A/N: Second parter!
"Sherlock, it is just a small cold!" Molly sneezed once and blinked hazily at him as another built in her nose. Sherlock was hiding out at hers as he periodically took down Moriarty's network and he had been surprised to discover her still at home when he woke up. He had found her napping amongst a sea of snotty tissues on the sofa when he padded through to make himself a late lunch.
"You never take the day off when it's a small cold Molly so do not lie to me." He was balancing a tray between his hip and hand and a box of tissues with the remote balanced precariously on top in the other.
She could see chicken soup steaming on the tray which he gracefully handed to her before he put the new box of tissues to the side of her. He vanished back into the kitchen while Molly stared ruefully at the steaming soup before her.
"Eat it Molly!" He ordered from the kitchen, sensing her reticence.
"Next thing I know he'll be bringing me back grapes." Molly mumbled under her breath as she stirred the hot liquid. But despite her grumbling at the surprising care Sherlock provided she was glowing inside.
It was short lived, Sherlock disappeared before the soup was gone. Molly sighed as she fidgeted on the sofa again, restless legs fighting with an aching head. She listlessly rested her head against the pillow and felt her eyes flutter closed far too quickly.
'Damn, he'd laced the soup with one his sleeping drugs.' Her last lucid thought made her briefly angry before she spiralled into dreams of strange men dressed as wine bottles and paracetamol pills.