Molly climbed into bed not caring how early it was. She lay back on the pillow and stared into the darkness. Some co-workers had invited her to the pub with them, but the last thing she wanted right now was to be around other people. It had been the worst day. Word had spread around the hospital about her confrontation with Sherlock and all day long Molly had heard whispers behind her back. A few people had even seemed congratulatory as though they would have liked to slap Sherlock at various times in their dealings with him. She had spent the rest of the day trying to distract herself with work and avoiding conversations. Thankfully, she had a stack of paperwork that had been piling up on her desk, so she shut herself in her office until she was needed in the morgue. At the end of the day, all she wanted to do was go home and be alone. She thought she would have felt better after taking out her anger, but she didn't. She just felt empty. Sherlock had texted multiple "sorry" messages and had tried calling her, but she didn't answer and deleted the voice mail. It felt too soon. She needed time to gather her thoughts before speaking with him or she feared she would get angry all over again. Once her rage had subsided, she couldn't stop thinking about that look on Sherlock's face. Was it regret? He had accepted his punishment as if he had been waiting for it. The texts he had sent proved that had felt guilty and wanted to apologize. Once things calmed down she planned on having a long discussion with him. They needed to get everything out in the open.

With this bit of reassurance, Molly managed to drift to sleep only to wake up an hour later with a strange sensation. A feeling of dread had suddenly taken a hold of her and burned like a hole in her chest. She felt panic creep up the back her throat and tried to swallow to force it back down. Perhaps she had been having a nightmare, but she didn't remember any specific aspect of a dream. The feeling was not going away even though she was now fully awake. Toby usually slept at the end of her bed, but tonight he had moved close to her as though he could sense something was wrong too. Lying still for a long time, she tried to figure out what was causing this feeling. When nothing came to mind, she got up and walked around the flat. Nothing seemed amiss. There were no intruders. Her flat wasn't on fire. She looked out the window only to see that everything on the street was calm. She tried to relax by doing some yoga stretches and breathing exercises, but the feeling remained.

Something was wrong. But what was it?

Molly felt a sudden desire to hear Sherlock's voice. She needed to hear that familiar baritone tell her that nothing was wrong, that she was imagining things. Perhaps the stress resulting from their conversation was causing these feelings. She may still be angry with him, but maybe they could talk about it. Her anger didn't cause the love she had for him to disappear.

Molly went back to her room for her phone. The call went to his voice mail. It was still early, only around 10:00. Surely he would still be awake. She knew he often stayed up late due to some after midnight phone calls she had received from him in the past. She tried his number again. Still voice mail. She sent a text: Need to talk. Call me. - Molly. No calls came so she climbed back into her bed with her phone and waited. Twenty minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two hours. Sherlock never took this long to reply.

Molly tried to shake off the feeling that the panic she felt was somehow connected to his sudden absence. Sherlock was just busy with his case and she was just stressed from the day's events. She tried closing her eyes again, but she couldn't get rid of the lump in her throat. Something was off. Where was Sherlock? Eventually, she drifted back to sleep.

Her phone woke her. The alarm clock read 2:25. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand expecting to see Sherlock's name, but it wasn't him calling. It was John. Her heart thudded in her chest. John didn't usually call unless something was wrong, like the previous morning.

"Hello? Molly?" His voice sounded far away.

"John, what's the matter?"

"Molly…I don't know how to tell you…Sherlock's been shot…"

Molly gasped, the panic feeling intensified.

"He just got out of surgery. He's doing better than the doctors originally thought. They think he's going to make a full recovery, but he's going to be kept sedated for a day or two." John sounded like he was in shock as well. He spoke in stilted sentences like he was trying to come to terms with what just happened to his best friend.

"Where are you?"

"St. Thomas'."

"I'll be there soon."

"Remember he's not going to be awake…"

"I know. I still want to be there."

"Molly…He's strong. He'll make it through this." John's voice slightly faltered. He sounded as if he was trying to soothe himself just as much as her.

"I know."

She grabbed a jacket and ran out the door, not even bothering to change out of her pyjamas.

