Previously...

"I'll be here all night to make sure you're all right. Both of you," he added, his voice lowering a bit and his eyes darting to her midsection.

She held eye contact with him until the doctor left the room, neither of them taking any notice of whatever parting words he had to say. "Let me guess," Molly said as soon as the two of them were alone once more. "You've already sent your father home."

"And had him call and tell Wills and my mother that we're staying overnight," he said in bland confirmation. "They'll all come by in the morning - I don't doubt Wills would steal the car and drive here himself if we made him wait much longer than that - which reminds me." He pulled out his mobile and made as if to toss it to her, seeming to change his mind at the last second and instead rising and handing it to her. "Before you go to sleep, I'm guessing you'd like to talk to him. Reassure him."

Instead of retaking his seat, he walked to the door, pausing only to say, "I'll let you have some privacy, be back in a few minutes."

Then he was gone, and Molly was left pondering her very confused feelings for the infuriating man even as she brought up Wills' mobile number and waited for him to answer.

She was sleeping. Molly was sleeping, mouth slightly opened. Snoring. Brown hair a bit of a tangled mess on the pillow. One small hand curled beneath her cheek.

Sherlock had never seen a more beautiful sight, much as his most cynical inner voice wanted to deny it.

Even more beautiful, however, was the doctor's continued reassurances that both she and the baby would be fine. That they could be released after a brief examination, and allowed to go home. She would need someone to keep an eye on her for a few days, of course, just to be sure, but that was more of a formality than anything else.

Would she let him be the one to keep an eye on her?

Did he even have the right to ask that question?

More importantly, why was even considering asking it in the first place?

He frowned, shifting slightly in his chair. What was wrong with him today? He'd already made the decision to step back, to put both physical and emotional distance between himself and Molly for both of their sakes. Clearly they couldn't be trusted to be together in an intimate manner without complicating one another's lives, and emotionally he'd already proven himself incapable of being who she needed. It's just guilt, he rationalized.

Sure. Guilt, that's all, John's scoffing voice sounded inside his mind. And my limp wasn't psychosomatic.

I've already proven I'm no good for Molly, Sherlock silently argued back. I broke up with her as soon as she told me she was pregnant. I'm not a good man, a good man would never do such a thing. She deserves better.

Maybe she does, John's voice agreed. But she wants you, you git. Warts and all. You've already promised to stay in Wills' life, and to be a proper father to the new baby. So why not take that next step and let yourself be with Molly as well?

What are you so scared of, Sherlock Holmes?

"Nothing!" he exclaimed. Molly frowned in her sleep, her brow wrinkling, and he snapped his mouth shut. What the hell was wrong with him? He raked his fingers through his hair, glaring at the sleeping mother of his child - soon-to-be-children - and silently cursing himself for once again falling prey to sentiment.

He should just leave now, while she was still sleeping. Slip away, let his parents and Wills greet her when she awoke. Head back to London and the life he'd built for himself there. Let her get over him, find someone who could actually be there for her, the kind of man who would…

His eyes widened as a realization hit him like a runaway lorrie.

The kind of man who would stay all night with her in hospital after she'd got a concussion.

The kind of man who put her feelings and needs ahead of his own.

The kind of man who felt like complete and utter shite for the way he'd been treating her.

"Shit."

"What's shit?"

He looked reluctantly at Molly. The object of his chaotic thoughts was sitting up, wincing a bit as she did so, and blinking sleepily at him.

"Did you stay all night?" she asked, taking in his rumpled appearance and stubbled visage. "Oh, right, you sent your father home. I still don't know why; you heard the doctor say that the baby's fine."

"I wasn't worried about the baby, I know she's fine," Sherlock said, the words coming in a rush. "I was worried about you, Molly."

"Oh." She blinked again, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Well, I'll be fine as well. Won't be able to drive home until tonight, of course, have to wait 24-hours after a concussion, but Wills has school and I have work in the morning, so-"

"Don't be ridiculous, I'll drive you home," Sherlock snapped. "I mean, if you'll let me. I'd like to. It'll give you more time to rest, and, once you and Wills are home, maybe we can...talk."

"Talk."

He nodded.

