missmollybloom on tumblr said: 1900*! Well done - and well deserved! Can I please have "I just came out of surgery and I'm convinced you're my partner but you're the just the long suffering (and super hot) trainee nurse" AU ? Thanks lovely!

*followers

Enjoy, folks! Rated T for some suggestive things being said. Thanks to everyone who reviews and favorites and takes the time to read my scribblings. I appreciate it very much!

"Why won't you hold my hand, sweetie? I love it when you hold my hand." A pout, no effect. "I wanna hold your haaaaand!" warbled off-key and slightly slurred had exactly the same effect: nil.

Molly frowned and closed her eyes as the medication once again pulled her toward unconsciousness. "Some fiancé you are," were the last waking words she mumbled. Grumbled, actually, but Sherlock hid his fond amusement behind the bland caregiver façade he'd been cultivating for the past two days while acting the role of 'William Scott, Student Nurse.'

He wasn't sure if it was just bad luck or some kind of cosmic joke that he'd traced the culprits behind his current case – smuggled body parts, inventively hidden inside cadavers – to the very same hospital where Molly was recovering from having her appendix removed. A cliché illness and the far-fetched coincidence of him being assigned to her floor made this the perfect French farce of a situation. All it needed to give it that extra element of over-the-topness would be for her real fiancé to show up and accuse her of infidelity.

Because of course she'd mistaken him for that idiot Tom. Who wasn't actually her fiancé any more than Sherlock was, but still. Clearly she'd gotten confused and thought she was still engaged. He thought about trying to explain it to her, but decided not to as she smiled dreamily at the small pitcher of water on her bedside table. It would be too much to try to explain to her drug-befuddled brain. And she'd be mortified if she ever found out that she'd done so, which was why he was still pretending to be 'William Scott' even though there was no longer any need for the false identity he'd assumed.

"Wanna hold your hand," she mumbled again petulantly, not quite as asleep as he'd thought she was. She groped blindly, eyes still shut tight, and he allowed himself a moment of indulgence. "I'll hold your hand, my dear," he said, pitching his voice higher than usual and trying to sound somewhere between soothing and exasperated. The way Mary sounded when someone was being particularly difficult in the clinic. "But only till you fall asleep. Then I've got rounds to make and other people's hands to hold."

She cracked open one eye and glared at him. "Nope. Jus' mine." She squeezed his hand in emphasis, although he doubted anyone less observant than himself (i.e., pretty much every other human being on the planet) would have been able to notice the weak movement. "You're way too hot, s'not fair. Only my hand, promise. My fiancé, no one else's. My Sherlock."

He froze when she spoke his name; so it wasn't Tom she was mistaking him for after all! And she hadn't been fooled by his ginger-colored hair and sideburns, the prosthetics in his cheeks to disguise his rather distinctive zygomatic arches, or the alteration of his voice. Even without her contacts or glasses, she'd recognized him. "You see me," he said in a low voice, feeling a bit stunned.

She squeezed his hand again, this time a bit more strongly. "Course I do, I always see you," she slurred. "I love you." Giving a happy little sigh, her lips curled up in a smile – and she began to snore while Sherlock stared at her in stunned, very belated, comprehension.

oOo

Molly woke up and stared blankly at the sight that met her eyes: a blurry white nothing. So she wasn't wearing her contacts, then. Right. Better grab her glasses. She reached over to grope for the dark plastic frames which should have been right on her bedside table, but instead banged her wrist against something. Something metal. A bedrail?

Memory came back in a rush; she was in hospital. Appendix taken out, although she wasn't in as much pain as she thought she should be. Why was that again? Oh yeah, morphine. She lifted her arm to look at the IV, only to discover that her hand was being…held?

A squint showed her that yes, someone was holding her hand. Someone who'd lowered the bedrail on that side of her hospital bed and was snoring lightly, his ginger curls falling engagingly over his eyes and obscuring his face. Not that she could catch too many details anyway, not without her glasses or contacts, but there was something about the sleeping man's form that rang a bell or two. And not alarm bells, either. She looked closer at the hand holding hers and fought back a nervous giggle as she recognized those long, elegant, violinist's fingers.

