Chapter 2

Sherlock awoke the next morning to hear quiet mumbles coming from the other room. There was medication and another glass of water that was close enough that he wouldn't need to hurt himself too much to take it; Molly had placed it there for him.

As he popped the medication into his mouth, he sat back on the sofa, knowing he would not be able to get up until the medication had kicked him. He listened in to the phone conversation Molly was having.

Molly was pacing down her hallway, away from the sitting room where Sherlock was, but whenever she came into the kitchen, Sherlock could catch a glimpse of her.

She was holding back sobs. "I know, John. I know- that it's going to be really hard, but we're going to get through this, alright? One day at a time, and it will get easier."

Sherlock listened curiously, knowing that John was hurting, but kept his facial expression flat. She didn't know he was awake yet, but she would notice it soon. She worried so much that her eyes would look over to him within the next few minutes to check up on him.

"I'm so sorry, John.- Of course, of course, I'll be at the funeral, you know I wouldn't miss that. I know you're going to need me there. If you need anything, just let me know," she said, as tears were running down her cheeks.

She was quiet for a moment and stopped when she reached the kitchen, looking a little frightened by what she was hearing. "Oh no- no, John, it's okay. I'll be alright," she said, trying to compose her voice. "It's not necessary for you to come all the way over here, I couldn't ask you to do that; but if you need me to come over there, or if you'd like to get coffee, just let me know."

She closed the phone and wiped her eyes, this was the beginning of the lies she would have to live with, and it was extremely difficult just over the phone. She wasn't sure how she was going to be able to handle it at the funeral. The funeral. That was going to be dreadful, she wished she didn't have to go next week, but it was necessary.

She looked over to see Sherlock awake, looking at the ceiling again and she shoved her phone in her pocket nervously. "Are you feeling any better?" she asked, giving a small smile and trying to look hopeful.

"Fine," he said, looking to her. "Shouldn't you be at Bart's?"

"I called out; they gave me a personal day since they knew I was close… since I knew you."

"Why?"

"Because you can't be moving all around my flat while it hurts you to move. You should be in a hospital right now."

"They don't exactly treat the dead, Molly."

She sighed, "well, you should be treated like a hospital patient, which is why I'm going to take care of you," she said, blushing furiously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I hardly need caring for; when my medication kicks in, I'll be fine to move around."

She gave up trying to argue with him verbally, but that didn't mean she was going to let him get up and try and waltz around by himself. She sat quietly in the sitting room with him until she eventually convinced him that it would be best for him to lay in her bed where it was more comfortable.

"I still don't see why this is nec-"

"Sherlock," she closed her eyes and frowned, trying her best to get through to him. "Please, can you please just listen, for once?" she asked. She was trying to be calm, but for such a brilliant man, he couldn't get this one idea through his skull. He was incredibly stubborn. "The sooner you are resting and off of your feet and in a comfortable position, the quicker you will be able to get around without my help. Which is what you want, yes?"

He frowned, knowing that she was right, but that did not mean he was very willing to admit it.

"Your point is valid," he said clearly annoyed. He was acting like a child about all of this; too stubborn for his own good and not wanting to listen, but she finally got through to him.

The next week passed, and Molly was not needed to help him as much. Every day he could move around a bit more and eventually just stopped taking the medication and was moving around freely. He was quiet for the most part, and as much as he had been whining, he didn't want to move around much; he mainly just wanted Molly to stop feeling the need to take care of him. He wasn't weak, he could handle it.

Sherlock had come out of the shower to find Molly home a little bit early from work. She was curled up on the couch and already asleep. She had been clearly exhausted and stressed from the situation that had been taking up most of her time for the past week. Her face was stained from tears running down her cheeks, he could see them clearly on her face; she had fallen asleep crying.

He sighed, not sure what he was feeling at the moment. Guilt? No, Sherlock Holmes rarely felt guilty, and did not need to justify what he was doing. He had no choice but to do what he did.

Though, it did not mean that Molly deserved to have all of this pressure put on her. He had not been the kindest to her over the past week. The pain had made him more irritable on top of everything else. He spent his time shutting her down and insulting her.

He closed his eyes, forcing the emotions he was experiencing out of his mind and placed a blanket over Molly. Tomorrow was a big day for her, she would have to face everyone at his funeral.