Sherlock took a piece of toilet paper and wiped at his mouth. He hated the sourness that filled his mouth after being sick, especially as the dry heaving continued even after he had expelled the contents of his stomach until there was nothing but the bitterness of bile.

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands as his mind whirled. Molly was back. He'd been convinced he would never see her again. He wondered if she still loved him, or whether she just felt duty-bound to help him. Perhaps his actions had killed any tender feelings she had for him. If that were the case, he didn't blame her, and he could understand why she had slapped him after he kissed her. Was that slap intended as a rebuke for him being so forward, or was it because of her anger at finding him using again? He didn't really know.

He bent forward, leaned his hands on the sink, and looked into the mirror above it. His eyes were bloodshot, and stubble had formed overnight again. Thank God he'd had a shower yesterday, or she might have taken one look at him and walked right back out of the door.

He pondered what Molly had said to him. By her words, it was clear she was religious and devout in what she believed as well, especially considering she had said she believed everything the Bible said. How could he never have known that about her? It disturbed him to think that he'd been so self-centred he'd never bothered to gain a deeper understanding of her background. But then again, they had never delved into deeply personal stuff during their history of knowing one another, keeping their friendship to how things were going in their lives currently. Sherlock suddenly realised he really didn't know the personal history of any of his friends. He'd not shared his own history either. Was that normal? Was it because he loved Molly that he wanted to know everything about her now?

Well, his ignorance of her past and her beliefs was going to change. Molly was back, and he was going to fight for her. If that meant learning everything she believed so he could keep her at his side, he'd do it. Now he had a reason to live. But God, he dreaded going through withdrawal again. It had been a nightmare last time; days of feeling so horrible he almost wished to die, just to be put out of his misery. He'd been glad to have John, Molly and Mrs. Hudson there, to keep him on track, or he would probably have relapsed.

He took a bracing breath and stood upright. It was time to tell Molly everything that had happened at Sherrinford. That would surely serve as a distraction from this persisting nausea and the urge to shoot up again.

He was about to leave the bathroom when he stopped, returned to the sink, retrieved his toothbrush and began to brush his teeth vigorously with his mint toothpaste, to get rid of that bile aftertaste and freshen his breath. After all, he might try to kiss Molly again at some point, and he didn't want her put off by bad breath. It was curious to discover how affected he had been by one kiss, the sweetness of her lips beneath his. He thought she had responded, even if it had only been for a moment, so that was a good sign, wasn't it? Having no real experience with romantic entanglements, besides a few brief shared, perfunctory kisses with Janine, meant he really wasn't sure about anything. For all he knew, responding to a kiss for the first few moments might be automatic, even when a person was not interested in the other one romantically. It was all so damned confusing.

Sherlock finished brushing his teeth and went back out to the sitting room. For a moment he felt a flicker of fear that she might have left while he'd been in the bathroom, but he was relieved to see that was not the case.

Molly was sitting on the dining chair where he had left her, hands folded in her lap. He noticed immediately that the syringe and tourniquet were no longer on the floor. Obviously, Molly had thrown them away.

She looked up at him. "Feeling any better?"

He shrugged. "Not really, but I'll get through it. I think it's my turn to talk now. I want to let you know the circumstances of that phone call."

She straightened slightly and bit her lip. "Alright, Sherlock. I'm listening."

He resumed his seat across from her.

It took some time, because he wanted to explain everything that had led up to the phone call, about the existence of a sister he didn't remember. He began with the explosion at Baker Street and continued chronologically from there.

He saw the surprise on Molly's face when he told her about Eurus and the events that led to Mycroft, John and himself going to the island prison. Her eyes widened in shock when he talked about Eurus's experiments to elicit an emotional response from him. Her expression changed to horror as he related the experiments that had ended in the deaths of the governor, his wife, and the three Garrideb brothers.

And then he explained about the coffin in the room, and how he had been told there were bombs in Molly's flat that would explode if he couldn't get her to say the release code - the words "I love you".

"Eurus told me I couldn't give you any hint of what was going on, or she would detonate the bombs."

