"He would have done everything in his power to stop this from happening to you, Molly. Contrary to common belief, he does care for the people he loves and you're one of them."

Molly sat motionless on her bed long after Mycroft had left, hands wrapped around the file, pondering over the words he had spoken to her.

"Do you… trust my words, Molly?" he had asked her. Molly blinked back tears and looked into her lap. Her mind was going numb with the truth that was unwrapped in front of her.

"Yes," she admitted simply, not completely sure what else to say.

"I understand that we cannot bring back the time we've lost, Molly. What's done is done. I don't disparage your sufferings for they were great. But I want you to know that Sherlock is trying to compensate. He values you and your friendship. And he's doing everything he can to make amends."

She stared into nothingness, taking a critical look at her life over the past two weeks, pulling up all the emotions she felt. Her brain pictured all the events that happened to her in the last fifteen days. Molly thought about the chain of events that led her to the place she was in right now, about all those things that she has gained back in this short period of time.

"What got me to the position I'm in now?" she honestly asked herself. "What was I thinking about a few months ago or maybe my whole life about?"

All this time, she kept telling herself that she didn't matter to anyone when in reality she was under the protected eye. Mycroft had kept her safe and… Sherlock…

In a beat, the memories came flooding back in her mind. Two familiar yet very different voices buzzed inside her conscious brain.

"It shouldn't matter to you…"

"…I don't want anything to happen to you, ever again…"

"You should just move on…"

"… I know you have questions. And you will get the answers."

"Who your father was doesn't have to matter now…"

"…let me help you…"

She let out a painful breath. The realization that both of them were in the same situation, struggling against the truth of past, fighting a war alone made Molly gasp. They both had not been there to comfort each other when they had needed it the most.

And then, all of a sudden one day he was there. Molly recalled all the things Sherlock did. All the services he performed, all the comfort he provided to her even though she kept pushing him away. How had she been so blind? It was him, it always had been him. Sherlock had been there with her the moment he knew about her truth.

"He made it all possible," she whispered.

Molly closed her eyes, letting her mind loose to replay the memories she had so mindlessly pushing away for two weeks. There he was outside her family house, fighting the attacker who was set out to kill her. There he was when she was struggling for dear life back at her home. She wasn't sure but she had a strange feeling that she even heard him when she was unconscious. There he was sitting next to her in a car because he trusted no one else with her security. Sherlock was the reason she was alive…

Tears of realization fell out of brown eyes, rolling down on pale cheeks. Finally, she saw the truth and in the end it was easy for her to understand it. It was easy when it came down to it especially after all the concrete proof she had witnessed.

After a long hour, the war raging within her was finally coming to an end. Molly closed the file open in her lap and placed it gingerly on her bedside table and slid her legs down. She slipped into her comfortable slippers and strode towards the window. She inhaled deeply through her nose as she neared the open window, filling her lungs with fresh air, feeling truly alive for the first time in weeks. For several moments she stood there with closed eyes, letting tears fall freely.

A soft knock at the door made her heart jump to her throat. She rubbed her face instantly with the back of her hand and composed herself before speaking.

"…Yes," she answered. "Put them on the table please, I'll take it them in a few moments." Molly kept her back to the nurse who would be there with her routine medicine. She didn't want to face anyone right now, not with a tear soaked face anyway.

"Delaying your medicines isn't very appropriate, Molly." A deep baritone voice came from behind her. Molly's eyed widened when she realized it wasn't a nurse as she had expected. She closed her eyes in anticipation. She wasn't yet ready – ready to face him so soon after... What would she say? Molly cleaned her eyes with her finger tips and slowly turned around.

"I don't think it's wise," he said.

"Er… yes." She tried her best to sound calm. There he stood, at the threshold of her room, his hand hanging on the knob. His eyes taking in her appearance when he realized something was not right.

Sherlock swallowed. "Good evening."

"Evening," Molly replied.

"How are you, Molly?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

"I'm… well," Molly quipped.

There was a pause, a really awkward one when Sherlock and Molly stared at each other not knowing what to say or do.