Despite the lateness of the hour, she managed to quickly hail a cab. Jumping in to the back, she told the driver to hurry and anxiously peered out the window. She stared blindly at the sights of London that passed her by. Her only thoughts were focused on the condition of the man she loved that awaited her at the hospital.


John was waiting for her at the emergency room entrance. His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead was wrinkled with worry. A cloud of anxious energy hung about him, but he looked relieved to see a familiar face. Molly couldn't help but give him a quick hug when she saw his forlorn appearance. He informed her that Sherlock was being placed in a room in the ICU. They sat down to wait in stiff plastic chairs. Moments of silence passed between them as they gathered their thoughts, both still in shock at the day's events. John's phone broke the quiet with a text from Mary. He explained to Molly that she had been out of town for a night and she had just seen the message John had sent regarding Sherlock.

After taking a deep breath, John began to tell Molly about what had transpired. They had entered Magnussen's office and found Janine and a security guard knocked unconscious. Sherlock suspected that someone else had been there before them because he picked up the scent of a certain brand of perfume. Sherlock went into Magnussen's office while John stood guard outside. John waited a few minutes before entering and found Magnussen knocked out and Sherlock lying on his back, bleeding from his chest with a gunshot wound. There was no gun to be found so whoever had been in the office with them had shot Sherlock and managed to leave before John entered. He called 999, but the ambulance arrived only minutes later. Someone else had alerted them first.

After waiting an hour, at last a nurse came to bring them to Sherlock.

Molly tried to keep her emotions in check, but her breath caught in her throat upon seeing him lying in the hospital bed. He was hooked up to various machines, oxygen, IV, and a heart monitor. The heart monitor was beeping steadily letting them know he was stable, at least for the time being. Molly swallowed the fear in her throat and went to the side of the bed to hold Sherlock's hand. It was cool to the touch, but his steady pulse gave her some comfort. John cleared his throat nervously as he stood next to her.

They sat down in chairs near the bed and silently watched Sherlock, almost as if they were waiting for him to speak first even though they knew he couldn't. It seemed odd to be in Sherlock's presence without hearing his constant chatter. Molly was about to ask John what the doctors had said, but when she looked over at him she saw he was nodding off in his chair. It had been a hell of a night for him and his body needed rest.

"John" she said nudging him awake. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. I'll stay with him. You've had a rough night."

John looked like he was about to protest, but he was too exhausted.

"I call you if anything happens. Promise."

He nodded and stumbled out the door with one last worried look back at Sherlock and Molly.

When John left, Molly felt all her emotions suddenly return. She had buried them due to the initial shock and trying to stay strong for John, but now, being alone in the room with him made it all real. Her eyes flooded with tears and this time she didn't try to fight them. She dragged a chair to the side of his bed and rested her forehead on his side of his thigh while holding his hand in both of hers. She allowed herself to release all of the tension she had been holding on to since morning. All of the anger, frustration, sadness, and ache that had built up within her was finally let go. The thought of her last conversation with him made her squeeze his hand tighter. She cried until there was nothing left and fell asleep in utter exhaustion.


"Molly?" A nudge on her shoulder awoke her. Bleary-eyed she looked up and saw John standing by her side, holding out a cup a coffee.

"Oh, thanks." She said, sitting up too quickly causing a pain to shoot down her spine. Her sleeping position had given her a stiff back and a headache. The hot coffee helped bring some relief, terrible tasting as it was. After years of drinking it, hospital coffee was a familiar taste and was oddly comforting.

John was looking at her funny. He had found her sleeping with her head on Sherlock's leg and could probably tell she'd been crying due to her swollen, puffy eyes. But whatever he was thinking, he didn't reveal.

"So any changes?"

"No." She looked at Sherlock. He looked exactly the same as the night before, the heart monitor was still beeping, and he was still breathing steadily.

"I think it's my turn to tell you to go home and get some real sleep. I talked to the nurses and they said they are keeping him under sedation for at least the rest of today. I'll stay with him, and Mary's coming by later. She just got home."

Molly started to nod, but a sharp pain in her head made her grimace.