"You mean like we were supposed to do last night?"

"Yeessss, well, I suppose I could have handled things a bit better," he conceded. "And not just last night."

There. He'd said it, admitted to being wrong. Would Molly accept his unspoken apology or would she make him say it? And if she did, what if she didn't believe him? What if he couldn't say it like he meant it?

He tamped down on the rising sense of panic; strange how she and Wills were the only ones who ever seemed to cause such an emotional reaction in him.

Unbidden, a recent conversation with Mycroft rose in his mind.

"I can't separate Molly from Wills and I can't separate the bare facts from the emotional responses! Why is that?"

"Probably because you're in love with them both. Sentiment does tend to clutter the mind."

Sentiment. Was this truly what he was feeling?

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Am I in love with you, Molly Hooper?"

oOo

Molly gaped at Sherlock, not sure she was hearing correctly. "Well if you are," she said tartly, "you haven't exactly been doing a very good job of showing it."

"Point," he conceded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "But in spite of that, I'm afraid the evidence has become overwhelming enough that I can no longer deny the possibility that Wills and - though it pains me to say - my brother are right." He moved the chair slightly closer to the bed. "I've been an idiot, and a rather spectacular one at that. I panicked. I lashed out. I tried to push you away - far too successfully - and all because I didn't want to face the truth."

"That truth being that you're in love with me?" She didn't bother to hide her skepticism, even as her heart soared at hearing him admit he had feelings for her - and, not incidentally, that he'd been wrong. That was what he was saying, wasn't it?

She started as he nodded, then sheepishly realized it was to the question she'd said aloud rather than to her thoughts. "Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." He hesitated before reaching over and tentatively laying his hand atop hers. "And the truth is, Molly, that I think I've fallen in love with you, and I'm not entirely sure what to do about it."

She gently withdrew her hand from beneath his. "Me either. And once we're back in London I suppose we can try to figure things out. Not," she added warningly, "that I'm quite ready to forgive you yet. You hurt me, Sherlock. A lot. Not everyone would be willing to let you back into their lives even a little bit after what you did."

"I know. And I'm...very glad that you're not telling me to piss off right now."

She gave him a tired smile. "Yeah, well, you can thank my headache for that, I suppose. I'm not exactly thinking straight at the moment. So, I guess for now we'll just take things slowly, right? Baby steps?"

He nodded, looking more than a little relieved, then cocked his head to the side. "Speaking of baby steps, I believe I hear the sounds of familiar footsteps coming down the hall." He glanced up at the clock, and Molly followed his gaze; it was just gone half-seven.

"Your poor parents, dragged out of bed so early," she said.

"They've always been early risers," Sherlock said dismissively, walking over to the door and opening it. "Good morning, Mother, Father, Wills. As you can see, Molly's fine and ready to leave as soon as the doctor gives the okay."

"Mum!" Wills barreled into the room, skidding to a halt by his mother's bed. She reached out and he leaned forward, hugging her tightly. "Are you all right? Dad said you were, he texted me, but are you really all right? How's your head? How's the baby?"

"I'm really all right," Molly assured him. "And so is the baby. My head's a bit achy and will be for a while, but I'm fine. Promise."

He hugged her again, and she smiled over at Violet and Siger, standing by Sherlock near the door. "Thank you for bringing him so early," she said. "I'm so sorry for ruining everyone's weekend like this."

"Tosh, it's hardly your fault," Violet replied, shooting a stern look at her son. Who, to his credit, said nothing even though he clearly wanted to. Still too caught up in the throes of his newly-realized feelings for me? Molly wondered, then: And how do I feel about him? Isn't it too soon for either of us to admit to being in love with one another?

Her breath caught at the thought; was that actually how she felt, beneath the hurt and anger?

Was she in love with him?

Something else to ponder on the ride back to London, she supposed, catching Sherlock's eye and nodding at his tentative smile. Then Wills demanded more reassurance that she really was all right, and the moment passed.

But she was determined to sort things out sooner rather than later, and that definitely entailed a long talk with Sherlock after they made it back to London.

A/N: Many thanks to anarfea and lilsherlockian1975 for reading this over for me. Hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry it took so long for me to update.