"Sherlock, sit still!" Molly shouts, slightly irritated at the man child in her midst. It has been a month since he had left the hospital and had come to live with her so she could help him out. Lord knows that she's the only one who has the time, or even the patience to deal with him. Surely, he and Mycroft would kill each other if he had to stay at his brother's, and John already has enough on his plate with Rosie getting ready for preschool and beginning to enter into the dating world again. Lestrade has his children every other weekend, and though they are older, he could still influence them, possibly more so than he could Rosie. Especially since his two older girls, Emily and Lily are teens, and the two younger ones are ten and seven. His seven-year-old son Dylan would probably love looking at murder scenes, much like little Archie Wilkins, and so would Gracie, the tomboy. Not that she doesn't enjoy being the kind of friend that he knows he can rely on, but really, sometimes he can be the most impossible man in the world. Luckily, Mycroft had gotten a care nurse to come in the mornings and at night to help Sherlock dress, and they had taught him how to use the restroom while stuck in a wheelchair for a while, without putting undue weight on his thigh or stretching it at all. He gets around just fine in the wheelchair while Molly is at work, but on her days off he is particularly whiny.

"Well, how the hell else am I supposed to react when it hurts?"

"You are such a baby. You didn't even complain this much when blood was gushing from your body like a punctured saline bag."

"You always have the most random metaphors."

"Yeah, well, John isn't the only doctor around. I use what I know."

Sherlock shrugs and grimaces as she pins the new gauze in place. "I need more."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! Goddamn it Molly, I need some!"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you're going to sit there and shut up before I shut you up! Is that clear?"

He huffs and pouts, gnarling a bit like a rabid dog. She knows that it's due to the lack of morphine in his system, which he had become attuned to yet again after being in the hospital for over a week. However, this is for the best. It always is. Even a small detox can be difficult because she knows his body is buzzing with want, not with need. Still, she doesn't doubt that he's in at least a little bit of pain. It was quite an ordeal he had gone through. She also understands that sitting and not being able to walk or run or depend on solely himself is a huge blow to him, both mentally and emotionally. Sherlock Holmes is not used to feeling helpless. Even when he was spiraling out of control the previous times, he at least had the option, luckily, he never took it, to run away. This time he is absolutely prisoner to his own physical inability.

Molly sighs and runs a hand through her hair, flipping it back from her face. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to snap at you."

His eyes soften and he looks her over. "I know...I'm a prick."

"You're in pain, and you're frustrated. Anyone would be if they were in the same position. I know it's harder for you though, because of who you are, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry I couldn't stop it or get there in time..."

He looks at her, a shocked look coming across his face, his eyes widening a bit. "Molly...what are you saying? You have nothing to apologize to me for. I was lucky enough that you were passing by. There isn't any way you could've stopped it, and I'm glad you didn't have the opportunity to try because the last thing I would want is you getting hurt. Do you understand me? This was in no way your responsibility to deal with, but you saved my life anyway and you're practically still keeping me alive right now since I can't move my leg. I'm grateful for you, and I'm the one who should apologize for acting like a dick. You don't have to deal with this, with me...but yet...you chose to."

"Well, yeah I always choose to, because you're my friend and I care about you, you know that, Sherlock. I've already forgiven you for the past and I want us to relish in the present and the future, okay? We have both evolved over the last decade."

"I do, but it is still a burden to carry...caring the way that you do. I know that I have always said that it is a weakness, but it is also a strength in a way. I know that caring gets you hurt a lot of the time, especially regarding me, and for that, I will always be regretful. However, you use it as a strength because everyone who knows you knows that you are a reliable a trustworthy friend. You would take a sacred secret to your grave if need be. You're a rock. Especially to me. I know I've been insolent and irritating and impossible. I'm not in the greatest of headspaces right now...but I assure you that I don't mean to take it out on you, even if I do."