Molly's hands came to her mouth. "Dear God, Sherlock. I should have known you wouldn't hurt me that way on purpose. I should have known there was a reason." Her voice was little above a whisper as she added, "I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward to touch her knee. "Don't apologise. How could you have known? I'm well aware of what it must have seemed like, especially when Eurus disconnected the call. I don't fault you for running away." He gave her a sad smile. "Although I do wish you had waited a few more hours, and this situation could have been avoided."

She stiffened. "So, it's my fault that you went back to using?"

He pursed his lips."Well, you were the reason, but I am not holding you responsible for my own actions. I knew what I was doing."

Molly nodded, accepting his explanation. "Mrs. Hudson told me you do love me, romantically, that is."

He felt his face flush slightly. He had hoped to tell her that himself, rather than her finding out from someone else, but he supposed Mrs. Hudson had told Molly so that she would come back. "It's true, Molly. It took me saying it the first time to realise it for myself. I planned to tell you that when I went to your flat the next day, but you had gone. Then I went to the hospital and spoke to Mike, and he said you were taking some time off. When I returned to Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson gave me your letter." He swallowed, remembering the pain he had felt upon reading the words from Molly.

He was a little surprised to feel her two hands come to envelop his. "I'm truly sorry, Sherlock."

His eyes searched hers. "You said you've always loved me. Once I'm clean, would you be willing to change the parameters of our current relationship into, er...more than just friends? That is, if your feelings haven't changed." He felt suddenly shy and awkward. How did a person express romantic interest to another person, anyway?

Her own expression was serious as she regarded him. "My feelings haven't changed, Sherlock. I will always love you, but I have to be honest. During my time away, I felt God speaking to me."

He raised a sceptical eyebrow at that. "And how does God 'speak' to you, pray tell?" He couldn't keep the slightly mocking note out of his voice.

Molly pulled her hands away from him and sat straight. "Ironic you should use the word "pray", Sherlock. God speaks to me through prayer and through what I read in the Bible."

He leaned back in his chair, determined to hear her out. He'd promised himself that, hadn't he? What right did he have to judge Molly on something he didn't understand? "I'm sorry. So what did you think God told you?"

His heart sank at her words. "I believe God told me that it was wrong of me to desire a relationship with an unbeliever. In the end, our differences would pull us apart."

Sherlock could feel his fingers begin to tremble again, and he folded his hands together to stop their involuntary movement. Stupid withdrawal. "So, you will not even entertain the idea of us being together, despite knowing that we love one another?"

Tears came to Molly's eyes. "If God changes your heart, of course that would be a different story. At any rate, I think we need to put that aside for now so you can detox."

He frowned suddenly. "Did that ex of yours have the same beliefs?"

He saw colour bloom in Molly's cheeks. "No. When you were gone, I wasn't really in a good place with my faith. I was kind of feeling angry and rebellious that God had allowed you to go through such a horrible thing, to be accused of being a fraud. When I met Tom, I wasn't even thinking about the fact that he wasn't a Christian. I had been watching life pass me by, and he made me feel attractive and wanted." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "But Sherlock, I know now that if I had married him, it would have been a disaster, and it would not have lasted. I don't want to put myself in the situation again of being with a man who is an unbeliever. In the long run, it won't work."

Sherlock pursed his lips. He couldn't blame her for that, but it hurt that she had had no compunction in being with another man, yet now was enforcing different boundaries on their own relationship. He could hear the determination in her tone, however, and he couldn't help admiring it. Molly Hooper was a woman of strong convictions. He trusted her, knew her ethics and integrity, which meant he could not dismiss out-of-hand what she had to say. She had challenged him to read the Bible. Perhaps some heavy reading would be a good distraction from his withdrawal. It was time to make a bargain. "Well, Molly, seeing as you have suggested I read the Bible, I shall make an effort to do so." He bent forward and steepled his fingers under his chin. "On one condition."

"What condition?"

"You promise to stay with me while I detox. I don't want anyone else to help me. It has to be you."

She brushed away the tears on her face and twisted a strand of hair around her finger. He waited patiently for her response, holding his breath.

Finally, she nodded. "I agree, but I have a condition of my own. Seeing as your flat is in a rather barren state right now, and I'm not sure I can trust you not to have more drugs stashed away somewhere, you stay with me for the next few days until I'm satisfied you won't be tempted to use again."