"Molly, don't worry. I'll call you the second anything happens. I've already called Mike Stamford and let him know what's going on with Sherlock. He told me to tell you not to bother going to work today." John put a friendly hand on her shoulder and gave her an earnest smile. The sleep had rejuvenated him. She wondered what John could see in her eyes with a clear mind. John was now aware of Janine being part of the case, but she was fairly sure he didn't know anything about Sherlock's arrangement of staying in her flat when Janine was at Baker Street. He had been on his honeymoon for most of it and made no indication that he was in on the secret.

Molly stood up to leave and took one last look at Sherlock. She was used to hospitals, but actually seeing someone she cared about in one was overwhelming. It brought back memories of her father's last days, which was not a time that she enjoyed reliving. Sherlock looked so innocent and peaceful, the opposite of his usual self. Her heart broke when she thought of what he had gone through. It showed just how dangerous his job really was.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned over him, standing on her tiptoes, and gently placed a kiss on his forehead. As she stood for a minute hovering over his face, she silently prayed that he would make a full recovery. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she felt his hand twitch ever so slightly against her own. She gave his hand a squeeze in return, hoping there was some way he could feel it and know that there were people who cared for him.

"I'm here for you, Sherlock. Don't ever forget that." She whispered softly in his ear.

Timidly, she looked over at John wondering if he had heard. But John had turned towards the window, giving her privacy, and she couldn't read his face.

Surely, John knew. It didn't take much deducing to see how Molly felt about Sherlock. It was surely written all over her face. Love.


Outside the blinding sun only increased the throbbing in her head. Her phone said it was 11:40. She hailed a cab and saw a text from Mike Stamford telling her to get some rest. As tired and sore as she was, she had been looking forward to the distraction of work. It would have been nice to give her mind something else to focus on instead of going to an empty flat.

Molly arrived home and collapsed on the sofa. She didn't even have the strength to make it to her bedroom. Toby was more than happy to snuggle with her and she buried her face in his soft fur.

The next few days passed unremarkably. John had called her the following day to say that Sherlock had woken up and seemed to be his usual, chatty self, although the painkillers made him somewhat incoherent. Molly decided she would wait to visit him. She didn't want to be another emotional mess, especially if he was awake to see it. The next day came and went and she decided she still wasn't ready to face him. Then the next day passed.

Molly had resumed her routine of going to work and coming home with the addition of frequent check-ins with John. He had understood that she couldn't see him yet, although there was a touch of surprise in his voice. Molly couldn't explain the feeling except that she just wasn't ready.

On his fourth day in the hospital, Sherlock texted her: Molly, I need you. -SH

If she was being summoned, then it must be something important. She took off a few hours early from work and went straight to the hospital.

Sherlock was sitting up in bed, still hooked up to the heart monitor and an IV, but minus the oxygen. He looked weak, but some of the color had returned to his cheeks. She stood nervously in the doorway making brief eye contact with him before she entered the room. He smiled at her, which helped relieve some of the tension she felt.

"So I hear from John that I didn't spend the first night alone." Leave it to Sherlock to cut to the chase.

"Yes. I'm sorry I haven't been to visit since. I just…I couldn't…." She didn't know if she wanted to open up to him while he was still healing.

Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss her apology. "I don't blame anyone who doesn't want to come to these awful places. Working in one is one thing, but staying in one with meddling nurses is another."

He paused. "Molly, I'm the one who needs to apologize. The way I treated you that day…" He shook his head. "You were right. We were working on that case together. When I woke up that morning in your flat, I panicked. I had never found myself in that…position before. It was…nice and that scared me." He seemed to be grasping for the right words. "And I'm sorry for that comment about your engagement. I was very rude to you that day. I hadn't planned on using drugs, but after our argument I just felt…alone. I'm sorry."

Molly felt her cheeks blush.

"I have a problem with sabotaging my relationships." He gazed at her, looking sad. "Speaking of which…" He gestured towards his lap which was covered with various newspapers.

