Chapter 8

Beeping...hums...

'Fuck my head...'

Moving was a bother so he stayed still, then what seemed like a few minutes more Sherlock slowly began to open his eyes and tried to focus.

"Where am I?" Everything, almost every fiber was sore.

"Oh my God! John, he's awake," Molly sighed with joy, reaching her left hand out to shake John into consciousness and her right one up to Sherlock's face where she stroked his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Wha..." Sherlock managed to turn his head to Molly, and seeing her gave him a bit of energy, "Molly...John..." his mouth twitched in an attempted grin.

"Hi..."

"Hi," She returned his smile much more brightly. Molly couldn't even begin to describe the relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice. He'd been unconscious for days and had several blood transfusions to make up for what Moriarty had done. It turned out he'd cut much deeper than any of them had thought and it was a borderline miracle that Sherlock was alive.

John stood and crossed to the other side of the bed, taking Sherlock's hand in his. Attempting to keep his face clear of all the emotions running around inside him, he asked.

"Do you feel alright?"

"O grand really, I love having a needle shoved up my arm and my arse in bed for... several days I estimate," Sherlock replied sarcastically. John smiled in spite of himself because Sherlock may be acting like a smart ass, but he was an alive smart ass.

"How much do you remember about...about what happened?"

"Last was Moran going after Moriarty, then I heard Molly and that was all," Sherlock replied, giving a big grin, watching her lessened the pain a little. He raised his hand and slightly squeezed hers, releasing a sigh. Wanting to remind Sherlock and Molly of his presence, John spoke again.

"Moran got pretty badly wounded. He knocked Moriarty out then unlocked the door for Molly and I. We left him with Moriarty tied up on a chair, but we haven't heard yet what happened after that. We're lucky your phone was still in your coat pocket, they'd taken ours from us when they brought us in. We called Mycroft once we got outside and he picked us up. You were admitted into Bart's and with Mycroft's connections, and a few of Lestrade's, your return to life hasn't made it to the media or even past the medical staff at all."

"Wait... O yes, suppose to be dead... again," Sherlock managed to chuckle, "Hm, Moran... strange, he was the one that gave me this," pointing to the old scar. "Then suddenly he helps, interesting."

"I think Moriarty pushed him too far this time. Moran isn't as sick and twisted as him."

"So what happens now?" asked Molly. "Considering that you're supposed to still be dead to the public, we've got special permission to release you from the hospital whenever you'd like. John and I can care for you at home." At the last word, Molly's heart beat faster. Which home was his home? When it started, he was only staying with her because John couldn't know he was alive. Now that John did, would Sherlock be resuming his life at 221B?

"Guess I should thank Mycroft with a cake or something," sighing, "Wait, Molly! What happened to you? And John! Why aren't the two of you in a hospital bed?"

"Oh we were," John replied, "But there was no lasting damage done to either of us. I wasn't even properly admitted and Molly was released the day after the 'ordeal', for lack of a better word."

"We've both been sort of... living here..." Molly trailed off, indicating two large suitcases in the corner of the room. "Mycroft's name got us a lot of leeway, and we've been allowed to stay 24/7."

"All this time?" Sherlock bit his lip and closed his eyes, "...so sorry. The both of you... damn it ..." his hand clenching into the sheets, "I... this was never suppose to happen."

"Don't apologize. None of this was your fault. It was actually... mine," Molly's eyes welled up and she looked down, letting go of Sherlock's hand and feeling completely ashamed.

"How? Impossible, no, no, no, love." Sherlock sat up, but secretly regretted it when he felt his sides split open, "Truly impossible..." he managed softly, holding her face.

"I should have warned you!" God, why did she have to cry again? "About a week ago, Moriarty came to see me when I was at work..." she began, hating herself for being so cowardly, "When he arrived, he was in a disguise and I thought it was you, Sherlock! So, I got excited... he guessed who I thought he was... and that's why he knew you were here!" She laid her head down on the bed and sobbed.