"This is a comfortable room?" he asked. Sherlock mentally kicked himself for asking such a stupid question.

"…Yes." Molly nodded. Sherlock clenched his gloves in his hands nervously. There was another pause.

"Mycroft told me your doctors are pleased with the progress you've -"

"Anthea just went out for refreshmen -"

They spoke over each other.

"Yes."

"They are."

They replied together again. A small smile curled up at their lips, followed by another pause.

"Why don't you sit down," Molly suggested, gesturing to the chair that Anthea so often occupied. Sherlock nodded brusquely and moved towards the chair. Molly moved swiftly past him when he settled himself upon the chair and sat on the edge of her bed.

"It'scometomyattentionthatthebabywatsonhasarrivedlastweek." Unable to stop himself, he babbled it out.

Molly stared at him with confusion. "Sorry, what?"

"Well, Mycroft told me that the Watsons welcomed a baby last week." Sherlock's eyes glistered with happiness for the first time. There was no nervousness in his demeanor when he repeated it.

His heartbeat raced when Sherlock saw the same flicker in Molly's eyes too. "Really, Sherlock?" she said excitedly.

He nodded with a smile that radiated his entire face. "Yes! Really." His voice was overwhelmed.

"That's such wonderful news." Molly's face mirrored his glee and suddenly the breathing became a difficult task for Sherlock. Now that he had seen it he realized how much he had missed that smile.

"It is," he agreed with a wide grin. "Charlotte must be really beautiful, don't you think?" He looked like an excited kid.

"Charlotte?"

"Mycroft told me that they named her Charlotte. Apparently "Sherlock" wasn't quite suitable, although I did inform John that Sherlock is actually a girl's name," Sherlock said matter of factly.

Molly let out a soft giggle, followed by a deep chuckle from Sherlock.

"It's not hard to deduce that Mary might've disapproved of it. As much as I hate to admit it, she doesknow when someone is fibbing," he said with a dramatic sigh.

Sherlock stared at the lines forming around her eyes when Molly laughed light heartedly. Her hair wasn't up in her usual ponytail but fell graciously along her back over the loosely fitted gown Anthea had personally bought for her by Mycroft's orders because he despised the hospital gowns. She was after all the patient of the Holmes. A few strands playing along her neck covered the healing marks Sherlock had once nursed. His gaze travelled down the length of her arm clearly visible through the light fabric of the garment. To his great relief he could see that the nasty wound along her elbow was almost healed now. And when Sherlock dragged his eyes up again to see her face her with her cheeks flushed, he swear he fought the urge to make a thorough examination of those lips she so unconsciously chewed.

"thorough examination" what was he thinking? "Not helpful, Molly," he thought uncomfortably. Wrong train of thought.

But if he was being honest with himself, even in that saggy peach colored night gown Molly was…quite a sight. For a blissful moment it felt like everything was back to normal, back to the way it used to be between them. She felt like a home he wasn't aware he was missing till now.

"I have something of yours I'd like to return," he said.

Sherlock fished inside his coat pocket and withdrew a small folded paper. Molly looked down at the paper and then back up to him in disbelief.

"I didn't get the chance to return it earlier. But since it's likely you'll return to your home very soon, I think you should have it back."

He spread his palm, the piece of paper resting on it. Molly eyed it, and reached for it with trembling fingers. She knew what it was. She couldn't believe she was getting it back.

"Thank you." She picked up the letter which was a treasure to her.

"I thought I'd never see it again," she whispered. She opened it carefully, fingers creasing the hand writing as she sighed.

"I wanted it back," she said with a sniff. Sherlock heart twitched. "More than anything else."

He knew she wouldn't ask exactly how Emile's letter has been in his possession. They both knew the answer. How can either of them forget that night?

"I know." He knew of nothing else to say.

Molly glimpsed at Sherlock's intervened hands folded into his lap and something crashed within her when she saw very freshly wounded knuckles of the detective.

How much more would he suffer for her? How much more would he do? She asked herself incredulously.

"Molly, what is it?"