Molly walked over to the side of the bed and noticed the headline on one of the papers. 7 Times a Night in Baker Street. She grabbed the paper to make sure she was reading it correctly.

"Yes, well, let's just say Janine was not too pleased when she found out the truth."

"It appears that she got her revenge and I can't say I blame her, Sherlock."

He smiled. "Yes. The proposal…"

"Proposal? Sherlock, don't tell me you proposed!" So this was part of the plan that he hadn't wanted her to know about either.

"Well, I had to get her to let me into the office somehow." He pouted.

"Oh, Sherlock..." Molly couldn't believe what he'd done. She felt bad for Janine.

"Unfortunately, I can't worry about that now. Molly, I need you."

"Sure. What is it?" She figured he needed her to fetch something from Baker Street.

"I need you to help me break out of here."

She blinked. "What?"

He repeated the words, straight-faced. It wasn't a joke.

"But…why?"

"It's a little complicated to explain, but there's a good reason I promise. Now, I need you to distract the nurses while I…"

"Wait, Sherlock, what is going on? You just got shot a few days ago. You're recovering from surgery. Your body's been through major trauma. Do you need me to keep listing reasons why this is a bad idea?"

"Molly, I'm perfectly capable." He sat up straighter and immediately clutched his side, grimacing in pain. "Anyways, it's necessary that I leave at once. I heard John say he was bringing by Lestrade later tonight and I need to be gone before they arrive."

Molly couldn't believe this. Sherlock noticed her hesitancy to assist him.

"Does this have anything to do with the person who shot you?"

"Yes. Molly, do you trust me?"

She sighed. "Of course, but…"

"I promise that I will come back to the hospital later, but there is something I need to take care of, something I need to fix."

Molly listened to his escape plan and somehow found herself agreeing to help with it.

While Sherlock unhooked himself from the machines and changed into his clothes, Molly went to the nurse's station appearing to be looking for another patient. Luckily, none of the nurses had been on-call the night she stayed with Sherlock and didn't appear to recognize her. While she distracted them, Sherlock grabbed some morphine from a nearby supply closet and snuck into the elevator. When he made it outside, he sent Molly a text. At the sound of her phone, she immediately apologized to the nurses for appearing to have the wrong floor and made her escape. She felt like a criminal. Here she was a doctor helping a patient escape. If anyone found out, she would probably lose her job. When the elevator stopped at each floor, she almost expected someone to stop her, but no one did.

Outside she found Sherlock hunched over on a bench. She hailed a cab as quickly as possible and had it wait while she helped Sherlock make his way over to it. He put his arm on her shoulders and leaned against her so heavily that she wasn't sure she would be able to manage his weight. He was so much bigger than her and it was a struggle for her not to lose her balance while keeping him upright. Somehow they made it to the car where the cab driver gave Molly a concerned look.

"He's fine. He just felt a little sick that's all. You know how hospitals are. I mean visiting someone in the hospital, which is what we were doing…" She always rambled when lying. Thankfully, the cab driver didn't ask any questions and sped away quickly. When the hospital was out of sight, Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherlock was so weak. He looked like he was going to pass out. At one point, he almost did and leaned against her shoulder with his full body weight. She gently slapped his cheeks to keep him awake.

"Sherlock, are you ok? We're almost there."

"Fine…fine." He sat up too quickly and immediately grabbed his side. She noticed when his coat was pulled back that he was wearing the clothes he had been shot in. She could see a glimpse of a bloody shirt. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

They reached her flat. Molly managed to push Sherlock out the door and lean him against the car while she paid the driver. Who knows what that man was thinking? He probably thought he had assisted in some crime, which would be accurate. Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut and immediately took off.

With Sherlock in front of her, Molly was able to push him up the stairs to her flat. Toby greeted them at the door, excited to see his favorite visitor. She led Sherlock to her bedroom, figuring it would give him more space to relax. He collapsed onto the bed before she could take his coat off. She had to roll him over on his side to take it and his suit jacket off, being careful to avoid his wounded area. After rearranging him with his head back on the pillow, she removed his shoes and drew the comforter over his legs.