"He told me not to tell you...he threatened me and John... and you... I don't know why I listened to him! Sherlock, I'm so sorry... it's all my fault..." This had been building up inside her ever since that day. It was a slight relief to get it out, but the crippling shame she felt wasn't worth it.

Sherlock felt his insides crumple and felt far worse.

"It explains everything... so stupid. Molly please," stroking her hair, "Did he do anything to you? He must have had to, to get you shut up like that?"

"Nothing... painful or anything... I'm sure I was just overreacting... he pinned me up against the wall and kissed my neck... licked me too," Molly shuddered and squirmed at the memory, almost feeling his lips on her once again, "He just scared me so much...but that shouldn't have stopped me from telling you. I'm so, so, sorry that I did this to you." She knew that after all he'd been through, he shouldn't forgive her, but she was hoping against hope that he might.

Sherlock bolted up, ripped the needle out of his arm, and jumped out of the bed. In the corner, on a chair was where his faithful coat lay, he threw it on and headed for the door.

"I. Will. Fucking. Tear. Him. Apart." His chest heaved as he seethed, flames could have been seeping from his mouth. Both Molly and John leaped to their feet and dragged him back to the bed.

"Sherlock, calm down" John said, preparing to re-inject the needle after Molly removed his coat. Laying it back over the chair on which it had sat, Molly just kept repeating in a small whisper, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." She couldn't look at Sherlock without feeling guilty.

He growled in the sheet, "Bastard..." he normally would have been able to push them away, but was too weak, so unhappily he allowed them to manhandle them. After giving himself a moment, Sherlock sat up and pulled Molly to him, "Please. Stop. He would have done it all anyway, whether he found you or not. Shhh, hush love."

Molly felt his arms around her and the whole room spun. For awhile, she thought she'd never feel him hold her again. But it was over too soon. She pulled away remembering that he was in severe pain and probably just wasn't mentioning it for her sake. As their embrace broke apart, John felt that he could step back in from the corner to which he had retreated after inserting the needle into Sherlock's arm. Molly pulled herself together and wiped off her tears as John asked,

"How long do you want to stay in the hospital, Sherlock?"

"Not at all, I want to leave now," Sherlock's eyes glanced to John and he came up with a thought.

"Molly... if it alright with you... do you mind if I go home with John, please. I owe him a lot..." Sherlock smiled at him, sadly.

"Yes, right...'course I don't mind," she muttered. She had been expecting this, but she wasn't prepared for the sinking feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach. Molly wanted nothing less than to return to her lonely, solitary lifestyle. But of course, John didn't deserve that sadness either.

John, on the other hand, felt his heart lift. In their hospital visit Molly had told him of their relationship and about Sherlock staying with her since he got back, and they'd endured a brief, silent moment of awkwardness. They both wanted so desperately for Sherlock to come home with them but understood entirely why he wouldn't. They'd decided to let Sherlock choose when he woke up and hadn't approached the subject since. He gripped Sherlock's uninjured shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Thank Molly for being a good sport," Sherlock rolled his head back to her, "you can be so kind when I need it most."

She smiled a very fake smile. At least she was starting to make things up to John. Within the past couple of days, the two of them had grown much closer and she now considered him a good friend. He also thought of her as a friend so, seeing how upset she was, he crossed over to her and gave her a hug.

"Thank you, Molly."

"It's no problem. I assumed this would happen," She didn't want the attention on her anymore so she turned it to Sherlock, "Shall we pack up then?"

"Mhm, do I need to call my brother." Sherlock rolled his eyes but then laughed a little. Unspoken he thought over the situation in his mind, he had a feeling this might make Molly uncomfortable, yet at the same time he really missed John. And the reunion they experienced was one he did not want to remember.

"I suppose you might want to let him know you're alive," Molly told him and his small laugh had lightened her sadness enough to let a real smile emerge.

