Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Okay, so here's chapter four! I hope that it's alright and the characters are written well; I found it really tricky to write Molly!

Enjoy!

Chapter Four: Molly

Molly found out about Sherlock from the newspaper. She had been walking to work, passed the newsstand, all the newspapers on show, competing for the customer's money, when she had spotted a shocking title: DRUGGIE DETECTIVE SHOT. She stopped short, gasping, irritating the power walking office worker behind her. She muttered a sorry, and then rushed over to the newspaper stand, buying a copy of the offensive newspaper, Sherlock's face plastered across the front of it.

She made time to read it, sitting on a bench by her locker at St Bart's. The article was decorated with a large picture of Sherlock, looking hawk-eyed and superior, while the contents read:

Sherlock Holmes, the private detective famous for faking his own death, was shot last night in the office of newspaper tycoon Charles Magnussen. There has been no other news on the matter except for conformation that Holmes is in a stable condition in hospital. John Watson, Holmes's friend and documenter of cases, who was with Holmes at the time of the shooting, was not available for comment. The identity of the shooter is unknown.

A reliable source, however, has reported to our newspaper that the night before his shooting Holmes was to be found at a drug den, satisfying a nasty habit. A habit, we have been informed, he has once had trouble with years before, which now seems to have come back to torture him once more. A witness to Holmes's bad habit had this to say: 'He was getting well high, but he were still being a massive arse, doing his whole deducing thing, ya know?'

Only time will tell if the private detective will recover both from his shooting and from his drug habit.

The article went out to talk about some rubbish about Sherlock and this Janine woman who was apparently his girlfriend. Molly sighed, throwing the paper on the bench and biting her lip. She couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed that this was the way she had found out about such a horrible thing that had happened to Sherlock. Her Sherlock. With that annoyance, however, came a crushing worry. She wanted to rush over to the hospital at that moment, but she was already supposed to be working. Sighing she left swiftly for the morgue, deciding to phone John at lunch.

Her phone call to John had been a quick one, the man sounding tired and croaky down the line. He told her that the shot had been near fatal, but that Sherlock had pulled through. She had shuddered at the thought that she may have seen Sherlock appearing in her morgue, somewhere that both of them had spent a lot of time together. It would've been so wrong to have had him lying there on the slab. So wrong. She had promised John she would come and visit after her shift, wishing once again she could've gone right away after hearing the pain in John's voice when recalling his tale. 'Sherlock you brilliant idiot.'

She found it hard to focus all afternoon, mind straying to thoughts of Sherlock, injured and lying in a hospital bed. He probably hated it. By the time her shift ended, she was practically running from the locker room and onto the streets of London, hailing the nearest cab. She had walked to work that morning, trying to clear her brain of the thoughts of how empty her apartment was without Tom.

Reaching the hospital she burst out of the cab, almost forgetting to pay the cabbie, and into the reception area. Having been given Sherlock's room number, indentifying herself as a 'close friend', she walked swiftly up a large staircase and along to the designated room. Pulling her bag up onto her shoulder she knocked lightly on it before opening it a little. Peering inside she could make out the figure of John, stood by a blind covered window, the setting sun shining through the gaps. No light was on. He turned when he heard the door open, recognising her with a small smile. "Molly, hi."

"Hello John, sorry I didn't phone to say I was on my way."

John waved off her apology, "No problem, Molly, please come in." She entered cautiously, closing the door behind her. "He's asleep I'm afraid, so they'll be no verbal abuse for now." Molly smiled at John's joke, as he tried to comfort her. Molly came further into the room, and John motioned to the empty seat next to the bed. She sat down, bag dropping to the floor as she observed Sherlock. He was almost as pale as one of her corpses, and from the location of the bandage covering the wound Molly could tell that this had been serious. Very serious.

"Oh my god, John…" she muttered, "He almost looks like a corpse. Oh no, sorry! I meant that he's just very pale… I didn't mean..." John raised a hand, silencing her from her apologies.

"Molly, it's fine, I know what you meant."

The two fell into silence, both staring at their sleeping friend. Molly shifted slightly in the chair, thinking how beautiful Sherlock looked when he wasn't insulting anyone or showing off, but was just looking peaceful.

"Molly, I'm so sorry that you had to find out from the newspapers." John said, startling Molly from her thoughts. She smoothed out her hair, "It's fine John, it was just a little shocking." It wasn't alright, but John didn't need that right now.

"Do you know if he's going to make a full recovery?" she asked after a while. It was something that had been nagging her all day, the thought that her amazing, arrogant Sherlock might not recover. John crossed his arms over his chest, frowning slightly.