"Molly. Morphine." He weakly pointed to his coat pocket.

She found the vial in his pocket along with a syringe. Of course, Sherlock had thought of everything. She drew up a dose, quickly disinfected his arm, and injected the needle into the vein in his arm. The effect was almost immediate and the pain on his faced eased considerably.

"Molly…Molly…" He repeated her name softly before falling asleep.

Molly sat on the edge of the bed feeling completely exhausted. Her head throbbed and she tried to rub her temples to soothe the pain. What was she doing? More importantly, what was he doing? Why was it so necessary for him to leave the hospital before John and Lestrade showed up?

Sherlock slept for the next couple hours. Molly monitored him closely, ready to call emergency services at a moment's notice if anything looked wrong. She worried about the stress to his wound and decided to check it. Gently, she undid the buttons on his shirt and carefully worked it off of his body. The pale skin of his chest felt warm. She worried that he had a fever with all the stress he had just put his body through. The wound had started to bleed through the bandage so she carefully removed the tape and pulled back the gauze. Molly was used to blood and nasty injuries, but she gasped to herself at the sight of the injury to his abdomen. The doctors had done a nice job stitching him up, but it was still a nasty looking wound. She retrieved her first-aid kit and managed to stop the bleeding for the time being before applying a new bandage. She prayed that it would last until he could get back to the hospital.

Molly climbed onto the other side of the bed and placed a blanket over the top of both of them. She lay awake listening to the sound of his steady breathing, thankful that he was getting some much needed rest.

Sherlock woke up a few hours later looking a little improved. He sat up, realizing that he was now shirtless and that she was lying next to him. He raised an eyebrow at her, but remained silent.

Molly got up and went to his side of the bed to check his pulse.

"I replaced your bandage. You had started to bleed again."

He was watching her intensely.

"When I was shot, I pictured you leading me through the steps for survival. You helped me decide which way to fall." He smiled at her and leaned his head back against the wall.

"Me? Well, I guess it would help to think what a doctor would tell you to do in that situation."

His face turned serious.

"It wasn't just that though. You kept me calm and focused. It saved my life."

She met his eyes. His pulse might be normal, but hers was steadily rising.

Sherlock swung his legs over the side of the bed and clutched the wounded area of his chest.

"I need you to text Bill Wiggins. Tell him to meet me in Leinster Gardens at eight o'clock. I've already had him take care of a few things for me at Baker Street."

She grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket and sent the message.

"Sherlock, it's seven o'clock now."

He gingerly started to put on his shirt.

"I need to go."

"You can't go now. You're too weak. Maybe I can go for you."

"No, I have to be there." His face looked pained as he slowly put on his shoes and jacket. "Molly, I need you to go back to Bart's and pretend like everything's normal. If anyone comes asking about my whereabouts, tell them anything. Tell them the truth." He smiled at her. "They probably would never believe it anyways."

"Why are you hiding from John and Lestrade?'

"Like I said before, it's complicated. But I promise I will tell you everything as soon as I am able. It won't be like the last time."

Molly helped him out the door and hailed a cab. She got in behind him, ignoring his protests that he was fine on his own. After a silent ride, they reached Leinster Gardens and saw Bill Wiggins standing on the sidewalk.

"Sherlock, I don't know what you're doing, but be careful."

"I will." Before getting out of the cab, he leaned in close to her face. Molly, expecting a kiss on the cheek, was caught off guard when he pressed his lips to her forehead. He placed his hands on the sides of her head, gently smoothing back her hair, and gave her a smile.

"Molly Hooper," he whispered, staring directly into her eyes. It was as though he knew about her kiss in the hospital and was returning it. Her heart began to race. She wanted nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him until she ran out of breath. She wanted to protect him from whatever danger he was getting himself into. She just wanted him, wholly and selfishly all to herself. Before she could say anything back, he was out the door.

The cab jerked forward bringing her back to reality. Out the window, she saw Sherlock and Bill heading towards one of the buildings.

What was happening? Molly felt like things were once again spinning out of control and all she could do was trust that Sherlock knew what he was doing.