Ok, so that's the final part. Thank you all for reviewing and following my story. It was so lovely! I guess I will work on my other short stories and try to translate them as well.

Ariana

The hospital room looked the same like a week earlier, only the flowers wilted from the lack of water. Seemingly no one bothered to do anything with them, so neither did Molly. She only got rid of the worst flowers and then sat by the bed and removed a book from her bag. She had no plans for this afternoon, so she might as well sit by Sherlock's side, especially when he was finally supposed to wake up.

She managed to read a few pages when the door opened and John walked in. He kept a paper cup of coffee in his hand and he looked disheveled.

"Oh, hello, Molly," he greeted her with a tired smile. "I just went to eat something..."

"Go home, I intend to stay longer," answered Molly coldly, barely looking up from her book. She was still upset with John and with herself that they had let Sherlock overstrain himself.

"I don't really want to," muttered John. "I should..."

"Go back to your wife." Molly spat out the last word as if it was poisonous.

John stood startled for a moment and Molly felt his gaze on her. He finally got what she was saying and came up to the right conclusions.

"You know."

"And you appear not to know," retorted Molly and slammed her book. "What do you think, where was Sherlock before he met you at Leinster Gardens?"

"How much do you know?" asked John. He must have realized he had left the doors opened, because he stepped back to close it.

"I know enough," replied Molly shortly. "Sherlock had to convince me he had good reasons to go out. And I was wrong, he didn't have. I shouldn't have let him out of my sight."

"Good God, so Sherlock was with you all the time? Why didn't you tell us? We were looking for him all over London!"

"Because this is what trust means. Why do I have to explain it to everybody? It's a shame I was wrong trusting your sense," said Molly. She couldn't come to terms with this since she had learned how this escapade from hospital had ended.

"Molly, I don't quite see what you're getting to," said John carefully as he tried to hid a yawn.

"And here's the problem, John. You don't see," explained Molly. She had promised herself not to shout. "You're a bloody doctor, I'm a pathologist! I deluded myself that you would keep an watchful eye on Sherlock! Tell me, how could you not notice he was so bad he needed an ambulance?"

John sighed and hunched. He must have already thought about what Molly accused him of.

"I was too confused," he admitted. "When Sherlock called an ambulance, I stopped thinking about him."

"Sherlock. Called. An ambulance. For himself," snarled Molly. "And that didn't alarm you at all? I left him on a wheelchair, with a drip. I collected them yesterday."

"Sherlock used them to arrange the meeting," added John weakly, rubbing his eyes.

"And you assumed that they were just props? Sometimes I do understand why Sherlock complains that people are blind."

"Molly..." John tried to say something, but Molly didn't let him. She was going to tell him everything she wanted.

"You really don't see. Do you know what Sherlock is doing since he came back?" The question hung in the air, but the doctor just stood silent, so Molly continued. "He's trying to make up for those two years, to apologize."

"He certainly has a lot to apologize for," snapped John.

"And you have a lot to thank for," retorted Molly. "Honestly, John, if I hear again that Sherlock doesn't care about anyone, I won't vouch for myself. Just look at the last months and say for yourself. If I told you three years ago that Sherlock would spend hours choosing church decorations, matching socks to buttons and flowers to dresses, you would have died laughing."

"Your point," sighed John, but Molly wasn't done yet.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Sherlock was your best man," she said. "I just want you to truly see that this Sherlock who came back to us is not the same one you met, not even the same that jumped off the roof. And what I'm going to say sounds pathetic, but Sherlock proves with every step that there is nothing he wouldn't do for his closest. And that is mostly you."

"Molly, I can see you're angry and upset, but calm down, please," asked John. "Don't make scenes. The danger is over, he'll be fine."

"I know, I've seen his card," Molly cut him off coldly. "Oh, there is one more thing. John, have you ever asked Sherlock where he was during those two years? Did you see what he has on his back?"

"I don't usually see him naked," John pointed out, but he sounded worried. "What do you mean?"

"You'll ask him later." Molly wasn't going to tell John what she had heard from Sherlock. She herself didn't pay much attention to Sherlock during last year, because she was too busy trying to keep her relationship with Tom. She tried to prove herself that she had made the right decision and she would be happy. Only recently she stopped deluding herself. Right now, after the drug incident and then escaping from hospital, she realized she neglected this friendship. So did John.

"When something goes wrong, it's always everything at the same time," sighed John. "I'll be at Baker Street. Call me if you need anything."

"Ok," nodded Molly and she went back to her book. John took his jacked and left. Molly hoped she made him think.

It wasn't even fifteen minutes when the doors were opened again. Molly didn't react at first, thinking it was a doctor, but she soon realized her mistake.

"Hello," said quietly Mary Watson at the doorstep. "How's Sherlock? Better?"

"If you make one more step towards him, I swear I will call security and call the police," hissed Molly, taking her eyes off the book. "Even if that's against Sherlock's wishes."

Mary frowned, surprised. She certainly didn't expect such reaction from doctor Hooper.