"The doctor's are confident that he will, and it seems a miracle that he got through surgery, so we can only hope he keeps this up."

Molly frowned, "A miracle?"

John coughed, "The idiot flat-lined once. I think he does it just to scare us." Molly felt a pang in her stomach at the word 'flat-lined'. She nodded to John, taking in a ragged breath. Staring at Sherlock for a while, she tried to organise all the thoughts in her head. She felt angry at Sherlock; for doing this and scaring John, scaring her. Angry that she could no longer be angry at him after his the drug fiasco of the previous morning, but could only feel worry that something may yet happen, or that he may not recover. She needed her Sherlock back, the Sherlock who would hide what he was feeling behind a wall of sarcasm that only she could see behind, who made her heart skip a beat when he looked at her a certain way, who had used her and treated her terribly, but when it came down to it had trusted her and admitted that she mattered all along. Her brilliant genius Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly a thought struck her.

"Shouldn't his girlfriend be here?" She asked, not managing to keep the scorn and, yes, slight jealousy, out of her voice. John looked up, frowning before realising who she meant.

"Oh Janine. Well actually she's in hospital too; she got a slight concussion from an attack by Sherlock's shooter." Molly frowned in confusion "She's Magnussen's PA." he explained.

"Oh." Was all she said, looking down. John observed her for a minute.

"You know, she wasn't really his girlfriend, he was only using her to get into Magnussen's office." Molly couldn't help but feel relieved by this, and a little satisfied; she wasn't the only woman Sherlock Holmes used. She nodded at John, "Good." She said, and then turned her gaze to Sherlock.

She listened to the beeping of the heart monitor for a bit, and to her even that sounded beautiful. Sherlock's breaths came in evenly, and she wished that she could grab his hand and hold it tight, but she couldn't do that. Not in front of John. John.

Molly glanced up at him; the man was frowning hard and staring at the ground, lost in thought. Molly knew John was always worrying about Sherlock, but this must have been overwhelming. The fear Molly had felt as she read the newspaper article that morning was probably only a fraction of what John must have felt at seeing Sherlock shot and dying. Being Sherlock Holmes's best friend must be an exhausting job, but one that Molly was so glad John had filled. Sherlock's speech at John and Mary's wedding had moved her to tears; she had never seen such gratitude from him. John had, in Sherlock's own words, saved him. Saved him from loneliness, and from himself, and had taught him how to be more human. Something Molly was grateful for, as it meant she suffered less verbal abuse. Thank god for John.

"Err John?" Molly said, gaining his attention.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for being here for him, I know that it's fine and that you're happy to…well, not happy to but…..Just, thank you for not leaving him and sticking by him. Not just now, but…all the time. He didn't really have any friends before he met you and I think he needed one, sometimes."

John looked shocked by Molly's thanks, feeling very moved by her words. "But he had you." He pointed out. Molly shook her head, smiling sadly just a little.

"I don't really count."

Suddenly Sherlock stirred on the bed, breathing in sharply, his brow creasing.

"Sherlock?" John asked, coming closer to the bed. Sherlock's eyes flickered open, gazing around the room. They were glassy from the drugs and probably exhaustion. Getting shot could be tiring. Sherlock's sluggish gaze landed on Molly, and he frowned a little in concentration.

"Molly." He slurred.

She smiled, "Hello, Sherlock. I heard what happened and I just popped by to see you….." Sherlock stared at her still, blinking to get her in focus. "I think it was stupid of you, getting shot," She continued, "and as soon as you're better you have to make it up to John. And me, actually." She broke off, feeling quite amazed at herself; that was the second time in two days she had reprimanded Sherlock Holmes. She felt quite empowered.

John smiled at Molly's words; when they'd first met she had never been able to stand up to Sherlock, and now here she was telling him off while he just lay there. Not that he could really argue back very well.

"Molly," Sherlock repeated, frowning once again. "You…were….my….mind…helped…you were….clever…."Molly stared at John, not making much sense of the words, but he just shrugged, whispering "It's just the drugs." Sherlock however was still trying to gather his words, and finally he muttered, "Molly….thank you…" before falling asleep once again, head resting back on the pillows.

Molly stared at him, a little shocked and surprised. Those words had made complete sense, and yet she couldn't believe that Sherlock had actually said them. Any remnants of anger were now swept away, and she smiled at her detective.

John too smiled warmly at Sherlock's display of gratitude for Molly, he wasn't sure why he was thanking her, but he knew it meant one thing. "You see Molly," he said, and she stared up at him, smiling but confused, "You do count."

Molly couldn't help it; she blushed.

How was that? I hope it was okay!

thank you for reading and please review etc!

Happy reading! TheBritishBourbon x