Well I've changed my texting format. I had to do it in an effort to make my life a tad easier since the spacing is still all messed up when I copy and paste the document. It's no fun having to add all the spacing in after the fact. :( Anyway, hope the slight change doesn't bother anyone... cuz it bothers me! Oh well... Enjoy the chapter! :)

Sherlock didn't speak to or see Molly for the rest of that day. He decided to leave her be and allow her time to rest and be with her family. He didn't have any specific need to see her anyway. By the time John left for the evening, Sherlock had been happy to have the quiet again and felt he needed to relax. He played his violin for a while, did some reading, checked emails, and also began texting his brother.

YOU MUST HAVE MADE SOME PROGRESS BY NOW WITH MORAN. I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO KEEP ME INFORMED. -SH

THIS IS NOTHING YOU NEED TO CONCERN YOURSELF WITH YET BROTHER...BUT YES, WE ARE CLOSE TO CATCHING HIM. ONCE WE DO, WE WILL SURELY BE ABLE TO GET SOMETHING OUT OF HIM. -MYCROFT

YOU WOULD HAVE HIM BY NOW IF YOU'D ALLOWED ME TO HELP. -SH

I'M SURE I DON'T NEED TO REMIND YOU THAT YOU'RE BARELY EVEN ALLOWED TO BE IN THE COUNTRY RIGHT NOW SHERLOCK. -MYCROFT

AND I'M SURE YOU REMEMBER WHY THEY ALLOWED ME TO STAY. I WAS NEEDED. -SH

YES. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE NEEDED SHERLOCK. BUT SOMETIMES YOU'LL BE NEEDED TO TAKE A STEP BACK...HOW ARE THINGS PROGRESSING WITH MISS HOOPER? WELL, I PRESUME, SEEING AS YOU SPENT THE NIGHT. -MYCROFT

Sherlock groaned. Of course Mycroft knew he had spent the night at Molly's. Not surprising. If he had thought about it at the time, it may have even discouraged him from staying after Molly had fallen asleep. But he was glad that his brother hadn't been on his mind in that moment. Because he felt more at ease with the events of the previous night with each passing hour.

SHE HAD BEEN MUGGED. I CAUGHT THE ATTACKER, AND THEN SHE NEEDED ME TO STAY. DON'T GO MAKING ANY ASSUMPTIONS. -SH

I NEVER WOULD WITH YOU BROTHER DEAR. YOUR LITTLE GAME IS ALMOST OVER I BELIEVE. I WONDER IF YOU'LL MISS IT. -MYCROFT

YOU'D CERTAINLY BE THE LAST TO KNOW IF I DID. -SH

DON'T BE STUPID SHERLOCK. I'M NEVER THE LAST TO KNOW. GOOD NIGHT. -MYCROFT

Sherlock set his phone down then and went back to his violin. He needed to clear his mind. His brother was keeping something from him. He just couldn't tell what yet. There had to be a reason that his brother or someone wanted Sherlock kept at arms length from the investigation into Moriarty's message. It made no sense of course, seeing as that was the reason he was allowed to stay in the country in the first place. Why shouldn't he be front and center in the investigation?

But he also didn't want to ruin the fact that he was allowed to be home. On some level he was still a bit terrified that the government could change their minds and decide to send him away again. He couldn't stand the thought of that now. He wanted to stay. He needed to stay. And he promised himself he'd do whatever was needed to make sure that happened.

He eventually tired of his own playing and decided he should rest. He just wanted to get some sleep, but he knew even before he lay down that he would be unable to relax completely. He thought too much about the previous night and how content he'd been on that awful little couch. He felt uncomfortable in his own bed in comparison. And for no reason at all, in the midst of his inability to fall asleep, he picked up his phone on the bedside table and sent off a text to Molly.

GOODNIGHT DARLING. I HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER. I MISS YOU. -SH

Given the time at that point being after midnight, he was surprised when he got an immediate response.