He let out his breath and smiled, pleased, then held out his hand. "It's a deal."

Molly took his hand and shook it. Her hand was so tiny in his, but she clasped his firmly. "Well, if we are going to do this, you should probably do some packing," she told him.

Sherlock stood and went to his bedroom to pack.

Within fifteen minutes, he had everything he needed - clothes, toiletries, shaving supplies. He saw his violin in the corner and decided it might be another useful distraction, so he pulled out an empty duffel bag from his wardrobe and deposited his violin and bow into it.

When he brought his suitcase and duffel bag into the sitting room, he saw Molly speaking on her phone. "Yes, next week. Thanks, Mike, I'll see you then." She disconnected the call and looked up at him, then answered his enquiring look. "I just called Mike to tell him I'm back in London and will be ready to return to work next week. I assume you should be over your withdrawal by then and ready to return home."

His lips curved upwards in a wry grin. "Judging by my last period of withdrawal, the worst physical effects were over in three days. Then it was merely a case of mind over matter to subdue the craving."

She nodded, her eyes looking with curiosity at the duffel bag. "A suitcase and a duffel bag as well?"

"Mu violin is in the duffel bag. I thought it might be a good idea to bring it along."

Her brows rose. "Your violin? Didn't you usually keep that in the sitting room? Why wasn't it destroyed by the explosion?"

Of course, this was something he couldn't understand himself. "I don't know how it survived, but it did." He lifted the duffel bag. "The violin case was destroyed though, thus my need to use an alternative method of transportation."

"Seems like a miracle to me." He knew what she was implying - that God had had a hand in it, but he wasn't going to respond to that right now.

He just shrugged. "Perhaps, or just dumb luck."

She frowned at that, but merely stood and said, "If you're ready, we might as well leave now. I have to get my suitcase from Mrs. Hudson. I'll also have to do some shopping to re-stock my fridge later today."

"I'm ready."

He allowed Molly to precede him down the stairs, locking the flat behind him. He didn't want Mrs. Hudson popping in there to clean while he was gone. God only knew what she'd do with the needles and other drug paraphernalia he had sitting on the kitchen counter. He'd have to clean that all up when he returned.

He arrived at the foot of the stairs as Mrs. Hudson opened the door to Molly's knock.

"Hi, Mrs. Hudson, can I get my suitcase please?"

"Of course." Mrs. Hudson looked over at him briefly, then back at Molly. "Guess you got to him in time, then. Did you sort things out?"

Sherlock leaned casually against the stair rail and listened to Molly's response. "I'm taking him home with me so he can get clean."

Mrs. Hudson shot a knowing glance at him, and he fidgeted uncomfortably. She lowered her voice a little, but he heard her comment to Molly. "So, you two are together now?"

He felt a little deflated at Molly's clear reply. "We're friends, Mrs. Hudson. I'm going to make sure he gets clean and stays clean. That is all I am concerned about right now."

"Of course, I understand. You'd certainly want Sherlock in his right mind if you are to pursue a romantic relationship," she said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He couldn't stay silent. "Mrs. Hudson, I am not deaf. I am in my right mind, thank you very much, and I'm not off my tits as I was when you shoved me into the boot of your car. I am simply beginning to feel the effects of withdrawal." Involuntarily, he shivered. He was feeling decidedly chilled. He supposed he'd be feverish soon, if past experience was any indicator.

Mrs. Hudson merely snorted and went into her flat to retrieve Molly's suitcase, reappearing a few moments later. "Take good care of him, Molly."

"I will," responded Molly, taking her suitcase and moving towards Sherlock.

"See you next week, or something like that," he called, giving a cheery wave to his landlady, who shook her head in bemusement at his suddenly jaunty tone. He couldn't help it, though. He was going to Molly's, and he knew she would look after him. She had been very solicitous in seeing to his needs on those few days after his faked death when he had stayed with her before his funeral. She had also been very thoughtful in preparing meals for him or having him over for dinner several times during his weeks of recuperation after being shot by Magnussen.

