"Gregory Lestrade, don't you DARE disturb that cat," Molly warned sternly.
"Molly, Love… I can't just lie here all day, and by the way I firmly object to the way you're using Barnaby, taking grievous advantage of the fact that he's a shameless suck who likes to sleep on top of me."
"Greg, my darling husband, you're recovering from broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a splenectomy. I don't mean to sound crude, but darling, just calm your bloody tits."
Greg laughed out loud, immediately regretting it as pain shot through his chest. "Ohhhh, that's dirty pool. You did that on purpose Molly Lestrade. Making me laugh because you know it hurts like a bastard, just to remind me why I'm not supposed to be getting out of bed just yet."
Molly's expression softened. "Well, that wasn't QUITE my intention, but if that's how it's worked itself out, far be it for ME to argue." She went over to the sofa, where Greg was reclined with pillows and a light blanket, and curled up the floor next to him, leaning in close to him.
"Are you within kissing distance on purpose, perchance? Perhaps to apologize?" he murmured.
Molly laughed softly. "Apologize? Of course not, I've nothing to apologize for. However, if YOU'D like to apologize, I'd take a kiss to balance."