She looked at him sadly, knowing that this was the moment that she needed to take that first step…and make peace.

"I just, um…I've been thinking, quite a lot actually. And all that thinking has included…you." She looked at him briefly before focusing again on toying with the fabric along the wrist of her night gown.

"Has it?" he asked, sounding a little nervous. He hadn't been feeling terribly confident about Molly's opinion of him lately. He felt like he was walking on egg shells around her these days, and it was a terribly unpleasant feeling compared to the relationship with Molly that he was used to in years past.

"I'm not going to lie and act as if I haven't been through a lot. I have, and it's been awful. I've been hurt in more ways than one and I can't bear the thought of hurting anymore."

"Molly, I promise you won't have to –"

"No, please," she said putting her hand up and stopping him short. "I need to get this out and it's a bit difficult. Just…let me say this."

Sherlock nodded. "Go ahead."

"My point is that after all this suffering both mentally and physically, I wanted to do all I can to avoid anything that could hurt me further."

Sherlock's heart sank a bit. Would this be it? Was this the moment when Molly Hooper finally cut him out of her life forever in a effort to save herself the pain. He had to admit that she might be wise to do such a thing…

"And yet," she went on, her voice breaking slightly. "I've just realized that I'm still hurting myself…and you." Her eyes glistened with tears.

Sherlock frowned, wondering what she was saying.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said with a little sniff. "I'm truly sorry. I've been angry at you when I shouldn't have been. Well, at least not for this long. I know you've done what you can. You've done more than most people would! And you care more than most people would. My God, you cared more than my fiancé…my ex fiancé at the time!" She laughed and grabbed a tissue to wipe her nose briefly before going on.

"Look, I know I've pushed you away and complained and been angry...but no more. I can't change how I've been treating you recently, but I want you to know that it'll be different now. I'm truly grateful for all you've done...and now this," she said gesturing to the letter she'd placed on the side table. "Once again you're proving that you really are here to help me."

Sherlock felt it safe to speak again. "Molly, I am sorry that I wasn't there before. I swear that if I had known everything, I would have been."

She nodded. "I know, I know. And I wanted you to be there during that time...so much. You have no idea. I suppose that's my only excuse for having been so bitter. I just..." Her voice broke again. "I needed you," she whispered.

He couldn't stay put any longer. A force drove him to get up and move to sit beside her on the bed, even though he felt a bit out of his depth once he was there. He gingerly placed his arm around her shoulder and was grateful that she took it from there. Molly leaned into him and wrapped her own arm around his back. They stayed like that for a few moments, neither saying anything. Then Molly straightened up again and looked at him.

"But um, I understand you needed someone as well," she said softly. "You thought that um...Mycroft told me that when you went away, you thought you wouldn't..." She couldn't actually say the words and ended up looking down in her lap again.

"Ah," Sherlock thought. "Mycroft's little meeting with Molly. Very clever…"

"But I did come back, Molly," he murmured. "I didn't tell you the truth of what I thought was about to happen, but I simply couldn't. I couldn't let you or anyone know. It seemed the only way."

"I would have found you another body if you asked nicely," she said with a laugh.

He laughed as well. "Yes, I know you would have!"

"But you were protecting me, weren't you?" she said, her voice becoming serious again as she looked up at him again with big brown eyes.

Sherlock swallowed hard when he turned and connected his gaze to hers. "Yes...of course I was."

"What I wouldn't do to protect you, Molly," he thought.

She leaned into him again, breathing a sigh of relief to have things back to normal. No, not back to normal...this was much better. To feel his arm around her, breathe in his scent, and most of all to hear his sincerely spoken words of friendship, they were enough to make her feel a contentment that she'd been lacking for so long.

"I missed you, Sherlock," she whispered, before she could think to control how tender a tone of voice she was using. She could swear she felt his chest rising and falling more rapidly all of a sudden.

"I…" He hesitated, not used to saying these sort of things. He gripped her shoulder a bit tighter, perhaps partially to give himself some extra strength. "I missed you," he said, almost too quiet to hear. But Molly heard him.

