TRIGGER WARNING: discussion/mention of rape. Absolutely no detail will be included because just...no. But I do want people to know that it will be mentioned.

Outside Molly's Room

John and Mary stood with the doctor, who was filling them in on Molly's current status and the care she would need when she was well enough to go home.

"She'll be staying with us, we have a spare room," Mary nodded, taking the care-list. "Anything else? Appointments for physical therapy I imagine,"

"Yes, I have an excellent one to recommend, we can go over that later, but there also will be several therapists on call for Miss Hooper when she is ready, Doctor Bremen is highly recommended as he has dealt with several cases of kidnapping and torture as well as victims of sexual-assault." John and Mary stood staring. For a moment, neither John nor Mary moved.

"I'm sorry?" John asked finally.

"Were you not told?" the doctor seemed surprised. "Moran raped her."

John blinked twice, breathing through his nose, sure if he opened his mouth something vile would come out. He attempted to clear his throat, finding he didn't have the breath for it. He rocked on his heels for a moment, wiping his upper lip with his forefinger. Mary took his hand, squeezing hard.

"Does she remember?" she asked quietly.

"She could describe it in detail." John could feel his eye twitch, and again, Mary squeezed his hand, calming him as the doctor continued: "Mr. Holmes has informed me this information should be kept from his brother if at all possible. There will be a therapist in contact with Miss Hooper in a day or so." Mary took the business card from the doctor's outstretched hand, nodding her thanks. The doctor turned then, heading back down the hall. Mary turned to John, her fingers still laced with his.

"Just…give me a minute…please," he managed. She nodded, looking at her feet, listening as her husband took even breaths, trying to wrap his head around this new information.

"I feel like I should be the one falling apart at the seams," she murmured shakily. Her mouth twisted into a grimace, finding tears in her own eyes. John pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to find his voice.

"I'm just…I'm trying to figure out why anyone would hurt her. It's Molly…"

The door flew open, making them both jump. Sherlock hurried out, ignoring them.

"Where are you going?" Mary asked, startled. She turned to the room, going to Molly's side as John's phone rang.

"Hello? What?" he hadn't bothered to look at who was calling.

"Follow him, John. Don't leave him alone," If The Woman's so-called death would be a danger-night for Sherlock, Mycroft wasn't sure what Sherlock would do knowing Molly Hooper had been raped by one of the world's most despicable men.

John broke into a run, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Skidding to a stop at the end of the hallway, he found Sherlock at the open window, breathing deeply.

"Sherlock, come inside,"

"I believe I'm already inside," he replied. He bent his head, his hand moving up to the corner of his eyes.

"You heard what the doctor said?"

"No, Molly told me," he remained where he was. "I suppose Mycroft called?"

"Yes," John put his hands in his pockets, keeping his eye on Sherlock. "If you're thinking of going anywhere, don't think I'm above calling Greg and having him lock you up for the night,"

"I wasn't going anywhere," the Consulting Detective replied evenly. "Or have you forgotten Molly's reaction the last time I got high?" John remembered quite vividly, mousy Molly Hooper slapping Sherlock across both cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise," Sherlock confirmed.

"You need to talk to Molly,"

"Is she alone?"

"No, Mary's with her right now. Why? Did she seem in a dangerous…place?"

"John, don't beat around the bush. No. She has not shown signs of suicidal tendencies. There is more to her than you think."
"I think she proved that the other day."

"Not to herself, though," Sherlock grasped his wrist behind his back, thinking.

"We need to be there for her and help her see that. Show her support, that we're here for her."

"'Here for her'," Sherlock sneered in disgust. "Will that make the fact that it happened go away, John? Will it make her living with that horror any easier? Will our being here for her make her heal faster?"

"Not one bit," John bit out. "But that doesn't matter, because it's what we're supposed to do. Would you feel any better sitting home alone?"

"No but-"

"Then shut up, get in there, and smile, read to her or I don't know what-"

"I don't-" Sherlock shut his eyes, frustrated. "I don't know what to do, John," he admitted finally. "Part of me wants to go on treating her as I always have,"

"And the other half?" John asked. Sherlock didn't move, staring at the floor, suddenly deciding the tiles were far more fascinating than the current conversation.

"The other half wants to clear a space in 221b for Toby's scratching post."

John blinked several times, trying to decide if he had actually heard correctly. When he said nothing, Sherlock continued:

"She told me what happened, how when," he waved his hand awkwardly. "Moran had her, she said what made it bearable was that she knew I'd been through worse," he chewed on his lip. "She seems to have this idea that she's stupid," pensive, Sherlock fell silent.

"We tend to think of the strongest people we know when we're in bad situations, whether they've endured what we have or not," John said quietly.

"Point being?"

"The point is…she doesn't blame you, Sherlock, so stop blaming yourself. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is that Molly is here, she's safe again, and Moran is dead. She's going to need time to heal, before she can begin to move on."

Sherlock followed John back to the room. He couldn't say what he meant, that he wished Molly could see how much he admired her, how much she had been in his thoughts since his return. He wanted to tell her how grateful he was her engagement had ended, (though not perhaps that she felt even more lonely and worthless than before, which he may have also been partly the cause of) because it meant he was free to pursue her. He wanted to tell her that he had begun to want what John and Mary had (to a lesser degree, matching kits, do be serious) and he wanted to share it with her. He wanted to tell her that when Moran had kidnapped her, he did not sleep for the first week and a half, because he was desperate to save her. More than anything he wanted to tell her the pride, the absolute ecstasy he'd felt when he found out that Molly Hooper, his brave, spectacular, plain, mousy, Molly Hooper had rescued herself, and single-handedly taken down the man guilty of so many deaths. She took him out without guile, without brute force. Molly Hooper, half-beaten and nearly dead, assaulted to the furthest measure a human can be, took out the last link in Moriarty's web, the one Sherlock had sworn he himself had killed, but not without having to infiltrate several gangs, a highly organized crime ring and several countries. Molly finished the job with a standard combat knife and the fact that Moran thought she was too weak to fight back.

Sherlock came to stand in the doorway of the room; Mary was reclining on the couch, holding up a magazine, showing Molly a picture inside, some gossip rag, trying to elicit a grin from the pathologist. It half-worked and Sherlock found himself pleased at even that small emotion. She seemed small on the hospital bed, all bandages and black-and-blue marks. She kept blinking, still unused to the scar on her eye. She idly stroked Toby, taking comfort in the cat's presence.

"What do you think, Sherlock?" Realizing he was being addressed, looking at John and then Mary. "Think she'll pull through?"

"Kicking and screaming," he nodded, and smiled inwardly, seeing a familiar twinkle in Molly's eyes. This time, her smile reached the corners of her eyes, and he was pleased. "You're no quitter, are you?" Still quiet, Molly shook her head, looking at her lap. "Of course you're not." He sat down in the chair nearest the bedside, propping his feet up on the bed by hers so they were just nearly touching. The next time Mary held up the magazine, pointing out some other ridiculous article, Molly was able to smile genuinely, and she even laughed a little. Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin, his gaze lingering on her before he closed his eyes, sinking into his mind palace. Yes, Molly Hooper was certainly strong enough to get through this. True, she wasn't like John or Mary, battle-hardened and all that, and he knew it would be a long time before he would see some of the old Molly in her, but he also knew she would keep moving forward and he would see to it that no matter what, he would be at her side every step of the way, if she would have him.