Author's note: Thank you all for your continued support! Christfollower316: I have sent you a couple private messages and would love to hear back from you.

After Molly went to bed, she lay there for some time, thinking about the events of the day.

She had dreamed for so long about having her love for Sherlock returned. It seemed incredible that this was now the case. In a way, though, things were harder than ever before. It was one thing to have romantic thoughts about someone you knew didn't feel the same way, but to know that those feelings were reciprocated, yet have to force yourself to keep things the way they had been before, was like some form of mediaeval torture.

Logically, her mind knew things had to be this way. Sherlock had to get clean, for one thing. She knew he could do it. He'd done it successfully in the past, and he had a tremendous amount of self-control and willpower. But to hinge their future potential romantic relationship on him coming to faith was taking a gamble.

It was so tempting to just lose herself in the incredible sensation of his lips on hers, to know he loved her as she loved him. She didn't doubt he was sincere. She saw and felt the passion within him as they kissed, the way he looked at her now, as if he couldn't get enough of her. It was both thrilling and terrifying, like walking on a tightrope. One false move and she would fall into his arms and abandon all the values she prized so highly.

Lord, help me to be strong, she prayed. In her humanness she felt so weak. Her body yearned for his touch, to have everything she craved. God had created man and woman to love and be loved, after all. But she knew it wasn't enough. Without God at the centre of their relationship, the flush of new romance would eventually fade, and there would be conflict. It was better to not even tread that path which could lead to heartbreak.

Her only hope lay in Sherlock's openness to learning about the Bible, in his willingness to set aside his preconceived notions and truly research things for himself. God had saved him so many times, and Molly hoped and prayed Sherlock would understand and believe it when he read about God's redeeming love.

At last, Molly fell asleep, but was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of the toilet flushing. Has Sherlock been sick again? she wondered.

She heard the bathroom door open, and a few moments later, a knock came at her door.

"Molly? Are you awake?" came Sherlock's voice. "Please, can I come in?"

Molly sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, wondering what he wanted.

"I'm awake, Sherlock," she called softly. "You can come in."

The door handle turned, and Sherlock entered.

He seemed slightly disoriented, and as he came towards her, he stumbled forwards, falling onto his knees beside the bed.

"Sherlock!" Even in the light of the bedside lamp, she could see his body trembling.

His hands reached up to clutch at the duvet with shaking fingers as he looked over at her. "I can't sleep, Molly. I'm so cold, and I feel sick, and I was wondering..." He hesitated, then, as if the words were being forced out of him, he asked, "Would you come back to your bed with me?"

She bit her lip. "Sherlock, I don't think-"

"Please, Molly. I won't try anything with you, I promise. Earlier, I fell asleep on the sofa because you distracted me from this bloody withdrawal. I was hoping that I'd be able to sleep again if you were close to me." His eyes pleaded with hers.

Her heart swelled with love for him. For him to come to her this way, to plead with her, as he had done during the phone call, meant he really needed her and couldn't think of another solution. It reminded her also of the night he'd come to her at the hospital and asked for her help, which she had willingly given. How was this any different?

He needed her.

She reached forward and touched one of his trembling hands. "I'll come."

The relief on his face and in his voice was palpable. "Thank you, Molly."

He rose to his feet, groaning slightly, and Molly slipped out of bed, feeling a little self-conscious when his eyes roamed appreciatively over her chemise. His gaze sent little sparks of awareness through her. It was so strange to see him looking at her that way, as someone he desired, rather than just a friend. Well, there was no point in putting on a dressing gown when she would be going back into bed.

"Do you need me to help you?" she asked, expecting a refusal as he had done earlier.

He looked at her. "Yes."

She slid an arm around his waist and he placed one around her shoulders, and together they walked to her bedroom.

She guided him towards the bed and lifted the covers for him to go beneath, then turned off the lamp. Feeling her way to the other side of the bed, where she always slept, she eased between the sheets as well.

She felt awkward, unsure of what to do next. Ironically, this was not the first time she had shared a bed with Sherlock. On his first night at her flat, after he had faked his death, Sherlock had cried out in the middle of the night, and she had returned to her bedroom to see tears streaking down his face. He had had a nightmare, and her only thought was to comfort him.

She had held him, almost like a mother would hold her child, stroking his forehead gently until he lapsed again into sleep. She had returned to her bedroom, and they had never spoken of it. He probably didn't even remember it.

But that situation was very different from this one. On that occasion, she had known he did not think of her as more than a friend. She had known there was no chance he would try to take advantage of the fact that they were in bed together.

Now, her body was all too aware of the man beside her, and she feared her own weakness, should he go back on his promise to not try anything.

She forced herself to relax. Sherlock Holmes would never go back on his word to you, she told herself sternly.

She felt his body shift to turn towards her. "Molly, do you think you could come just a little closer, maybe hold me like you did earlier? I'm so cold."

She moved until they were almost touching, feeling the heat radiating from him. "Would you like me to massage your shoulders again?"

"No. Maybe you can just," his voice faltered a little, as if he was uncertain of her response, "hold me?"

She smiled slightly, noting the hesitance in his voice and felt reassured. She knew he was not planning some sort of seduction. In fact, she had the distinct feeling he wouldn't even know where to begin when it came to anything like that. Had he even been intimate with a woman in his past? She was quite certain there had been nobody in the time she'd known him. Well, there had been Janine, but when she had visited him in the hospital after he was shot and she saw those tabloids, he had rushed to assure her that Janine had been lying about sleeping with him, and Molly had believed him.