Upon arrival at Molly's flat, she immediately took her suitcase to her bedroom to unpack. As she did that, Sherlock removed his shaving supplies and toiletries from his suitcase and deposited them in the bathroom, then took his suitcase and duffel bag to the spare room, placing them on the single bed.

Sherlock sat down on the sofa and began to shiver moments later as sudden chills overtook him. He was craving another fix. He was feeling nauseous again as well, although perhaps that was because he needed to eat something, having been sick earlier.

When Molly came out of her bedroom, she took one look at him and brought out a blanket.

He placed it around his shoulders gratefully. "Thank you, Molly."

"No problem. I'm going to make you a cup of tea. Perhaps that will help to warm you," she said.

When she handed him the tea a few minutes later, Molly gave him a look of concern. "Do you think you will be okay while I run to the shops? I shouldn't be much more than half an hour. I'll put the telly on, if that will distract you."

He took a sip, then set down the cup on the coffee table. His hand was trembling so much it was threatening to spill the cup's contents. "The telly sounds good. I'll be fine, Molly."

She turned on the television and tuned it to some random talk show, then handed him the remote. "I'll be back soon." He was rather surprised when she pressed a soft, almost motherly kiss to his cheek. Of course, he would much rather have had a proper kiss, but it was better than nothing.

He watched her leave and then turned his focus on the telly. He flipped a few channels. All crap, he thought morosely, going back to the talk show where some person was trying to determine the paternity of their child with three possibilities. He could never understand how a person could sleep with multiple people at once. Then again, he didn't even know what it would be like to be with one person. Admittedly, he was intrigued by the thought of experiencing it at some point with Molly, although that didn't seem a likely scenario, given what she had said about her faith and only wanting to be friends because he didn't share her beliefs. Being lovers was obviously out of the question as far as she was concerned. He was probably going to die a virgin. That hadn't bothered him before, but now it did, at least a little.

The paternity of the child had just been revealed when Sherlock's stomach began to churn unpleasantly. Oh, God, here it comes, he thought glumly, throwing off the blanket and dashing to the bathroom. As if getting sick wasn't enough. He was rather glad Molly was currently absent.

When he was finished, he used a liberal amount of air freshener before washing his hands and returning to sit on the sofa.

Molly returned minutes later, arms full of shopping bags. He stood up quickly and took them from her, setting them down on the table.

She sniffed the air. "Sherlock, did you use a whole can of air freshener?"

He gave her a guilty look. "I had to go to the loo, and the aftermath was not pleasant."

Molly nodded solemnly. "I expect you are going to have diarrhoea for a while until the drugs are out of your system."

Sherlock flushed slightly. It was embarrassing to be experiencing this kind of thing in front of anyone, let alone the woman he loved. Perhaps insisting she be the one to help him deal with the withdrawal had been a mistake.

She patted his arm. "No need to be embarrassed, Sherlock. We all get tummy problems at times. I have some Imodium tablets you can have. I know they are safe to use during withdrawal."

"I would not say no."

"I'll get them." She walked to a kitchen cupboard, rummaged in it for a few moments, then drew out a bottle of tablets, which she handed to him.

"Thank you, Molly." He gave her a grateful smile as his fingers closed over the bottle. She was taking care of him already. The words came to his lips before he could prevent them. "God, I love you, Molly."

She looked a little surprised, then chuckled. "It's just Imodium, Sherlock." Then she said softly, "I love you too." She brushed his cheek lightly with the back of her fingers. "Do you want some water for your tablets?"

He gestured at his still unfinished tea, wishing he could press his lips to Molly's. "I still have tea, even if it is cold by now."

He took the tablets while Molly put away the shopping, refusing his help and instructing him to go back to the sofa and relax. He found his teeth chattering again and wrapped the blanket about himself.

When she was finished, she came and sat beside him. "Do you need another blanket? Is there anything else I can do for you right now?"

You can kiss me, he thought. Out loud, he said, "I suppose you could read to me. You want me to know about what you believe, so choose something from your Bible."

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. "I'd love to do that." He was struck anew by how beautiful she was, and how blind he'd been to not notice it before. He wanted to kiss that lovely dimple of hers, kiss her lips, do so much more.

Heat suddenly suffused her face, and he realised he'd been staring at her in fascination. She hastily stood. "I'll just go get my Bible."