"Oh, so he was with you, wasn't he?" Unlike her husband, Mary realized that more quickly. "Sherlock seems to forget that if he once said out loud he used your help, he won't be able to repeat it so easily."

"He was able," replied Molly. "Leave it."

"Sherlock has a good friend in you, Molly," stated Mary, surprisingly warm. She didn't come closer, as requested. "But whatever you think right now, I have no intentions to harm him. I never did. I'm sorry it went that way."

"You almost killed him." Molly barely contained herself from shouting. She couldn't say whether it was because of Sherlock sleeping next to her, or because of dark marks under the pregnant woman's eyes.

"I'm sorry," repeated Mary and she sounded honest. "I didn't intend to kill him."

Molly snorted. She didn't intend to kill him, but she almost succeeded. Instead she made a hole in Sherlock's liver and immobilized him for long weeks. Nothing Molly should worry about.

"Go back to John," she said, gaining a similar reaction like John's half an hour ago. "And leave Sherlock. Once he's awake, he will do as he pleases. Right now keep away from him."

"He really does have a good friend in you," repeated Mary quietly, leaving. "I do hope he realizes that."

"You did the talking." Molly heard Sherlock's hoarse voice behind her and she almost jumped. The injured man was staring at her, but when he tried to say something else, he just started coughing. Molly changed the his position into more upward and gave him a little water.

"How long have you been awake? asked the pathologist, when Sherlock regained his breath and was trying to find a more comfortable position. His gaze was a bit unfocused, probably form the morphine, but he wasn't falling asleep.

"I heard you scolding Mary," he replied. "Unnecessarily."

"I don't think so," said Molly seriously, glancing at the monitors and wondering whether she should call someone. Then she saw a camera at the cellar and came to conclusion that she didn't have to.

"She saved my life." Sherlock pointed out quietly, but Molly just laughed in disbelief.

"When?" she asked, feeling that she was about to lose her temper again, though she thought she would be able to control herself with Sherlock after confronting John and Mary, and previously Mycroft. "When she shot you, or when she made you risk your health to save Watsons' marriage? By the way, that was a mistake. I shouldn't have agreed to that."

"She could have killed me,' repeated Sherlock, though he didn't sound so sure this time. "She didn't. And she called an ambulance right after the shooting. If she hadn't, I would have bled to death. She saved me," he said one more time.

"John believed that and you expect me to do the same?" asked Molly, just to be sure. Judging by Sherlock's expression, she was right. "Bad choice of words, Sherlock Holmes. Spared you - yeah, she did. Saved you? No."

"Molly..." Sherlock tried uncertainly, but the pathologist knew he gave up on explaining Mary. "Alright, say whatever you want, but know that Mary won't harm me."

"Who says so?" asked Molly, still not convinced. "You? Or her?"

"Both of us," Sherlock reassured her and coughed. "Don't worry. I'm fine."

For such insolence Molly wanted to repeat her actions from their last meeting at Barts. Someone had to put in Sherlock's head that firstly, his assurances weren't enough to convince her to anything, and secondly, that he sometimes made mistakes. And that if someone cared for him as deeply as Molly did, a simple reassurance that his best friend's wife wasn't attempting on his life just wasn't enough. Someone had to put that in his head - firmly and efficiently.

"Are you going to hit me again?" Sherlock resisted neither asking curiously nor smiling widely in amusement. It sounded almost as if he was giving her his permission.

"Not this time." Molly disappointed him. "But rest assured, I will do it if you ever touch any drugs again," she promised. "And no, morphine doesn't count," she stopped Sherlock's hand as he tried to reach the morphine drip.

The detective caught her wrist and turned it so he could see her watch. The time he saw surprised him.

"Why are you here, not at work?" he asked, confused

"It's Sunday." Molly informed him. Before he could protest or say anything else, she continued. "You had two surgeries, they kept you sedated since Thursday. Yes, these are the consequences of your escape."

"And you are still upset," stated Sherlock, fighting with his eyelids to stay open. The conversation had tired him more that he would like to admit. Not that he was able to hide anything from Molly in his state.

"Yes, I am," nodded the pathologist and lowered his bed back again. "And don't think I will easily forgive that, neither you or myself, but we'll talk about it later," said Molly more softly. "I think I should report you're awaken since no one came," she added and stood up.

"Molly?" Sherlock's sleepy voice stopped her in the doors. "Thank you."

"Don't," Molly cut him off before he could add anything else. "It wasn't right thing to do. I shouldn't have..."

"You're repeating yourself and you want me to repeat myself. I don't like it," groaned Sherlock. He gave up and shut his eyes. "Molly?" he asked again as the woman was about to leave.

"Yes?"

"Will you still have room for me?" The question was soft, almost shy. That must have been the morphine, thought Molly.

"Don't make me repeat myself," she retorted, using the detective's words.

"Mmm?"

"Always."

When she came back a few minutes later, Sherlock was sleeping.

The end