Notes:

So part 3 really, i like this one. Not sure why.

Anyway, thanks so much for all those wonderful individuals who favd and/or alerted this story. Glad to see people want to read more! LadyK1138, UltimateOne and coyote616. oh, only three? well thats awkward. But really that just makes me appreciate you guys more so thanks!

And to my lovely reviewers! AdaYuki (here's the rest!), LadyK1138 (thank you so much! for you also, have some more) and Brightpath2 (as usual, thank you so much for your continued show of support. Don't hate mycroft too much for this ;) )

For the rest of you; enjoy!


VII

Molly kept Mycroft's gaze, trying not to show how uncomfortable he made her feel.

The elder Holmes continued, 'For the past year and months, you have taken care of my little brother, every time he turns up, broken at your front door. I also hear that you care extends not just to his physical state, but mental as well.'

Molly held her chin up, unsure to where all this was heading but ready to defend herself and Sherlock if need be. Mycroft studied her over his clasped hands.

'Is that all? Can I see him now?' Molly stood and went to leave but he stopped her.

'You do realise the danger he's putting you in. He merely sees you as an tool, a stepping-stone to his next destination and target. You only a provider of what he needs.'

Molly turned and began to walk away from the table and the man.

Mycroft continued. 'You don't have to help him; I hope you've been told. I can easily arrange a better alternative, for both of you. No more interruptions for you Miss Hooper. You can continue your daily life knowing Sherlock is safe and looked after.'

Molly paused at the doorway then turned around to face the older Holmes who sat uncomfortably straight in his chair, reading into everything. She held his gaze on the point of a glare. 'I'm the only friend he had left, he can go to.'

Mycroft huffed in what appeared as amusement. 'How many friends do you think he has?'

'A lot more than you care to think.' Molly left, heart pounding and shocked with herself and her new-found strength. She soon forgot it all as she bumped into Doctor Banks.

'Oh! I'm sorry I was-'

The doctor smiled, Molly liked him. 'I'm guessing you want to see your friend.'

She nodded and he led her along a corridor and up a flight of stairs. He carefully opened the door to a spacious room and Molly hesitantly crossed the threshold, her gaze locked on the figure in bed.

'He should be fine. He's a fighter, still call if there are any problems. If not me there will be someone close by.'

She turned and gave him a proper thank you to which the doctor shook his head with a small chuckle. 'It's the least I can do. After all he did, saving my son's life five years ago.'

Molly was shocked but he closed the door and left before she could ask anything more. She slowly made her way over to the large king bed. Sherlock was attached to an IV drip and oxygen mask. Another line fed him antibiotics and she shrunk at the seriousness of his condition. Molly felt guilty, she had done nothing, and he could have died in her inadequate care. She watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing obviously a lot easier.

'I'm here Sherlock. I don't know whether that's any help or if you even want my help anymore. But I'll be here anyway.' She touched his arm reassuringly, more for herself than him though. Molly sat there, overwhelmed and guilty, Mycroft was right. She was just an instrument to be used in Sherlock's eyes, always had been. Nothing had changed except Molly believing it had. She couldn't even keep him safe.

An hour later doctor Banks returned and suggested she got some sleep. 'It's been a chaotic evening and I doubt he'll appreciate waking up only to find you passed out yourself.'

She smiled gratefully at the doctors concern, he wouldn't. She thought, all Sherlock had done was an act. He didn't care about her, not the way he cared for John or Mrs Hudson, even Lestrade.

The older women from before showed Molly to her room. Margret was her name and Molly was thankful for her grandmotherly persona. 'If there's anything you need anytime, just give a shout dear.'

Molly thanked her before failing into the unfamiliar bed but soon sleep found her.

She showered before eventually wandering down, finding the kitchen from the night before where doctor Banks was reading the morning newspaper. Margret immediately bustled over to the table and served breakfast. Everything was so...surreal.

'How's Sherlock?' she ventured, not wanting to interrupt the doctors reading but desperate to know.

'He's doing well. Woke up twice in the night briefly and once more this morning, the name "John" was often called for throughout.'

Molly hummed in sympathy, Sherlock probably didn't even realise he was saying it in his feverish state.

'Still,' the doctor continued. 'None of my business. I'm just the doctor and as his doctor I am pleased to say he should make a quick and full recovery in a few weeks. Of course,' he added after a moment of thought. 'It wouldn't have been so dire if his body and immune system hadn't already been exhausted and weak. Too little food with too much running about that one.'

Molly tried to hide the small smile, Yes; well that's Sherlock for you.

She went back up to his room later with a book and sat on the end of the massive bed. The rustling sheets a few hours later were what alerted her to Sherlock's consciousness. His eyes were hazy with exhaustion but he gave a small smile when they fell on Molly.

'Hey,' she said placing her book face down and swivelling around to face him. He gave a small, humorous wave of his hand in reply and she giggled.