Molly smiles softly and rolls her eyes, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. "I've learned by now not to take it personally. Don't worry about it. As long as you aren't destroying my house when I'm at work, it's all good. Plus, you start physical therapy soon to strengthen that leg again, so I'm sure you'll be in worse moods than this shortly."

He sighs deeply and leans his head back against the sofa, frowning.

"What's on your mind now?"

He speaks softly, almost like he's afraid that his words will come true if he speaks them too loudly. "What if physical therapy is a bust and my leg never recovers to full strength?"

Molly brings over a cup of his favorite tea, as well as hers, and sets his on a side table where he can reach. She sits next to him and looks at him honestly. "That's not going to happen, Sherlock. Look, I'm sure there will be days, mostly at first, where it seems impossible, and the pain feels unbearable. It's not going to be easy or comfortable. That I can tell you truthfully. But I fully believe you'll make a full recovery if you put in the effort and never give up. If you push through the pain. You've been through so much already in your life, that I believe in you. I know you can achieve this if your mind and heart are set on it."

Sherlock looks over her face softly and nods slowly. "Right...just...sometimes it feels relentless, even though I know these things are my own doing."

"It does feel that way. Like you're always being put into these impossible situations that can only end in pain or hurt. But you've gotten through every single one of them and you can get through this too. Just one obstacle at a time, and this time it happened to be your leg. I know it feels like life has been pummeling you for a long time. I wish some things never had to have happened, but like I said, you've gotten through them. You have the most incredible willpower of anyone I have ever met, and that's part of who you are and what I've always admired about you. You persevere. You will again."

He swallows and slowly takes her hand, squeezing it as if she gives him an energetic charge. "I don't know how you can sit here and still choose to be in my life after all the ordeals you've seen me hurl myself into. But I'm glad you are...I truly don't know what I'd do or where I would be if I lost you. Not only as a detective but as a person. I may even go as far as to say you've humanized me. Which is no easy feat, Molly Hooper."

Molly grins and sips her tea as he does, locking eyes with him for a moment before they mutually set their tea down. Sherlock pretends to turn his attention to the telly, even though she knows he hates every program that comes on. Pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged, she watches as well, relishing in the calm that has been well deserved for quite some time now. As much as she loves the man, he can be really draining, and sometimes she just needs quiet or alone time. Which he of all people understands and respects when he's in better moods. They sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the peace and contentment of each other's company.

.

.

.

Molly stiffens up a bit from leaning against the wall, fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse. She watches anxiously as Sherlock tries his hardest to make it across the walking bars in physical therapy. His leg had not been cooperating in the past few weeks and he has been feeling down and hopeless more often than he was hopeful. Luckily, the instructor is used to people being snappy and rude due to frustrations with themselves, so Sherlock's cutting remarks don't phase him. The instructor forces Sherlock to put more weight on it, promising that despite the pain, his leg is not going to fall off or rip open. If there is one thing Sherlock hates most in the world, it's being weak, so he does as directed, letting out yelps and loud groans of pain, leaning more on his bad leg, using the bar to steady himself. His body begins to tremble with strain after only a few seconds, but he does his best to press on until his leg gives out. Unfortunately, he isn't fast enough to regain his balance and he slips, falling backward onto the mat with a loud grunt, punching it in anger at himself. Molly gasps and runs over.

"Sherlock!"

"I'm fine! Stay away!", he growls annoyedly.

Molly pauses in her tracks and bites her lip, watching, still worried. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure you're not hurt."

"Just my fucking ego, my pride, my life, my reputation…that's all", he mumbles as the instructor helps him back up to lean on the bars again. Sherlock slumps, visibly tired out from exerting himself for the last hour. He has been at this for a few weeks and should be making a bit more progress than he is making, but she still believes he will be okay if he takes it slow and steady.

"Maybe he's good for today...", she comments to the instructor, suggesting he's too tired to continue.

The instructor looks over at her and smiles kindly. "He's a big boy, he can handle it. He'll never make true progress if he doesn't test himself and exert himself and push himself. This isn't easy."

