Pathologist had given him a few good slaps to the face, he figured it would be a few days until he could explain to her just why he had started his drug use once again. After the whole Magnussen had landed him in deep trouble with the British government, he never made it around to telling her goodbye.
So of course the consulting detective was more than happy when news of Moriarty's return hit London. He didn't have to leave… He had a chance to make things right again.
His first instinct was to ensure what Mycroft said was true; to make sure he wasn't just making this happen to bring Sherlock back. His second instinct- no, priority to ensure the safety of his friends; and as of right then; Molly was up first.
He waited impatiently as the phone rang out once again, immediately putting him through to her voicemail.
"Dammit, she's not answering." Sherlock mumbled to John and Mary. "Sherlock, she works in a hospital. I doubt she's aloud to have her phone on." Mary said calmingly. "It's on and it's ringing out." He snapped.
John shook his head. "Look, Sherlock, right now we haven't a clue what's going on, and it would be to everyone's benefit if you were to just calm down." "Don't talk to me like I'm your child, John, if Moriarty isn't back then it's someone from his network that I must have missed, which means he's watching and he knows she helped me fake my death. She's in danger, John."
"You can't possibly know that." Mary chimed in, "You do forget that she's quite angry with you because she still thinks you relapsed into your drug habits. That could be why she hasn't answered yet."
Sherlock sat in silence staring out the window, not knowing where else to look for the rest of the longest ride to Bart's he's ever had to sit through. When he finally made it to Bart's, he dashed for the lab without a second's hesitation. He found her sitting in the wooden stool next to the microscope staring off into space.
"Molly!" He called, snapping her out of her reverie. "Sherlock, what's happening?" she asked; fear plaguing her voice. "I don't know yet. I just got back, are you alright?" he panted.
She nodded slowly. "Back from where, exactly?" She asked finally. "Long story short, Magnussen is no longer an issue." He smiled. "And the drugs?" She asked. "All for a case, I assure you."
She pointed towards the computer monitor. "What about him?" she asked. "Like I said, I have no idea."
Molly stared at the man in front of her. "You have no idea? One of the most dangerous criminals you've ever gone up against threatens to murder 3 of your closest friends, shoots himself in the head, and tries to have you killed, but not before…"
At this point, Sherlock had enough. He closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands and smashing his lips to hers. At first she stiffened with shock, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she reached up and slipped her arms around his neck.
For a while they just stood there, holding and kissing one another. They would have continued further, only if John hadn't walked in.
For a few moments, the army doctor stood and stared at the two, who were still within one another's embrace. "Right. Everything is okay now so I'll just leave you to it." He said, turning towards the door.
After the door shut behind him, the pair both giggled to themselves, and then stood there as they stared at one another in silence, still panting.
6 MONTHS LATER
Sherlock walked around the flat, frantically looking for his purple button-down shirt which he'd thrown somewhere in the flat after he got home from a rather lengthy case.
"Sherlock, don't be late getting into Scotland Yard today!" Molly called from the bathroom of 221B. She walked into the bedroom to see why it was so important that he find that specific shirt at that specific moment in time.
"Sherlock why don't you just wear-" She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of his bare back; completely covered in scars. "Sherlock, what the hell happened?" she breathed.
Sherlock gave her a confused sideways glance, "What?"
"Your back is covered in scars! When did that happen?" "Molly this happened ages ago, please calm down." He replied with a sigh.
She stepped forwards and placed a hand on his back. "Gosh, Sherlock, these were such deep wounds. Why didn't you just come to me?" she continued. "This happened days before I returned to London. I was caught and tortured in Serbia until Mycroft decided to step in and pull me out. Like I said, it's ancient history." He insisted.
Molly made him turn to look her in the eye. "Sherlock, you were tortured, and you didn't tell me?"
Sherlock knew she was worried, and, even if he really was fine with the whole issue, he hated seeing her worry over him. John and Mrs. Hudson did that bit perfectly well on their own.
"Molly. I. Am. Fine. If I needed anything, you know you would be the one I would go to." He said, pulling her closer to his bare chest. "Swear to me." She mumbled to him.
Sherlock looked down at her. His Pathologist. He liked the sound of that very much.
"Promise."
Authors Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review telling me what you think! :)