A/N: For the August 17th prompt - "Nothing has changed." Rated T. Immediately follows For His Sake and Hers.
The sound of the slamming door shocked Molly out of her sobbing. Sherlock left! Oh God, he's in no condition to… I have to help him! She got up and ran to the door, throwing it open.
Sherlock was on his knees in front of the hedges, throwing up. One of the neighbors across the street was looking over with mild curiosity.
"Long night there, Holmes?" he asked, grinning.
"Ford!" Molly shouted from the doorway, pretending to be annoyed instead of anxious. "Come back inside, you can work off your hangover there. And don't throw up on my petunias, you know Aunt Becky gave them to me."
Thankfully, Sherlock was aware enough to play along. "All the more reason why I should," he muttered as he stood up shakily.
Molly came out and helped him into the house, the neighbor telling Sherlock not to drink so much next Saturday night. As soon as the front door was closed, Sherlock shrugged off her hands. He was pale and trembling and Molly could just kick herself.
"Come on," she said gently, "I'm taking you upstairs."
Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something then he shook his head and lead the way up the stairs, almost losing his balance twice but Molly was right behind him to right him again. When they were in the bedroom, she helped him take off his vomit-soaked t-shirt and jeans. She took him into the bathroom and after a moment's consideration, she used a flannel and soap to wash the vomit off his chest.
Sherlock watched her for a moment. "I've fantasized about you giving me a sponge bath," he said quietly. "There wasn't any vomit involved."
Molly sighed quietly. "I shouldn't have gotten upset. You're not yourself right now, Sherlock. I forgot that and I'm sorry."
"After what I said, you have every right to be upset," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.
"I know you didn't mean it." She finished cleaning him then took a towel and dried him off. "Brush your teeth and rinse your mouth, stomach acid is really bad for tooth enamel."
"Of course I didn't mean it," he said vehemently, though it came out muffled since he talked around his toothbrush. He spat, rinsed out his mouth and the sink, then tried again. "Of course I didn't mean it. I'm here because I want to support you and the baby, not just because Ford asked me to but because I love you. I consider myself the luckiest man alive to be your husband and the father of your baby, and if we ever have sex, I promise I'll always put your pleasure above my own." He held out his hands in supplication. "I'm always going to be an addict, Molly. Can you accept that?"
She took his hands, saying softly, "Yes, Sherlock. Never leave me and I promise we can work out whatever happens." She smiled a bit. "And what's this talk of 'if' when it comes to our sex life? It's not 'if' but 'when.'"
"You're that certain?" he asked hopefully. "I thought after what I'd said…"
"That wasn't you talking." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a soft, brief kiss. "I know the real you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The real you holds me when my world is coming to an end. The real you flirts with me like crazy but keeps his eyes on mine when I'm taking a bath. The real you would do anything for me."
Sherlock looked at her like he desperately wanted to kiss her again but then he took a deep breath and smiled. "So, you're saying there's still a chance?"
Molly smiled a bit. "I'm saying it's a sure thing, once both of us have healed more."
He did kiss her then, taking her in his arms and kissing her so sweetly that Molly wanted to weep. She kissed him back and when they ran out of air, she pulled back, smiling at him gently.
"Go lay down, you need to rest. I'll get you some weak tea and toast, I just need to make a couple of phone calls first."
"Who are you calling?" he asked, curious.
"Ford's boss, Nat. You can't work like this. I'll tell her you're distraught over your brother dying. Then I'm calling your mother, she should know by now when the funeral is."
He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I'm up for that."
She hugged him gently. "You don't have to go. If you can't, we'll just say you're too distraught."
"You should go. He was your first husband, you'll regret it if you don't go."
"I said my goodbye at the morgue. Ford doesn't need me anymore, you do."
"Molly…" He sighed quietly. "Thank you, sweetheart."
"You're welcome."