She was very sure it was one of the most beautiful things she'd heard in a long time. Sherlock exhaled slowly and looked between Molly and the file resting at the table.

"You… you once said to me that I'm a bit like your dad," Sherlock whispered. Molly turned her head up slowly to look into his eyes.

"You remember that?" she asked in wonder.

"Yes," he said. "But you were wrong, Molly. I'm not like him." he swallowed thickly. "I'm not as brave as he was. I couldn't protect you the way he did all those years. I have nothing but the deepest regard for the man who brought you up." His voice was surprisingly warm and comforting. "He would be really proud of everything you did, all the research you've done."

Molly blinked and tears fell out of her eyes. "Would he?" she asked in a teary whisper.

"Yes, Molly. He would be." He cradled her face. "And so am I," he added slowly as he rubbed his thumb to wipe the tears.

The lump in Molly's throat tightened and she burst into uncontrollable tears.

"Molly…" He immediately wrapped his arms tightly around her, gathering her into a soothing hug. Sherlock wanted her to get it all out and this was the perfect moment.

Molly cried like a child into his chest. She was hiccupping and uttering words she hadn't spoken to anyone, words about her dad, words that Sherlock knew she'd only share with him. And he was willing to listen and do whatever she needed. After all, he too had been away from her…away from his home.

Sherlock leaned back slowly on the pillow, allowing her to recline more comfortably against him. He let her cry as he tightened his grip on her. After a while Molly slowed down. Her eyes were puffy, her face reddened and her brain feeling a severe head rush. Sherlock felt her breaths slowly returning back to normal. After few minutes, her body relaxed against him.

"Go to sleep, Molly," he whispered into her hair. She hiccupped once against his chest and fell asleep within minutes. In months, it was truly the first night she was getting a peaceful sleep, knowing that nothing can hurt her now because he was there for her.

Soft early morning noises and the tickle of soft snores against his neck made Sherlock open his eyes leisurely. He looked down and smiled to see Molly snuggled peacefully with him, sound asleep. He was surprised how easily, next to Molly, sleep had taken over him too. He smiled at the events of last night. It was a different experience for him, waking up like this. It felt almost… natural.

Carefully Sherlock withdrew Molly from his embrace. She hummed vaguely as he did so. It was still too early for her to wake up and Sherlock wanted her to sleep. He brushed a few strands off of her face and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. He stared at her peaceful face for a few blissful moments before leaning down to kiss her forehead and then turned to leave.

Sherlock's aroma was the first thing that welcomed Molly's senses when she woke up at her usual time. She rolled over onto her back, breathing in his scent deeply and closed her eyes briefly, thinking about everything that had happened. She lifted her head to look around only to be greeted by a very amused Anthea sitting in her chair.

"Good morning. Looking for me?" Anthea asked playfully.

Molly laughed. "Of course. Who else would I be looking for," she answered innocently. Anthea nodded knowingly leaving a faint blush spreading on Molly's cheeks.

"So, I believe you had a good peaceful sleep?"

"Yes! I believe so," Molly replied as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun. "And I'm glad you took a break, Anthea. You're looking positively refreshed now. I think the beauty sleep worked," Molly said seriously, her playful eyes however were telling a very different story.

"And I'm glad I listened to you," Anthea replied before turning a deep shade of red. They burst into laughter.

"Shh…" Anthea hushed her between her giggles. "It's supposed to be a secret, Molly," she whispered.

"I always knew something was up," Molly clapped her hands in triumph. "How long?"

"There has to be an explanation for this," Lestrade huffed in irritation, throwing his hands in the air. "Tell me you've found something in common with this one!" he yelled at Sally over the noise of ambulance siren.

Sally shook her head. "There's nothing in common." She had been repeating this little sentence over and over again over the past eight days. "According to the forensics they haven't found anything unusually similar in the reports of the other two victims." Sally looked at her angry boss. "A bloody week and no improvements in your mood so far," she muttered under her breath.

"It's an open case of a suicide." Sergeant Baynes neared them. "Just like the other two."