When she returned, she sat, rather disappointingly, on the armchair rather than beside him. "Why won't you sit next to me?" he said, unable to keep the pique out of his voice.

She bit her lip. "I want you to pay attention to what I read, not to me."

He sighed, knowing she was right. "Well then, go ahead."

He saw the reverent way Molly held the rather thick volume in her hands. "Before I begin, I want to explain a couple things about the Bible to you."

"Okay."

She took a deep breath. "The Bible is done in two parts, the Old Testament and the New Testament. The Old Testament contains writings, known as books, that were written by prophets and other people chosen by God. These writings all take place before the birth of Jesus Christ, and there are thirty-nine of them."

He nodded to show he was listening, although he was still feeling uncomfortably cold, and he could feel perspiration on his brow.

"The New Testament comprises twenty-seven books, or writings, that were written after Jesus was born. Some were written by disciples who were with him during his time of ministry on earth, and others were people who had the truth revealed to them after his resurrection from the dead. These books talk about Jesus' ministry and later, about how we, as Christians, should behave as disciples of Christ."

Sherlock rather thought it sounded a bit like a cult, but he said nothing. He didn't want to offend Molly. He had to have an open mind.

She looked down at her Bible and opened it, then looked at him. "What I'd like to start with is the account of creation, so you understand how it is different from what people say about evolution."

Sherlock wrapped himself a bit tighter in his blanket. "I'm listening."

He was surprised when she put down the Bible and went over to him to feel his forehead. "Are you sure you are up to this? You're burning up."

"It will be a good distraction."

"Let me at least get a cool flannel for your forehead."

She headed off to the bathroom and shortly brought back a flannel she had put under the tap. "Hold that to your forehead," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." His fingers brushed hers briefly as he placed his hand on the flannel.

She returned to the armchair and began to read, telling him the first book of the Bible was called Genesis, which made sense. He knew the definition of genesis was origin, beginning.

It was a revelation to hear about God creating the heavens and earth, and everything that was in it. She read about the creation of Adam, and then Eve. When she read about the way they were tempted by a serpent and ate of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, he understood what Molly had said to him earlier. It all sounded rather fanciful. Why would the actions of one man and woman cause repercussions that would continue for all future generations?

He wanted to ask Molly, but fatigue settled over him, and he blinked, trying to keep his eyes open.

Molly noticed. "I think you need to have a nap, Sherlock. Why don't you lie down? I will make dinner in a little while and call you when it is ready."

He gave her a tired look. "Am I sleeping in your spare room this time?"

Her lips twitched. "I know you like your space. You can take my bed. Come on. Do you want to go to the loo again first?"

His lips quirked. "Guess the Imodium is doing its job for now."

She preceded him to her bedroom, turning down the duvet and sheet for him while he removed his shoes and jacket.

He slipped under the covers while she took the flannel to the bathroom and wet it again.

He felt a sense of contentment wash over him at her ministrations, even as she put the flannel back on his forehead, pulled up the duvet and placed the blanket on top.

When Molly bent over to kiss his cheek, he anticipated her actions and moved his head so their mouths met.

He knew she was surprised, but she didn't pull away immediately or slap him. Instead, she allowed him two full seconds of delicious warmth to spread through him, removing his chill, before raising her head.

Her voice was a little unsteady as she said, "Have a good sleep, Sherlock," and he knew their brief kiss had affected her as well.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep with a faint smile upon his lips.

Author's note: Yep, I know this story is progressing in an unusual way. But this is a Molly who has the strength of her convictions and is committed to her faith. I am thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to show again how the Bible does not contradict science, contrary to what atheists say, but actually is very compatible with it. I hope people will continue to read with an open mind, even as Sherlock is doing.

Did you enjoy the little Imodium conversation? I researched withdrawal carefully to make sure I am accurate about what it can entail. Poor Sherlock, huh?

As always, your thoughts and comments are very much appreciated. If this story speaks to you as one that provides an accurate glimpse into the life of a committed Christian, please help me promote my work by adding it to your favourites or even adding me as a favourite author. You may be too shy to share the gospel yourself, but doing something this small could have an impact on people who go to your profile if they are interested to see what you like.