I'M OK, THANKS. BUT I MISS YOU TOO...AND I CAN'T SLEEP. -MH

Sherlock exhaled heavily. He could logically assume that was actually the case, since she was up and texting him. There was no reason to lie about that fact. He actually found himself pondering over why she couldn't sleep. Naturally it was difficult to recover mentally from a physical attack. She could simply be agitated. But he couldn't help think that she had said she slept so well the night before. Now he was here, and she was there, and she was informing him that she couldn't sleep. The connection seemed obvious. And for a very brief moment, he actually considered asking her if he should come over...but he decided against it. That would be...too much perhaps.

NEITHER CAN I. BUT THAT IS OFTEN THE CASE WITH ME. -SH

HOW DID YOU SLEEP LAST NIGHT? -MH

Oh dear God. He was actually hoping she didn't ask that question. He was hardly comfortable saying that he'd rarely had such a lovely five straight hours of sleep in his recent memories and that sleeping in her arms on her minuscule couch was a vast improvement to the comfortable and spacious bed he was presently alone in. He needed to keep the answer simple.

I SLEPT FINE, THANK YOU. -SH

I WAS WORRIED THE WORLD'S ONLY CONSULTING DETECTIVE WOULD HAVE A BAD BACK AND BE OUT OF WORK ALL BECAUSE OF MY STUPID COUCH! -MH

He shocked himself at what his knee jerk reaction to that text was...though he could certainly say something like that considering they were still pretending to text each other like a dating couple.

WOULD STILL HAVE BEEN WORTH IT MOLLY. -SH

Her next reply was almost instant.

I WISH YOU WERE HERE SHERLOCK. -MH

And there it was. He hadn't even needed to say it. She was clearly thinking the same thing. Unless it was a farce. But that was unlikely, considering the fact that last night's events had been real. And besides, he reminded himself...Molly was in love with him. It made him wonder if she really needed to pretend at any of this. Was she simply acting on instinct, with no need to plan her every word and move?

He also began trying to come up with an appropriate response to her last text. Every response ranging from "Just relax and go to sleep" to "I'll be there in fifteen minutes" ran through his head. The very fact that he wasn't sure how to respond was unnerving.

Apparently he thought about it too long. Minutes pased and the responsibility of reply was removed when Molly sent another message, probably assuming he was done with the conversation.

WELL GOOD NIGHT THEN. I'LL TALK TO YOU TOMORROW. -MH

YES...TOMORROW. GOOD NIGHT DARLING. -SH

Sherlock sighed as he set his phone down again and lay back against his pillow. He tossed and turned for about another hour, then took a blanket to the living room and ended up sleeping on his couch. Not surprisingly, this did little to ease him. He didn't get much sleep that night.

Molly decided to go back to work the next day. Bart's was willing to give her another day off, but she didn't feel like sitting at home doing nothing but watching television with her sister again. The fact was that she just needed something to keep her busy. Because all she really wanted to do was see Sherlock.

Molly had of course considered the fact that this little invented relationship could heighten her already strong feelings for Sherlock. But she had imagined it would be due to the fact that he'd be acting a certain way around her family. She hadn't expected to be so effected by the times they weren't around her family. Times when he was most certainly being genuine. Every time she thought about the way he spoke to her the night before last, her heart beat faster. She'd never felt so convinced of his genuine care and concern for her than she was at that moment. She believed him when he spoke. No matter what he'd ever said or done in the past, or what he may say or do in the future, Molly would never again question the fact that this man cared about her. At least as a trusted friend. And that was comforting.

And the fact that he'd held her there on the couch all night was beyond anything her mind could comprehend! When she was drifting off with her head on his chest, feeling his heart beat hard against her cheek, she was absolutely sure he would be gone the moment he knew she was out. And that would have been ok. She was already so touched that he would stay till she slept soundly. But to wake with him leaving in the morning was unbelievable to her. He may have done it out of kindness, feeling that leaving too soon would disturb her. She concluded that must have been it, since the alternative was further beyond reason...that he had stayed just because he wanted to.

This is what she was thinking about when Sherlock showed up at the door of the lab. He walked in and she was mortified when she dropped the tray of clean petri dishes she was holding. Great, she thought. She'd made real progress since her first day meeting him.

"Guess I'm still a little jumpy after being mugged," she laughed while picking up the items and piling them back on the tray to clean again. "So...what brings you here today, Sherlock?"

