Author's Note: Thank you for all the great reviews! Sorry that this chapter took a while to get posted, I was on vacation for a while. Hope you continue to enjoy!

Upon waking twelve hours or so later, Molly was groggily disoriented, peering around for any kind of clue as to where she was. Gradually, the features of the room came into focus – the end of the bed where she lay wrapped up in the comforter, a no-nonsense chest of drawers that could have dated from World War II, and a pair of white linen curtains that were blowing lazily in the afternoon spring breeze wafting in from outside. For the second time in as many days, Molly found herself trying to piece together the events of the day before. After she felt as though she'd remembered everything, she swung her feet around and prepared to go ask John if there was anything edible in his apartment.

She stopped as she felt the excessive material of the men's pajamas pool around her ankles and feet. At the sight of the borrowed clothing, an emotion she couldn't quite identify flared through her veins. In an instant, it was gone, leaving no trace, but if reminded her oddly of the time when she had fallen through the rotting boards of her grandmother's attic to the floor below – it was the same sense of the world tilting and, upon slamming into the ground, an unavoidable affirmation of life.

The sound of her stomach growling snapped her out of her reveries and she went barefoot down the stairs, both hoping and dreading that Sherlock would be in the apartment below. To her disappointment (and relief), it was a rumpled-looking John who answered the door, looking as if he too had just emerged from bed. He invited her in, apologizing for the mess (Sherlock had apparently decided that last night was an ideal time to practice wielding his newly-acquired katana, and one of Mrs. Hudson's pillows seemed to have borne the brunt of the vicious attacks). John made coffee for both of them. Noticing that Molly was attempting to look discreetly around for Sherlock, John signed to himself and informed her that the detective was out pursuing some leads on a new case.

Trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice, Molly asked John about his plans for the day, and they ended up slipping into conversation. After spending so much time pining after his more reticent partner, Molly had never appreciated how easy John was to talk to and how good of a listener he was. She ended up saying more than she had meant to, telling John about her time in captivity with Moriarty. She hadn't realized how serious the conversation had gotten until at one point her voice cracked and she could feel the warm trail of several unbidden tears slip down her cheeks. John's normally sympathetic face looked stricken at this turn of events and he fumbled around in the cupboards looking for a box of tissues, giving Molly the opportunity to wipe away the tears. John sat back down and pushed the box of tissues towards Molly.

"It's a terrible thing that you've been through, but I want you to know that nothing like that will ever happen again. You have my word and I'm bloo—I am sure you have Sherlock's as well. I've never seen him like he was yesterday. You're safe now, I promise."

John's words reassured her a little bit, but Molly felt uneasy at the thought of anything like that ever happening again. She thanked him, while at the same time making a mental note to brush up on her martial arts skills. At that moment, her stomach growled again and John smiled.

"Fancy some bacon and eggs? I can make us some before I run you back over to your flat."

A flash of alarm must have crossed Molly's face at the mention of her flat because John quickly tried to backtrack, assuring her that she was welcome to stay at Baker Street for as long as she wanted, he had just thought she would be more comfortable at her own place, etc. etc. She hadn't realized how scared she still was until the possibility of being alone had been raised.

Don't be ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. You're a grown woman for God's sake, surely you can handle being by yourself in your own flat. She looked up and saw that John was watching her carefully, as if trying to assess what was going on in that fevered brain of hers. Blushing slightly she said,

"No, no, I want to go back, get my life back to normal…"

Even to her the pitch of her voice didn't sound in the least bit confident, but mercifully John didn't press the issue. She could sense that he, too, wanted everything to go back to how it had been before.

At that moment, Sherlock strode the front door of the apartment, carrying what appeared to be a narwhal tusk and an extremely irritated-looking gerbil. Noticing John and Molly sitting at the kitchen table, he frowned slightly.

"What are you two doing just sitting about? Fluffykins here" he held up the hand holding the fuzzy creature, "is refusing to yield evidence. Where is my interrogation kit?"

"What on earth…?!" John burst out in bewilderment.

"I'm telling you, this animal's hiding something! Where's my interrogation kit?"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, you can't interrogate a gerbil. Give him to me…OUCH!"

Fluffykins, having decided that the safest option at this point was retreat, had bitten John's finger and, in the ensuing chaos, had escaped under the sofa where he now crouched, growling slightly.

In spite of everything that had happened to her in the last few days, Molly had to smile. Normal, she thought as she listened to John berating Sherlock, was not an option at 221 Baker Street. But it felt right, and if she was honest, it was this crazy rightness that she was going to miss the most.

Oh well, she thought as she went to go change and pack up her things, it was good while it lasted.