A little fluff to make us forget the pain of S4. ❤

'Under no circumstances are you to tell Molly what happened!'

Having raced up the stairs, Molly burst into the flat just as Sherlock bellowed. Sherlock was towering over John, who was giving the detective his fiercest Army Doctor glare. Their faces were red from shouting and both were covered in dirt and flecks of blood (not theirs, she was relieved to note).

'Tell me what?' Molly planted her hands on her hips.

Both men whirled to face her.

'Ah, Molly. I see you received my text of our return.' Sherlock schooled his features into a neutral mask and roughly pushed John toward the door. 'John was just leaving.'

Molly watched suspiciously as John and Sherlock conversed angrily in silence; John raised his eyebrows and Sherlock shook his head vigorously. John jerked his head toward Molly and mouthed if you don't tell her, I will! Sherlock shoved the former Army Doctor out onto the landing and slammed the door behind him.

He turned around with a charming, distracting smile, which immediately dropped at the look on Molly's face.

'So help me God, Sherlock, if you don't tell me what happened, I will call your mother.'

'I sprained a few ribs, alright?' He blurted. 'A druggie got overly happy with a lead pipe and struck a lucky blow.'

Her brow lightened. 'Is that all?'

Sherlock gaped. 'Is that all?!'

Molly spun on her heel and walked into the bathroom, rummaging about in the medicine cabinet. 'A couple sprained ribs? Sherlock, you've certainly had worse.'

Having followed her in complete bemusement, Sherlock asked, 'Why aren't you crying?'

'Ah, here it is!' She declared victoriously and pulled out a roll of bandages. She turned to him and gestured for him to unbutton his shirt. 'Why should I be crying?'

'Isn't that what girlfriends do? Fuss and cry and do all sorts of things that would make me uncomfortable?' He hissed as her confident hands brushed against the bruising.

Molly smirked. 'Since when have I been a stereotypical girlfriend?'

Sherlock thought for a moment, then nodded his head in agreement.

'Just tell me when things like this happen,' she said calmly, reaching her arms around him to wrap the bandage. 'I won't burst into hysterics or get angry.'

Sherlock blinked in surprise. 'You won't?'

'Of course not,' Molly smiled and taped the ends down. 'There. All set.'

With that, she smiled up at him and he found himself incapable of doing anything apart from leaning down, with a slight hiss at the strain on his ribs, and pressing his lips to hers.

'You're perfect,' he said when they finally parted to breathe, his forehead pressed against hers.

'You're not so bad yourself.' She winked and pulled him by the hand down the hall toward the bedroom. 'But you should take it easy for a couple weeks and let those ribs heal.'

Sherlock's lips turned down in a pout until she looked back at him over her shoulder with a distinctive gleam in her eye.

'So just lie down and let me take good care of you.'

His pout turned into a lopsided grin as she pulled him into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them.