"Well I have these samples to analyze. I was going to take care of it on my kitchen table equipment, but I thought I'd see if you were back to work. And before you ask, this is police sanctioned business. You are more than welcome to call Lestrade if you'd like." He smiled triumphantly.

Oh thank God, she thought to herself. There was no possible way in all the world that she'd have the emotional fortitude to shove this beautiful man out the door today. Not after the way he'd been treating her.

"Oh!" she answered cheerily. "Well that's fine. I believe you, I won't bother Greg. Anything I can help you with? I'm not really swamped right now. They were trying to go easy on me since I came back so quickly."

"That would be fine. I could always use the help." Sherlock came over to the table, setting down the samples. He took his coat off, in that particular sweeping motion Molly always felt was so dramatic, and laid it over the back of a chair. And- oh for the love of all that's good and holy, he was wearing the purple shirt.

Molly stood there, temperature rising, wondering if she had really made as much progress in the Sherlock department as she had believed. She felt that she'd really come a long way. No more constant stammering, blushing at everything he said, or being overly attentive to him. But sometimes, on days like this, she felt herself slipping back into her old habits. And she especially didn't want to make such an idiot of herself when he had been so good to her recently.

Sherlock gave her a couple things to analyze and she got right to it, choosing to work quietly instead of taking the chance that she'd start staring too much or say something she'd later regret.

"How are you feeling, Molly? Your face and your arm?" he asked after a long while.

"Oh, good, thanks. I'm healing nicely. It's not too bad."

"Good."

"Yes. And did you end up getting to sleep last night?" she asked sweetly.

Sherlock cleared his throat and answered without raising his head from the microscope. "Um...yes. You?"

"Sure...yes. Eventually."

A little more silence followed.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"About the other night. That really was...amazing of you to go right out and find that man. And then the, you know...couch, sleeping...thing. I just don't think you've ever been so nice. I'll never forget it. I mean it."

He straightened up and turned to look at her then. "It wasn't anything more than all the times you've been there for me, Molly. I was glad to do it...all of it." He turned back to the microscope. "I know I can be selfish, but I do hope you realize you can come to me for help the same way you've told me in the past I can...have you." He smirked, quoting the words she'd used while they had stood in that very spot years ago.

She smiled and blushed at the memory of her desperate desire that day to make him understand that she'd do anything to help him when she could clearly see he was in need. And then the words that had tumbled ridiculously from her mouth and immediately made her feel like she should have said nothing.

"Very funny. One of the many conversational blunders I've made over the years!"

"No, not really," he said looking up again. "I think you said exactly what you meant, and what I needed to hear. You said I could have you. And that's exactly what I ended up needing...you."

Molly's smile had fallen and she felt her face growing hot as his eyes burned into hers.

"So...if you ever need anything at all, Molly, you can have me. Does that repay the debt, do you think?" he questioned in an unusually low and soft timbre.

She licked her lips and swallowed hard, hoping to form a coherent sentence. "There was never any debt, Sherlock. There never is when you...care for someone. But if there was...that would more than repay it," she replied softly, and smiled.

He smiled too and then dropped his head again and began writing findings on the sheet in front of him. "Well, what did you find?"

"Oh, here." Molly handed him a paper.

"Hmm," he breathed, reading his sheet and Molly's. "Well that settles it. All four of these men were clearly in the same place last night despite their claims. The residue from their shoes all produced the same results. Lestrade will be glad to hear this news."

"Good," Molly said quietly, trying not to show her disappointment that Sherlock's business was now done at the lab.

Sherlock began to gather his things and he picked up his coat, much to Molly's dismay. "I'm sure you've enjoyed your quiet time in the hospital for the past couple weeks. I've never stayed out of your hair quite this much. Perhaps I'll be able to come around more frequently in the near future. If you feel I am allowed, of course." He slipped his arms into the long coat and straightened the collar.

It was all Molly could do not to reach up and grab said collar and yank him into a rather shocking kiss as answer to that question. If she was honest with herself, her anger had long since faded. She wanted nothing more at this point than to be close to him again. Close in proximity at work, if nothing else.

