Another update! Trying to make them pretty regular:) Thank you for all of the Reviews! Very encouraging and fun to read:) Sadly, I do not own anything! Enjoy!

A large body shifting and turning over in the middle of the night had woken Molly a while ago, but rather than disturb the man that had ended up at some point curled around her, she remained unmoving though very awake. Every breath Sherlock expelled ghosted across her face and she was extremely aware of every heartbeat and every small movement. She tried hard not to turn her eyes to his sleeping face; it would be too tempting, too easy to get lost in the intimacy of the moment. And that's what worried her most. There shouldn't have been any intimacy. They shouldn't be together in her small home, curled together like they did this every night of their lives. Being together, being that close caused trouble. And Molly Hooper didn't need any more trouble than she had.

Still she hesitated to wake him; she was sure he hadn't really slept in at least a week. He frightened her with his bad habits and poor routines. He never slept or ate when he should and often put them off until someone forced him to. She wondered how often he did anything but cause trouble for himself without someone around to keep an eye on him. Even if he didn't know it, John was a blessing to him. At least he had someone around to make sure he didn't destroy himself.

Molly shifted slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse at his face. She cursed herself the moment she had done it; he was beautiful. She suppressed the urge to brush a curl from his forehead as she continued to scan his sleeping features. She rarely ever saw him except on Sunday mornings, but now she could clearly see the dark bags under his eyes. She was right then, he hadn't been sleeping much.

Molly sighed sadly, jumping slightly as his arm tightened around her waist. Again she considered just staying put and leaving him to rest, but she knew that she enjoyed having him near too much to let this go on. Bringing her arm up to his shoulder, she mimicked Sherlock's actions earlier in the night. She dispensed with just shaking him lightly and began to shake him with more force until he lazily opened his eyes. As soon as he removed his arm from her waist, Molly sat up and moved back until her back rested on the rough, wooden wall that her bed met. She sat there patiently waiting for Sherlock to come completely to life. He struggled to pull himself up to a sitting position, still groggy from sleep.

"Is it morning?" he finally asked, though his speech was slurred.

"Not quite yet," Molly replied quietly, gaze cast at the wall across the room from her, "the sun hasn't started to rise. You'll have plenty of time to get back to your own home unseen.

When he didn't reply, she thought he might have fallen back to sleep, but when she turned her head she was frozen by his stare. There was no sleepy glaze over his eyes as he watched her intently. The look he was giving her was uncomfortable.

"We never talked," he stated coolly.

"No, we did. It was brief and unimportant, but we spoke last night."

Sherlock shook his head and moved up the bed until his back rested on the same wall as Molly's. He ran his hands through his thick curls and over his face trying, as far as Molly could tell, to keep himself fully awake.

"I came to talk about something more important." Molly did not reply. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to discuss. "He's here."

Molly dropped her head. "I know. He spoke to me in the prison."

Molly heard Sherlock make an angry strangled noise and turned her head to see his face was still as impassive as it had been a minute ago.

"He wanted to make a deal with me," she tried to make eye contact with the man beside her, but his focus was on the opposite wall as hers had been, "he said he wanted to keep our marriage a secret. In fact he said that I should forget we were ever married to begin with."

Sherlock swiveled towards her quickly, his brow furrowed deeply. "Why? Why would he want that? Why not just bring you out and humiliate you more?"

Molly cringed at the thought of her humiliation; as if anyone could make it worse.

"All I understand is that he believes it would be best for both he and I if no one knew he was once my husband."

Sherlock's face remained perplexed with a hint of concern. Molly could tell he was deep in thought, thought she would probably have a hard time keeping up with. Suddenly his expression shifted to one of mild horror. Molly's stomach dropped; she dreaded what Sherlock had discovered.

Thankfully, he kept the revelation to himself, quickly shaking the look from his face and replacing it with his usual expression of impassive boredom.

"If Moriarty wishes that no one knows of your union, then you will comply, correct?"

Molly nodded her head solemnly. "Yes."

"Good."

They were silent for a few minutes, both of their eyes cast at the same, dull wall. They were too afraid to look directly at each other.

After a silence that had spanned a little too long, Sherlock spoke. "You know, I've been curious about your relationship with J—"

"Sherlock, shh, look," Molly's voice was quiet but had a sense of urgency as well.

Sherlock followed her gaze to the small window in her room. Light slowly flooded the wooden floor, illuminating her face. It was morning.

"You need to leave," when Sherlock made no effort to rise from her bed, she became frantic, "now!"

Molly swatted his arm and pushed him from her bed with determination. Walking to a small chest in the corner, she grabbed her dress and bonnet. The last Sherlock saw of her as he made his way out of the room was a wide view of her bare shoulders as she slid out of her night clothes. He had to force himself to keep walking to the front door.

Still hoping to avoid any prying eyes at such an early hour, Sherlock opened the door swiftly and began down the path and a run, then a casual walk when he was far enough away. Though he noticed as he stepped out onto the gravel road that formed their town's main street that he felt a bit incomplete. One more step and he realized that he had forgotten something very important at Molly's bedside; his shoes.

Sherlock froze. What was he to do? The sun was rising quickly, soon enough all of the town would be up and about, shuffling down the streets like the livestock they were. But, he thought in distress, he also couldn't return home without his only pair of shoes. John would ask questions, but, as John was new to his life and also aware that he had many quirks, perhaps he wouldn't push the matter too far. He could always retrieve his shoe's another time, perhaps Molly could drop them off or slip them into John's shoulder bag.

Before Sherlock had any more time to decide his best course of action, he heard something hit the ground a few feet behind him, and then felt something else hit the back of his leg. He turned quickly to find a pair of shoes scattered on the path he had just been walking down. Looking up he saw Molly at her door, smirking and waving before going back inside. Sherlock moved to grab up his shoes and, holding them both in one hand, began back down the path, across the road, and back to his home.

Though while he walked he had to admit that he admired Molly's throws. He laughed to himself as he disappeared through his front door.