'Thirsty?'

He nodded and she poured him a small glass which she helped him to sit and drink.

'I suppose doctor Banks informed you of your condition?'

He nodded again but on wetting his throat attempted to speak. 'Yes,' he croaked, frowning in annoyance at its strain. Molly bit her lip and Sherlock turned the empty glass around in his hands.

'I'm sorry Sherlock, you were really sick and I didn't know what to do and now heaps of people know your alive and I know I promised but I couldn't...'

He weakly placed his hand on her arm, stopping her. 'Molly its fine, truly. It's my fault for not dealing with it sooner. I was just too cowardly and proud to call Mycroft to help. I didn't want him to have a lever to wedge into the situation more than he already does.' Molly scoffed at that.

'What?' Sherlock asked and she immediately regretted it.

'No, nothing. It's fine.'

He looked at her with those eyes, now grey and intense; able to see her every thought. 'Something else is upsetting you, what is it?'

She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to tell him but she had to know the truth. 'Every time you come to me for help, are you putting me in danger?'

Sherlock was silent for a while before straining to sit up further. 'My brothers been speaking to you, hasn't he?'

Molly shook her head, irritated he didn't straight out answer. 'You're avoiding my question. Do you?'

He frowned, serious but with clear concern in his eyes. 'Look at me Molly.'

She slowly turned her head and held eye contact with him.

'I would never-never purposefully pit you in danger or compromise your safety. I am incredibly careful and had I ever the slightest sign that my presence would somehow affect you, I would never show up. Let me tell you that there have been many times I haven't. Hell! I got shot in the leg but stayed hidden because I knew you would be in danger if I went to you.'

Molly didn't reply and Sherlock lay back down, clearly having exhausted his little storage of strength.

'What else did my brother tell you?'

She sighed; there was no use in hiding anything from Sherlock. 'He said that I could get out of this. That he could have someone take over and look out for you. He told me-he said I was merely a tool to be used for your own gain. He offered me safety and peace, with me knowing you would be safe under his care.'

Sherlock's reaction was unexpected and Molly didn't know what to say when he laughed. Until he fell into a coughing fit. She poured some more water which he drank but still continued to chuckle softly.

'What?!' she demanded.

He looked up at her with that old glint in his eyes, something Molly hadn't seen for a long time.

'He's jealous.'

'What?' she asked again.

'Mycroft, he's jealous that I'm going to you. He is beyond frustrated that he can't keep tabs on me and tell me what to do and where to go and get his people involved.' Sherlock laughed a bit more and shook his head a little. Suddenly seriousness took hold of his features once more. 'I would tie it down to guilt but...' he didn't finish his sentence, instead taking another sip of water and sitting in silence afterwards.

'Ignore him Molly, that's what I do.'

She fiddled with her fingers, still feeling unsure. Sherlock paused and looked defeated. 'Unless of course, you don't want me to. Do you want me to accept his offer? Because if that's what you want then I'll do it...for you.'

Molly cupped her face with her hand, taking large breaths, eventually shaking her head slowly. 'No. I hate this Sherlock. I really do. Every time you come back its all...it's hard. But I want and promised to help you, and I don't want you to think you have to do this alone. You shouldn't have to do this alone. And although the times between kill me, every time you show up, it's-it's just so much of a relief to know, to see you alive.'

Sherlock mostly slept, with Molly beside him on the few occasions when everything overwhelmed him and she stayed, giving him support and comfort like no-one else could. Sherlock was grateful but would later never admit to being so emotionally fragile.

'It hurts Molly,' he began on a particular night while half awake in the darkness. Molly shuffled closer to him so they could whisper.

'What does?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'It's a constant ache. I know it would be painful, but I didn't think it would burn as much as it does, as often as it does.'

Molly took a breath, now understanding the meaning of his words. 'You miss him.'

Sherlock nodded and in the moonlight she could see his eyes close and mouth quiver as he tried to hide his emotions. 'It's,' his hand moved to his chest. 'Constant pain Molly.' He turned over to face her now, their faces inches apart and now she could see the glint in his eyes of the unshed tears. 'I miss him every day. Hour, minute. I-I thought it would stop, I thought it would go back to how it use to be and the pain would eventually go numb and then forgotten.' He shook his head despairingly. 'But it doesn't. It never does and some does it's truly unbearable and I'm so close to just...giving up. Mycroft could take over and I could go home but then, then it would have all been for nothing, and I would have nothing to show for it. I wouldn't be able to give him a reason.'

He was silent; the only noise of their two individual breathing filling the room as Molly stroked Sherlock's silky hair, knowing no words could comfort him. Molly had to go home the next day, but Sherlock was still required a lot more rest.

Nothing of the kind was said and three weeks later a much healthier looking Sherlock arrived at Molly's flat. He stayed for a cup of tea and left ten minutes later with a hug and a determined smile that Molly hoped would get him through till the next time.


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