At the ring of his phone, Sherlock jolted awake. Blinking rapidly, he took in his surroundings, trying to remember why he wasn't in bed. He must have fallen asleep on the couch when he sat down to take a break from tracking Moriarty.

He glanced at the clock, which read 00:01. Sherlock groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a restful night's sleep. It seemed that tonight would be no different.

The phone was still ringing. A quick glance at the caller I.D. confirmed that it was Mycroft calling. He rolled his eyes at his brother and answered. "Mycroft, do you have any idea what time it is?" he asked groggily.

"Were you sleeping?" came the incredulous reply.

Sherlock bit back a snarky retort and asked, "What do you need, Mycroft?"

There was a brief pause from the other end. "It's Molly Hooper. Her flat was broken into, and she was attacked."

"Is she okay?" Sherlock asked, worry creeping into his voice.

"She will be," Mycroft assured him. "I'm here now. You should come here in the morning. This may be your next lead on Moriarty."

"You think so?" Sherlock asked. "Alright. Call me when she's awake."

Without another word, Sherlock hung up the phone. His fist clenched around it tightly at the idea of Moriarty targeting his friends. He couldn't help but think back to the last time the consulting criminal targeted his friends and how that had ultimately led to losing John. What if it happened again, and he lost Irene?

As if on cue, Sherlock could hear Irene's footsteps on the stairs. It seemed that he wasn't the only one not sleeping.

"Why was Mycroft calling?" Irene asked upon entering the room. The women was barefoot, sleepy-eyed and wrapped up in her robe, which once upon a time had been his. Sherlock smiled fondly at the sight. In that moment, she just seemed so cute, which was a word he had never associated with the ex-dominatrix before.

"Molly was attacked. Mycroft thinks it was Moriarty," Sherlock explained.

Irene was instantly alert. "Attacked? Is she okay?"

"Yes," Sherlock quickly replied. "Mycroft is with her now, so I'm guessing that she was concussed and needs to be watched."

"You have a funny definition of 'okay'," Irene muttered, sitting next to him.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject.

Irene nodded. "I left the door open tonight. I'm a very light sleeper."

"I suppose being a wanted women will do that to you," Sherlock mused.

Irene chuckled sleepily next to him. "Yes," she replied, yawning as she did so. "You know, I used to love my work. Back before my life was endangered because of it. I never imagined that I would get into so much trouble."

"I suppose I'm partly to blame for that," Sherlock replied apologetically.

"True," Irene agreed. "But then again, you did help me escape. I wouldn't have made it to Portugal without you, so I suppose I can forgive you for that." She smiled warmly.

"How was Portugal?" Sherlock asked.

"It was great. I was happy there. I was a bit homesick though. I'm glad I'm back."

The pair lapsed into silence. Without Irene's voice to distract him, Sherlock's worries returned to him full force. He couldn't lose this newfound friendship he had with Irene. It might just destroy him.

"What's wrong?" Irene asked, picking up on the change in his mood.

"If Moriarty did indeed target Molly, he won't stop there. Last time he went after my friends, I lost the man I loved."

Irene placed a hand gently on his arm. "You're stronger this time around," she told him. "You have more allies, and you know how he operates."

"What if I lose you this time?" Sherlock asked.

Irene smiled sadly. "Oh, Sherlock, you'll never lose me."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"Well, your brother would just throw us back together for one thing," Irene joked. "In all seriousness, Sherlock, like it or not, I'm here to stay."

"I hope so," Sherlock replied. "I don't know if I could take loosing you as well."

Had the sun been shining, Sherlock doubted that he would have ever been able to admit the things he did. There was something about the night that made his tongue looser, and the words fell easily. In the morning, he knew that they would probably never speak of this again, but he was alright with that.

Irene leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his temple. "I'll fight heaven and hell to stay with you if I have to," she vowed. "Now, it's late. Or early, I suppose. We should both get some sleep, alright?"

Sherlock nodded his agreement. His heavy eyelids were already starting to droop. Sleep sounded perfect.


The steady tick of the clock was the only sound echoing through Molly's flat. Mycroft's eyes had fallen shut as he half-consciously tried to fight off sleep. Before long, the alarm on his phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He yawned as he turned it off and checked the time.

It was 4:00, and Mycroft felt as if he were about to drop at any minute. He had dozed off in the chair a few times that night, but he didn't feel rested at all. Pushing it all to the side, he focused on the women sleeping on the couch.

He reached forward and shook Molly's arm. "Molly, wake up," he said softly. He had woken her up every two hours now to check on her, and he was sure that she was getting tired of it. She resisted, squeezing her eyes tighter and rolling over. "Molly, please. I have to make sure you're okay."

Molly turned back to him and opened her eyes. "I'm awake," she replied, sleep clouding her voice.

After a quick check to confirm that Molly was alright, Mycroft sat down again. Sleepy static danced around his eyesight as he watched Molly fall back asleep within seconds. Absently, he smoothed out his wrinkled suit. It had been a long night, and he was sure that it was reflected in his appearance. In any other situation, he would be concerned, but he was too tired to care. Besides, this was his friend.

Mycroft had heard it said that people tended to look younger and innocent in their sleep, but Molly's face wrinkled up in weariness and possibly pain, giving her the appearance of someone older and worn down.