She stays quiet, not wanting to act like a pain. Sherlock looks over at her and takes a deep breath, locking eyes with her. Molly looks back at him worriedly but nods, encouraging him.

"You need to build the muscle mass back Mr. Holmes. It was severely injured. Cut through, but now it's put back together and you need to get it moving again if you want any hope of resuming your normal life, which for you, requires you to be extremely mobile. This isn't the time to falter. I know that it can seem impossible, and it is extremely painful. For that, I am sorry. But the point stands. As you should be. Now come on, back straight, arms up to hold half your weight, then slowly release your body onto your left leg and try to walk slowly."

Molly resumes leaning against the wall near the exit and chews on her lower lip, feeling awful for him. She hates every time he is in pain and wishes that she could take it away. Her love for him runs so deeply that she would willingly trade places with him if the universe allowed. London needs Sherlock, but there are a dozen pathologists at Bart's. Granted, she is the most renowned one of them there, but they would make do without her. The whole of London doesn't know the reputation of one Molly Hooper, but it does know and love the reputation of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes, even if the general population isn't in on the secret of his real name like she is.

Grunting and sweating profusely, Sherlock tries his best to bear weight on his left leg, unable to stop the trembling of his muscles under the pressure. Molly wants more than anything to run over and help him, support him, have him lean on her. But she knows that she'd only be in the way and would press on the last nerve of the instructor. Not wanting to be thrown out, she takes a quiet breath and watches in anticipation. Sherlock needs someone in his (quite literal) corner for this.

Making it about halfway across the bars, his leg gives out again, his arms following from bearing the brunt of the weight and he falls onto the mat for what seems like a dozen times. This time, however, he lands face first and pants hard, laying there without trying to get up right away. Molly can't seem to help herself and she sprints over to him, kneeling by his side.

"Sherlock! Oh gosh, are you alright?"

He continues to pant heavily and rolls onto his back, looking up at the lights as they reflect brightly off of his oceanic eyes, a bit dazed.

"Sherlock?", she says softly, patting his arm. "Hey...tell me what's going on."

Blinking rapidly, he turns to look at her slowly and mumbles. "Mhh...nothing I- the pain..."

"Okay, I'm going to take you home now. I think you've had enough for today, hm?"

He nods slowly but swallows hard, glancing over at the instructor who sighs softly, but reluctantly agrees.

Molly gently nudges his arm around her and helps lift him into his wheelchair. Luckily, since he has one good leg, it's not as difficult as it could be. Sherlock removes his arm, a faint hint of a blush upon his already flustered face. She smiles encouragingly at him and moves a few stray curls away from sticking to his forehead. They say thank you and goodbye to the instructor until next time and Molly wheels him out to the car. They had agreed that after physical therapy it would be easier for him to be in the wheelchair instead of using his crutches since he would be exhausted, and his muscles would be sore.

They both get to Molly's car and Sherlock sighs as she loads the wheelchair into her boot again. Joining him, she closes the door and begins to drive as he looks out the window silently. After a few moments, they both go to speak at the same time.

"I just-"

"Just so y-"

Molly clears her throat and chuckles softly. "You go first."

"No no, you go first. I insist...", he says softly.

"Okay. Well, I wanted to say that I know today was really rough for you and I'm proud of you despite that, or even because of that. I can't imagine the amount of pain surging through you, and you put in the best effort that you could. So you should still be proud of yourself too. I can tell that you feel down on yourself, and I don't think you should be."

Sherlock looks down at his hands, noticing the blisters forming underneath his fingers on his palms, and brushing his thumb over them. "I was going to say that I'm sorry you saw that pathetic display of weakness, especially coming from me."

"Sherlock, you are not pathetic. Contrary to popular belief, you are still human. You were severely injured and it's going to take more than a few weeks to heal from this. You're pushing yourself too hard and too fast in my opinion. I know you want to get back out there, and you hate this. I'm sorry you have to go through this, but maybe you'll be more careful from now on. You can't just go on cases alone anymore; you aren't some small freelancer. You're Sherlock bloody Holmes. The posh detective with an international reputation. People know you, you're quite famous, which means you're probably news in the criminal world too. You are their puzzle, as much as they are yours, so you need to start to be wary of that. You're not invincible, however much you'd like to be; you're still just a man. A remarkable one, but a man nonetheless."