"Come on," she said to John, "Let's get all this stuff together." They began busying themselves with their bags and Sherlock's belongings.

Alive and thanks for everything. How's the diet? -SH

Really Sherlock? Honestly... -MH

Sherlock smirked to himself and observantly watched John and Molly, happy the two seemed to be good friends. All in all, the trio really had a harrowing experience.

Go home and don't do anything stupid you clot. -MH

Yes, yes dear Big Brother...-SH

"And what is so funny?" Molly asked, noticing Sherlock's devious smile as she stuffed some of Sherlock's shirts into a duffle bag.

"Nothing love. Come on, let's hurry, I miss my skull," Sherlock replied, cheerfully and started to change, back turned to them. Sherlock's elation was infectious and soon John and Molly were just as chipper. John smiled. He'd never thought he'd become such friends with Molly Hooper, but he was thrilled that he had. The three of them were like a tiny, mismatched family and he had never felt more at home. Almost a bit giddy, Sherlock felt slightly bouncy in the taxi ride back to 221B Baker Street and before he went upstairs he decided to stop by into Speedy's.

"Three coffees please and maybe a pastry, you want anything, love? John?"

"Yes sir, coming right u-", Mrs. Hudson froze and dropped the cup she was holding, shattering on the floor. Tears began forming in Molly's eyes as she watched Mrs. Hudson stare in disbelief at the son-like man she thought she'd lost.

"She-Sher-" Mrs. Hudson rounded the counter, grabbing the rolling pin at the same time and started after Sherlock, "You have any idea what that stupid oaf's been through! John was extremely unwell!" she shrilled, attacking Sherlock and beating at him as he tried to swat her away.

"Mrs. Hudson-" Thwap, "Ow! Please now-" clunk, "let's be-" thunk, "re- reasonable."

John started chuckling and pulled Mrs. Hudson off Sherlock.

"It's alright, I promise! Mrs. Hudson, stop, it's okay."

When John lifted Mrs. Hudson in the air, she kicked in flailed. "Let me at the bastard! He's aged me an entire decade! Put me down!" After another few minutes of this she eventually quieted down and was held by Sherlock when she sobbed into his coat for awhile as he apologized, repeatedly. John and Molly stepped back to let the other two have their reunion.

"No one's told Lestrade yet that Sherlock woke up and is okay," Molly whispered so as to not disturb the moment.

"You're right. Should we text him or let Sherlock tell him?"

Molly thought for a moment. "We'll let him decide once they're done." Her eyes made their way back to the hugging duo. She loved seeing him so caring.

Sherlock flagged them down, "Gentlemen, Ladies, why don't we go upstairs and have another Christmas party," Sherlock winked to Molly, "I'll be nicer this time. John, go get milk, jam, and I assume you have most of the drinks upstairs. Mrs. Hudson some nibbles please. Oh and John, on your way out please get Lest- Greg... Greg might as well join in too. But do not tell Mycroft!" Sherlock added on as he began to head out the door bag slung over his shoulder.

Molly smiled, following Sherlock upstairs as John headed out the door. He pulled out his phone and dialed Lestrade as he simultaneously hailed a cab. Upstairs, Molly entered the kitchen and started rounding up anything alcoholic as well as any party friendly snacks. Entering the door, Sherlock practically danced around, first moving to the fire place, he clutched his old friend, "I missed you so much" he mused as he kissed the skull. Then to the couch, checking his friend Smiley, bullet holes still very present.

Finally he moved to his old room and felt a little sad when he looked in. Since the day he left it, it seemed

Mrs. Hudson nor John had touched or moved a single thing, though maybe dusted every once in awhile because he noticed streaks of it in some places but not others. Throwing his bag next to the bed, he let himself fall on the mattress, taking it all in, eagle spread.

His girlfriend had watched him make his way down to his room and, after a moment, followed his footsteps. She stopped in the doorway, observing him and knowing how odd it must feel.