Overcome with a sudden rush of affection, Mycroft reached out and brushed the hair back from her face. The sleeping women gave no indication of noticing the movement, so he continued to stroke her hair for a moment. Molly wrinkled her nose, and Mycroft quickly withdrew his arm and went back to watching her in silence.

He couldn't place his finger on what had caused him to fall for the women, but he had, and that couldn't be changed. Perhaps it was because she had tried to reach through his loneliness when no one else besides his brother had. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed that this women had reached out to him.

In the end, he decided that it could be traced to normal people just being polite. Molly probably had no idea of the effect that she had on Mycroft. She was probably just being nice.

As sleep overtook him, his last thoughts were of the pathologist in front of him.


The sun still had yet to rise when Molly was roused a final time. She met Mycroft's eyes and smiled. "I'm awake. For good now."

She sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes. Her hands came away stained with mascara. Molly was sure that she looked as awful as she felt. Her head hurt, though it had been reduced to a dull ache, and her mind was still hazy with sleepiness.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked.

Molly nodded as she stood. She stretched her stiff muscles, hearing her joints pop. She wanted to sleep more, but she was hungry and needed to call in sick to work. Besides, Mycroft deserved a break.

"Can I get you anything?" Molly asked as she walked into the kitchen. "I'm afraid there's not much since I meant to do the shopping last night, but I've got cereal anyways."

"Thank's for the offer, but I'm fine. I usually don't eat breakfast," Mycroft responded.

With his wrinkled suit and baggy eyes, Mycroft looked even more exhausted than Molly was sure she looked. He was struggling just to keep his eyes open. It was a miracle that he was still standing.

"You look like you could use some sleep," Molly commented as she poured herself a bowl of cereal.

Mycroft smiled slightly. "I will be fine. I told Sherlock that I would call so he could come investigate. We think this was Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" Molly asked. "If that's true, then he's probably the craziest ex I've ever had."

"You dated James Moriarty?" Mycroft asked in tired amusement.

"Yeah. Long story. Listen, the sun's not even up yet. How about you grab a few hours of sleep in my spare bedroom before calling Sherlock?"

Mycroft was too tired to argue. Molly led him down the room that was mostly used as storage, but at least it contained a bed. She half expected the man to pass out from exhaustion, but she knew from experience with late nights that the body could handle a lot. Still, she felt it was best to be prepared.

Her guest had only barely laid down on the bed before he was out. Molly smiled fondly as she closed the door. Her new friend continued to surprise her. She wondered why he hadn't just dropped her off at the hospital. It was just a testament to how much he cared, she supposed.

Molly was touched that he had stayed overnight. The list of people who would do that for her was very short, and most of it was family. When she offered her friendship to Mycroft, she hadn't imagined that the guarded politician would take it so quickly and eagerly. Not that she minded. She enjoyed having a friend who would seek her out, and not just because they needed her help.

Molly sat at her counter and continued to eat. Putting food in her stomach made her feel much better. Her headache was nearly gone. As she ate, she struggled to remember what happened before she passed out. She could remember phoning Lestrade, but that was as far as her memory stretched.

Molly rubbed at her eyes and sighed. It had been a long night, and it was shaping up to be a long day ahead of her.


When Irene awoke a second time, the sky was dim and gray. A few lone stars still shone. If she strained her ears, she could hear gentle snoring coming from downstairs. She smiled softly to herself as she sat up. She leaned against the backboard and listened for a moment. These peaceful moments were much too hard to come by.

"Sherlock," she whispered aloud, knowing that anything short of the end of the world would not wake the sleeping man downstairs. "Sherlock, there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

Irene shook her head in frustration. She had rehearsed the scenario many times, but nothing felt right. Words normally came so easily to her, but then again, she had never been so intimate before. It was new and terrifying to her, and the ex-dominatrix didn't scare easy.

"Sherlock, I know that you know I find you attractive, but-"

Irene stopped before she could finish that one. Why was this so difficult? The frustration over being unable to find the right words was building up, and the usually eloquent women hung her head and sighed. The whole situation was reminding her of a conversation she had with her friend from Portugal.

"I mean, I hardly know him, but he's different," Irene said.

"How so?" her neighbor, Catrina, asked.

"He's the first person I've felt more than just lustful attraction for. It's more of a craving for intimacy," she explained.

"Wait, I thought you were gay?" Catrina responded in confusion. "You're straight now?"

"Bisexual, actually," Irene explained.

"But you liked girls? You don't anymore?"

Irene sighed in frustration. "Of course I do. Liking a man does not make me less bi."

"Are you sure you're not pansexual?" Catrina asked.

"Would it help if I get 'bisexual' tattooed across my forehead?"

"So, you do like men? It's okay. I know plenty of people who liked experimenting."

Irene groaned as she recalled the conversation. Why was it so difficult to explain her feelings for Sherlock Holmes?

"Sherlock, I know we haven't been together long, but I really need to tell you something."

Irene opened her mouth continue the single-sided, whispered conversation, but no words came out. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.

"I need to tell him. Today."

She glanced out the window. A tinge of pink touched the sky. The sun would be up soon, and so would Sherlock. She could picture his sleepy eyes and messy hair as he fixed himself a cup of coffee. The mental image brought a small smile to her face.

"I love you."