"IT'S NOT A SUICIDE," Lestrade repeated furiously. "It's a murder. Search again and gather everything," He pointed a finger of authority. "And when I say everything, I mean everything."

Sergeant Baynes nodded with a sour expression as Lestrade marched away. He shook his head in irritation at the haughty behaviour of his superior. The unusual temper of DI Lestrade was getting on his nerves now.

"What's the matter with him? He's been like a bear with a sore head over past few days," the sergeant asked Donovon.

"Something's got to him. Probably he's agitated that the freak isn't around anymore or about the pathologist friend working at Barts that went missing."

"The small one with the brown hair?" he asked with interest. Sally nodded. "What happened?"

Lestrade was at his wit's end when he rested his head on his car's seat. He couldn't decide which one was bothering him the most. The fact that he no longer had his consulting detective friend's assistance to solve the murders so brilliantly disguised as suicides? Or that despite what he had hoped for, his tour to Molly's home had proved entirely fruitless? Or that their only hope, Mycroft Holmes, was not answering the calls and the messages he and John had left? And now, he was growing genuinely frustrated by the lack of any news about two of his really good friends, Sherlock and Molly.

He just couldn't forget how the grim look on the Watsons faces had made Lestrade's stomach lurch when he had given them the news on his return from Glasgow.

"She had been there for the last couple of months, according to a lady in the neighborhood," he had told John and Mary. "But she's not around anymore. Why are we always too late?"

Lestrade took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself.

"I'm a bloody Detective Inspector for God's sake. I should not give up," he reminded himself as he started his car. His phone made a chime as he approached his house. He took it out and glanced at the screen. Lestrade turned the wheels around no sooner had he read the text.

In ten minutes he was outside the Watson's place, panting slightly.

"What is it?" Lestrade abruptly asked John as he stepped inside the door. "What did he say?"

Playing a voice message John handed Lestrade his mobile phone. Mycroft's voice came out.

"Hello John! I must apologize for a lack of contact. It's been brought to my attention that you and DI Lestrade are concerned about the whereabouts of Dr Hooper. I must inform you that she's with us and is in a perfectly secure position. Due to official matters nothing more can be said about this. Expect further details in the near future. Oh and our congratulations to the new parents. "

Lestrade looked between John and Mary who were beaming. A sigh of relief washed over him.

"She's safe," he said, still in utter disbelief. "Molly is in safe hands." They were so relieved that their friend was safe that the two men gave each other a big hug.

"I can't believe it," Mary exclaimed with teary voice. "We all have been worried sick and he's informing us now?"

John grinned before leaning in to kiss Mary's forehead. "Well, we will make sure he pays for it," he joked, pulling back and securing an arm around her shoulder. Lestrade gave Mary's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Us?" John quirked his brows questioningly once the excitement and joy of the moment wore off a bit. "What did he mean by us?"

"Don't know and honestly I don't care at the moment. I've had enough mysteries for today." Lestrade was smiling widely as he occupied a place on the sofa. "All I care about is that Molly is safe. And so will Sherlock be." He stretched his legs comfortably. He was suddenly feeling so relieved.

"How do you know that?" John asked.

"Well, Mycroft would have informed the yard if that wasn't the case," he replied.

Mary nodded. "He's right."

"You're staying for dinner this time," John ordered him. "This calls for a little celebration, doesn't it?" he asked Mary.

"Of course, but please tell me you're not cooking," she demanded. "Let's order something."

"Hey my cooking isn't that bad!"

Lestrade laughed at John's expression. Mary grinned.

"Fine! Let's order, shall we?" John went away to make a call.

"Now," Lestrade clapped his hands together. "Where is our little Charlotte Watson?" he asked Mary.

I believe that it's definitely a progress between Sherlolly and at the end of the day it was a hugely positive chapter after the long aghast. A huge thanks to writingwife83 for the helpful beta reading and for writing the scene where Molly talks to Sherlock about forgiving him. It became much easier for me to proceed from there. Not gonna lie, this story wouldn't be as enjoyable as it is now without her signature touch.