"I think that would be acceptable," she said with a controlled smile.

"Good," he said simply, looking pleased. He turned and began to head go for the door. But just as he opened it, he turned again. "Oh, Molly, when are your mother and sister leaving? Isn't it the day after tomorrow?"

"Mmm, yes it is." She was dreading it.

He seemed to actually hesitate, and look a bit nervous before speaking again. "Did the three of you have plans for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, um no. We were just planning on take away tonight."

Sherlock nodded. "Care to eat it at 221B Baker Street? Six o'clock?" He smiled.

Molly tried not to grin too widely. "I think we would. I'll pick it up on the way. Chinese alright?"

"It certainly is. May as well spend one final dinner with your family. Thought it would only be right."

"Thank you, Sherlock," she added softly while her heart was broke at the thought of this being a final dinner. "See you tonight then."

He nodded slightly and then left the room.

Molly leaned against the lab table and tried to relax her breathing. She didn't want this to end, but she knew it had to. She could never expect Sherlock to give more than he had. He had limits, and she'd already exceeded some of them. She was sure that if she pushed any further, he'd pull away. She fully believed that some things could never change.

Sherlock returned to his flat and took a look around. Not really the best condition for guests. He quickly dismissed the condition of the sitting room. As long as he cleared the kitchen table of his experiments, which were all the messier since he had been kept away from Bart's so much, the rest of the flat could be left as is. After all, he wouldn't want things to be...unrealistic.

Sherlock was rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt and staring down the mess that he couldn't believe he'd created all by himself, when his mobile rang. It was Mycroft.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Oh hello, Sherlock. I'm fine, how are you?"

"You called for a reason, do state it. I need to get back to the difficult and unpleasant task at hand." Sherlock's eyes widened in alarm. He could hear the hesitation in his brother's silence, and knew something wasn't right. "What's happened?"

"Sherlock...Sebastian Moran is dead. I thought you should know. You're welcome to pass the information on to Inspector Lestrade."

"What happened?"

"Well, we traced him finally to a certain location. When we arrived, he had been shot. One clean shot to the head. He was gone."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair as he walked the floor in agitation. "We needed him, Mycroft. This will set the investigation back. And clearly that was the goal. Somebody didn't want him talking. If anything, that confirms our belief that he was involved in flipping the switch on the message. Whether it was Moriarty or someone else, they are clearly behind Moran's death. Ah, well...what's left to go on then?"

Mycroft let out a sigh. "Nothing, Sherlock."

"Noth- What do you mean nothing?" he spat out.

"There aren't any more leads. The message is a dead end. You can't expect us to continue using valuable resources and time to search for something or someone that simply isn't there anymore. Whoever sent the message, if they meant any harm, will surely show themselves again. The moment any danger presents itself, you can be sure we will take action. But for now, we have to let it rest. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"If you had just let me in on this investigation, it would not have gone this way! You know I would have figured this out!" he growled at his brother.

"You may be right, Sherlock. Perhaps you would have," he conceeded calmly.

Sherlock breathed a sigh and pressed his lips together, restraining himself from saying all sorts of things.

"Look, if that's all, I really need to be going. I'm expecting company in a few hours and I've got tissue samples and hazards of all sorts on my kitchen table at present."

"Ah yes. The girlfriend. Well, do try to enjoy yourself, Sherlock. Oh and by the way, I thought you may be interested to know that the under cover job in Eastern Europe is no longer available."

"Was I still interested?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"Perhaps the British government was...but thankfully for you, the cover for the job has been blown recently. It wouldn't be useful to send anyone in anymore. So hopefully you'll be able to keep yourself busy, and perhaps out of trouble, here at home. Does that sound tolerable?"

Sherlock was too irritated to express how very tolerable it actually did sound. He had been harboring fears of being sent away after this was all said and done. His relief was only tainted by the news of this dead end investigation.

"I'm sure I'll be able to keep busy, as long as you don't keep getting in the way, Mycroft. Good night!" He promptly hung up.

Sherlock took another look at the kitchen, then scrunched up his nose in disgust at the prospect of cleaning his own mess.

"You'd better appreciate this Molly Hooper," he muttered, and then got to work.