"Sherlock?" she whispered, not wanting to startle him – but definitely wanting to know why he was sleeping on her bed with a ginger dye job and wearing…was it nursing scrubs? Sure looked like it from where she lay!

The sound of a door opening caught her attention, and she looked over, squinting harder but relaxing as soon as she heard the newcomer speak. "Oh my God, isn't that the cutest thing! I have GOT to get a snap!"

"Mary, put that phone away or I'll tell John you've been editing his blog on the sly."

That was Sherlock, who was now sitting up…but still holding Molly's hand. With his free hand he reached over the bed and picked something up from the side-table. "Here, I imagine you'll be wanting these."

Her glasses. Yes, she was definitely wanting them, although it was a bit hard to fumble them onto her face with only one hand. She managed it, though, not wanting to give up Sherlock's hand until he let go of hers.

Which, it would seem, he was in no hurry to do. "Mary, as you can see Molly's doing just fine. Don't you have a baby to nurse or something?"

Unfazed by Sherlock's unwelcoming attitude, Mary Watson continued to Molly's bed, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek in greeting. "Well, I see you've got a private nurse now, so I shan't stay long, but I wanted to check in on you. How are you feeling?"

"A bit confused, actually," Molly confessed with a nervous giggle. "I know why you're here, but, um, Sherlock? Why are you dressed like a nurse?"

"Undercover," he replied succinctly. "Assisting Lestrade with a small case. Finished now."

Mary's grin was impish as she craned her head to read his nametag. "Well, Nurse 'William Scott', it's very good of you to go above and beyond the call of duty like this." She nodded at his and Molly's joined hands.

Sherlock looked defiantly back at her, but didn't let go. Molly still had no idea what to make of it all. But when she tried to withdraw her hand, self-conscious now that they had an audience, he tightened his grip and turned his gaze on her. "You said you wanted to hold my hand, Molly," he said in his deepest, most bone-melting voice.

"I-I said that?" she stuttered, wincing as she did so. God, she hated when she stuttered around him! And it had been years since she'd done so. Stupid drugs.

He nodded. "You said I was your fiancé, as a matter of fact." Even though Mary was still watching as raptly as any soap opera fan in front of the telly, he lifted Molly's hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles. "Said I was your Sherlock. Even drugged to the gills and no glasses and with me in disguise, you knew it was me." He leaned closer; unconsciously, she mimicked his movements until their faces were only inches apart. "Did you mean it, Molly? Do you actually love me?"

Her cheeks were flaming and she barely heard Mary's hasty, "OK, then, that's my signal to go nurse my baby or something. Later, you two!"

The sound of the door being closed caught her attention only briefly, and she felt a slight flutter of panic when she realized they were alone. Would he laugh and tell her he'd done that simply to get Mary out of the room?

She had her answer when he closed the small distance between them and kissed her.

"Yes," she said when the kiss ended. "I meant it. I love you. And I'm guessing – hoping, actually – that wasn't a 'letting me down gently' kiss?"

"Nope," he replied with a warm smile. "It's a 'finally getting my head out of my arse' kiss. I thought…after everything that's happened in the last year, I thought you'd stopped feeling that way about me. I'd resigned myself to just being your friend, or at least as good a friend as I can manage." He caressed her cheek lightly, just the tips of his fingertips brushing against her flesh. "So good to know I didn't miss my chance."

"Never," she breathed, but before he could close in for a second kiss, she giggled again. "Sorry! It's just…you really missed your calling, Sherlock." When he gave her a puzzled squint, she explained. "Your bedside manner, it's amazing. The world lost a great nurse when you decided to go into crime solving instead!" Then she kissed him, softly squeezing his hand, happiness bubbling over when he kissed her back.

"Yes, well, be warned, Molly; as soon as you've recovered from your surgery, I intend to show you exactly how amazing my 'bedside manner' really is!"

That, she decided as he kissed her again, was a moment she was more than looking forward to!