"Hi there," Sherlock said when he heard her come into the room. The detective pushed himself up and strode over to Molly, beaming and smirking. Without thinking much, he slid his right hand on her waist and held her hand up with his left. Slowly Sherlock started to guide her around the room, allowing his footwork to move them about gracefully. Molly let him lead her and laid her head on his chest.

"I thought I'd really lost you this time," she whispered. She didn't mean to let it slip out, but she'd been thinking it for days. Having him hold her like this was a luxury she never thought she'd have again.

"I thought I was going to lose you too," he paused in the middle of his rhythm, "you held up well for yourself..." holding her tighter, he rested his hand on her head.

"Trust me, you won't be getting rid of me that easy," she teased, glad for a reason to smile again. They stood there, wrapped around each other, for so long that Molly lost track of time. As much as she didn't want to, she asked-

"Should we get things set up? John and Lestrade will be back soon... and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will be up at any moment." Though she suggested it, she still didn't break away from him.

"Just a little longer..." Sherlock murmured when he picked up her chin and bent over, kissing her lovingly. Any aches or pains he would have felt melted away. The last time he was able to be with her was days ago, so enjoyed every passing second. She certainly had no complaints. If it was up to her, they'd stay like this forever. She kissed him back and realized how much she had missed it. Forgetting everything else, he was against the wall with her, enraptured when he felt Molly cling to him, it gave him intense butterflies, so to counter it Sherlock kissed her feverishly and with longing. It was like the past week of horror had never happened. Molly held on to him even more tightly, never wanting to let go and then she heard a noise from the living room.

"Sherlock? Molly, dear?"

They broke apart and she sighed. "Coming, Mrs. Hudson," she called out. "Come on, we'd better go." She held her hand out to Sherlock. Sherlock cleared his throat and murmured an "Excuse me," before swiftly heading to the bathroom before anyone could find them, while she let her hand fall and headed back to the living room alone.

"Let's get some of this set up, shall we?" she began getting small plates to fill with snacks.

"O hello deary, got some things cookin' in the oven down stairs. Thanks for the help dear."

"Of course," Molly said quietly, "I'm so sorry we sprang this on you..." She couldn't imagine how it would have felt, attending Sherlock's funeral, thinking and accepting that he was really dead, then having him show up on her doorstep. Mrs. Hudson must have been filled with emotions but had been putting on a facade of calm for know.

Without skipping a beat Mrs. Hudson began to set up the food and drink. "O no worries, he will get his beating later. Those two I swear they get in the worst of troubles," shaking her head, "it down right scares me... I think it always will... Stupid boys..." ending on a motherly note.

After closing the door behind him, Sherlock slid onto the tiled floor, heaving out a heavy sigh and adjusted his trousers. Another minute went by when he gained the strength to stand again and at the sink he splashed some water on him, not just to cool himself, but steer himself back to reality since Molly swept him somewhere else.

Back in the sitting room, Molly smiled and rested her hand on Mrs. Hudson's. "They are so lucky to have you," Molly told her, sincerely and not wanting to say more on the subject, so she left it at that.

Finally Sherlock left his sanctuary and found the two outside, "Hey Molly, Lestrade here yet?"

"Not quite," passing the window to look outside, "They should be back soon I imagine... oh! Maybe? Yes! John and Lestrade are here!"

Together, the two men got the groceries John had bought, walked up the stairs, and into the flat.

"This looks like quite the gathering," Lestrade said, grinning. He crossed over to Sherlock and held out his hand for a shake. "Good to see you feeling better."

"Greg," Sherlock couldn't help but give him a brotherly hug, "Lost your tan have you? No holidays?"

"Well, I've been a bit more busy lately. Had to solve some cases without a consulting detective... Never trying that again."

"Anderson isn't it? Pity he is still there without having accidently killed someone or something. So ladies and gentlemen," grinning lovingly to Molly, "let's get started."