Half an hour later, Molly unlocked the front door to her flat and led John inside. "Thank goodness we managed to flag a cab at this hour," said Molly absently. "Anyways…this is home for me. Our flight doesn't leave for eight hours, so we might as well try and get some rest. Can I make you some tea, or get you anything?"

John shook his head, then remembered to say, "No, thank you." He held a small travel bag in his hand, filled with spare clothes and toiletries he'd gathered from his locker at St. Bart's before they'd left.

Molly nodded. "The spare room is this way," she said, indicating for him to follow her through the flat. He did, not really seeing anything.

She opened the door to the small but neat bedroom. "The bed's already made-up, so you're all set there," Molly said, feeling more and more awkward with each word she spoke. "The bathroom's right down the hall…I'm just going to reserve your seat and then get some sleep. We need to leave by seven o'clock, so are you all right getting up on your own or would you –"

"I'll be fine," John interrupted, his voice weary and his eyes looking longingly at the bed. "Thank you," he added, trying to soften the snap.

Molly nodded. "Good night," she said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Alone again, John heaved a great sigh as he took off his coat and shoes. Without further preamble, John fell onto the bed and was mercifully asleep within minutes. What wasn't merciful at all was that his dreams were vivid and haunted by terrible truths and betrayals.

The two of them barely said anything to each other until they were on the 8:20 AM plane bound for Dublin. Both were a little too lost in their own thoughts to communicate much. John was, at least, and Molly didn't want to pry or prod without him being open or ready. He seemed to her like a ticking time bomb, one that had a large amount of time to tick off but once it did would have catastrophic results.

After the plane had cleared the air field and the city of London, Molly gave a small gasp as she remembered something that had completely slipped her mind as they'd packed that morning. "Oh!"

John turned his head from the window, which he'd been looking out of listlessly. "What is it?"

"I've just realized," answered Molly, turning to him. "Shouldn't you or I have given Mary a call? I'm sure she'll be worried if you've disappeared for an entire weekend without any word. Sherlock, too; he'll probably terrorized the entire hospital staff until he finds out why you aren't visiting."

A hard and pained look settled on John's face, and he turned back to the window. "Mary would be very surprised if I contacted her at all, let alone came home right now. As for Sherlock, I imagine he'll be out of it for another day or two, so we don't have to fear for the St. Bart's staff anytime soon."

So much of what John had just said made Molly very worried, especially what he said about Mary. But still feeling like she shouldn't pry right now, Molly settled for asking about the latter half of what he'd said. "What do you mean 'out of it?' Mary told me he's been awake and alert for two days. Has his condition changed?"

John looked at her in surprised realization, then cringed as he rubbed his forehead. "Oh, shit…um, yeah, you could say that. He…well, he escaped the hospital late this afternoon."

"What?" Molly nearly shrieked.

John bowed his head in apology. "We found him just a few hours later, and got him back to the hospital safely. There was some internal bleeding, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. He promised me before he went under again that he wouldn't pull that stunt again."

Molly shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. "Why the hell did he do something so stupid?"

John didn't answer for nearly a minute, turning his head back to the window. "He had a good reason."

Feeling too exasperated to tread gently, Molly scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That's not an excuse! He could have caused permanent damage or even died!" She gave John a hard look. "Is this to do with the case he's working on now, John? Whatever it is, this case has already had him have a drug relapse, had him fake a relationship and engagement with Mary's maid of honor, and had him nearly die from a bullet to the chest! What more will he feel compelled to do for this awful case?!"

"Molly." John turned to look at her again, his eyes hard and desperate while his expression remained neutral but tense. He spoke in a low voice, making her aware that they were not alone, and she pressed her lips together in apology. "You have every right to ask, but I have the right not to answer. At least, not now. Please not now. I promise you: Sherlock will make a full recovery. I wouldn't be here if I didn't know that."

Looking at the honest doctor, Molly slowly nodded. She could see that he was being honest, through his pain and desperation in his plea. John wouldn't lie to her like that, especially about Sherlock.

Silence fell for a while after that; Molly turned back to the book she had brought along with her, and John turned back to the window. Surprisingly, the next time the silence was broken, it was by John.

"Why haven't you been to visit Sherlock since he woke up?"

It was the question that Molly had been dreading for the last few days. Frankly, she had expected to be asked this question a lot sooner. They probably thought I was too busy with work, Molly thought. Or they forgot about me…that does tend to happen from time to time.

Refusing to be sorry for herself, Molly kept her eyes on her book and answered as neutrally as she could. "After our last encounter, I don't exactly trust myself not to either scream at him or forgive him too easily."

John's eyes flickered to Molly's bare left hand, and let out a sharp exhale of regret. "Molly, I'm sorry…With everything that's happened I completely –"

Molly held up a hand to silence him. "It's alright, John. It's the worst kind of condolence to receive, and the less of them I hear the better."

John nodded in sad understanding. An awkward moment of silence passed before John spoke again. "You've certainly kept a brave face through it. You were just…spectacular…with Sherlock, really. It's a shame, too, I mean…Only met him a few times, but he seemed like a nice bloke –"

"John." Molly's tone and glare were hard and cold as stones. "I know you mean well, but please shut up. I know you're not really surprised, that no one I know is really surprised, and I know exactly why. So, if you get to keep silent about why you're taking this opportunity to run away from your reality for a while, then so do I."

And with that, Molly turned back to her book, missing John's surprised and guilty expression. He wondered if this was how Sherlock felt when he had realized how much he'd underestimated Molly Hooper. John knew that Sherlock must have felt it at some point, either at that horrible Christmas party or just before the Fall. He wouldn't have given her such complete trust if he underestimated her, and John could see quite clearly now why doing so was such a mistake. And it made John feel slightly sick that Sherlock Holmes had beaten him in this.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, both too scared to break it and open any other unknown wounds lest they be fatal.