"Molly..."

"It's the truth, Sherlock. I've never lied to you, and I never would. I think you know that by now. You're my friend, right?"

"Yes, of course...of course we're friends."

"Then you know I'd never say anything that wasn't true. Even to spare your feelings. I know you better than that, plus I'm a terrible liar most times, so you'd know if I were."

"I do know that. I just don't feel very...good about my situation. It's hard to be positive, especially since I wasn't an extremely positive person to start with", he chuckles slightly.

They come to a red light and Molly looks over at him. "Then I'll be positive for you. Call me a third crutch if you will", she grins.

"You already are, Molly. Always have been." Sherlock looks at her and their lock for a moment, his face softening visibly, his vulnerability shining through. Clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away, he nods towards the windshield. "Er…green light."

Molly shakes her head, trying to clear it before chuckling awkwardly. "Right."

He leans back in the seat and yawns, watching the buildings pass by as she drives, noting how she drives through the London traffic with ease.

"When we get back, I can help you to the room and you can take a rest. You've done a lot of work today, so why don't I make you something decent for dinner. What's your favorite? I don't you don't eat very often, such as myself, but you must have a favorite meal. Plus, I'm a bit shocked that I don't know it by now. We've known each other close to ten years, and I've no idea what your preferred meal is."

Sherlock chuckles deeply, trying not to roll his eyes at her spitfire rant which is just so Molly-like. "I quite like your meatloaf; I also like burgers. As long as you can make chips?"

"Sure. Burgers and chips work?"

"That would be great, Molly."

"Alright", she smiles.

"Thank you. Again. I feel like I keep thanking you for things...but, I mean it. Hey, at least I've learned some manners in the last decade, eh?"

Giggling softly, she replies, "Luckily you have. It's so refreshing!", she teases him. "And I know you mean it, Sherlock. It's no problem. I'd do anything for you."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow and looks suddenly shy.

"I'd do anything for any of my friends, of course", she blurts out, trying to recover her confession.

"Of course. That's who you are, I don't doubt that."

Molly nods her head, and her cheeks flare up in a nice rose shade as she pulls into her driveway. She gets out of the car and retrieves his wheelchair from the boot, opening it up and bringing it to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for him. She makes sure the brakes are on it, and she holds out his hand to help him shimmy into it using only his right leg. He accepts her hand and grips it, trying not to hurt her as she supports his left side, his muscles still shaking a bit from the exertion of physical therapy. As he lowers himself into the wheelchair, their faces align and they both suddenly become acutely aware of how close they really are, their eyes trailing up the others' features to land on one another's. They both stare for a second until Sherlock begins to wobble, finally lowering the rest of the way into the chair and letting out a deep breath.

"Uh, th-"

"Shhhh!", she chuckles shyly, trying to brush off the moment they just had. "I know, you're welcome, and you don't have to keep saying it. I swear you don't. I know."

Sherlock looks up at her with his gorgeous eyes and smirks a bit. "Okay, okay, message received. It's like a bad habit now."

"Mhmm", she rolls her eyes and then helps him roll into the house, grateful again that she has no staircase, and her first floor is level with the ground.

Sherlock tells her that her advice regarding a nap was pretty good and that he would like to heed it. She nods and agrees, telling him that if he weren't up before dinner was ready, that she'd wake him.

"Sweet dreams."

"I don't dream much, but thanks for the nicety anyway", he chuckles tiredly and nods at her politely, heading into the guest room and closing the door.

Molly lets out a breath of her own and heads into her kitchen, taking out the ingredients to make burgers. All the while, thoughts of that split-second moment they shared, and a few others like it in the past weeks, linger on her mind.