Now, she reached out an arm to slide it beneath his neck, so his head was resting on her shoulder. Protective warmth spread over her as she lay on her back, and Sherlock's hand reached across her body in the darkness to find hers.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She lay awake, feeling his arm settle more heavily over her chemise, as he relaxed and fell into a deep sleep, even as his hold on her hand loosened. It was only then that she allowed herself to sleep also.

She awoke to find sunlight filtering through the curtains and turned her head to see that Sherlock was awake as well, his eyes looking into hers.

His arm was still resting over her body, but not as heavily.

"How long have you been awake?" she questioned.

"Just a few minutes. Did you know you have a lovely profile? I never noticed it before."

She blushed. It was so alien to receive a compliment on her appearance from him. Oh yes, he had complimented her before, like when he had made that observation about changing the way she wore her hair, and that he liked it better, but he had been wanting something from her at the time. This compliment was completely unsolicited.

Unable to respond to the compliment, she resorted to more practical conversation. "It must be well past breakfast. Are you hungry?"

He smiled, as if he was fully aware of her desire not to respond to his compliment. "Starving. I haven't kept anything down for over a day." She felt his arm move away from her body, and couldn't help wishing, despite herself, that he would have pulled her closer to kiss her.

In an attempt to draw her mind away from those troubling thoughts, she sat up. "Do you think you're up to a proper breakfast, like scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast?"

His lips quirked. "Right now, I feel as if I could eat a horse." She saw his eyes drift downwards, causing her stomach to do a flip-flop. He was behaving admirably, but he was obviously as affected by her as she was by him.

"I...I had better get dressed and start making breakfast, then," she said.

"You do that." She could feel his eyes following her as she collected clothes for the day and went to the spare room to get dressed.

Twenty minutes later, she set a plate before Sherlock and sat down to eat herself.

She was pleased to see him eat hungrily and hoped that the worst of his withdrawal had passed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, while she cleared the plates from the table.

He patted his stomach. "So far, so good. Hopefully I can keep everything down today."

"I hope so too."

She could feel a certain tension between them, as they tried to behave as if nothing had changed between them.

"So, um, what would you like to do today?" she asked, once they were sitting together on the sofa.

He offered her a wry smile. "I'd really like to be kissing you, but seeing as that is not an option, I suppose I need to do more studying about your religion."

Molly didn't know whether to blush from his frankness in wishing to kiss her or cringe at his use of the word religion. She decided to ignore the former and address the latter. "One thing you must understand, Sherlock. Christianity is not a 'religion', at least, not in the way you are probably thinking. There are many religions in the world. Christianity is a way of life. Other religious practices demand certain acts in order to offer their form of salvation. People have to basically work their way towards salvation and heaven. When it comes to Christianity, it is entirely a gift of grace from God. We either choose to accept or reject that gift of Jesus's sacrifice for us. It is in accepting that gift where it changes the person. We don't have to earn our salvation, but, in essence, it is our faith that gives us the desire to do works that honour God. There are many people out there who will tell you they are a Christian, but they do not really possess the knowledge of God and the Holy Spirit in their hearts, because they do not show their love for God by their actions."

"Explain," he ordered.

She gave him a confused look. "Explain what?"

"How you say this is a free gift.." His lips twisted. "I've learned from experience that nothing comes without a price."

She looked at him seriously. "Well, there was a price, but Jesus paid it for us when he died on the cross. As far as receiving it, though, there's one verse in the Bible that I think pretty much every Christian can recite by heart. It's in the book of John, and it's the sixteenth verse of chapter three. This is what it says. 'For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.' That is the cornerstone of the Christian faith. There are many denominations, but that truth binds us together despite other areas of doctrine in which we may differ."

She hesitated, then added, "As I said, Jesus paid the price for us, but if I am to be honest, I have to say there can be a cost for us when it comes to being persecuted for our faith, or looked down upon for it. When we accept His gift of redemption, we have a ticket to eternity with him, but that doesn't mean our life here will be a picnic. It just ensures that we will have a new life with Him beyond this one. Earth is our temporary home."

A crease formed between his brows. "I feel woefully ignorant about all this. You're telling me words I've never heard spoken of in this context - stuff like grace, salvation, redemption, eternal life. I'm not sure where to begin on this quest for knowledge."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then said, "Well, when you are doing an investigation, what do you do?"

His answer was immediately forthcoming. "I search for evidence, for clues about what the truth is, and I make my deductions based on that evidence."

She nodded. "Okay, then why don't you start researching the historical accuracy of the Bible first, to make sure it isn't a made up book? For instance, there is a first century historian called Josephus, spelled like Joseph, with an 'us' at the end, who talked about a wise man named Jesus that he had heard about. That might provide some illumination for you. I assume you brought your laptop with you?"

He smiled at that. "Of course."

Impulsively, she placed a hand on his knee. "Then use it. Do the research. Authenticate things for yourself. Follow the evidence. If you can at least come to a belief that Jesus actually lived, it will give you a stepping stone towards understanding as you read through the Bible."

He placed his own hand over hers, where it still rested on his knee. "And you'll answer any questions I have?"

"I'll do my best."

She had to give Sherlock credit. He didn't procrastinate, but went to the bedroom to retrieve his laptop, then sat at her dining table.

While Molly puttered about, doing her washing from the past week, doing other various chores, Sherlock's attention was completely focussed on what he was doing. When she noticed him trembling at one point, she brought over the blanket and placed it over his shoulders.

He gave her a distracted, "Thanks, Molly."

Late in the morning, Sherlock raised his head and caught Molly's eye. She was on the sofa, ostensibly reading a romance novel, but had found herself constantly looking towards Sherlock and wondering what he was thinking.

"I have read about Josephus and another historian from the time period, Tacitus, who both talk about Jesus Christ. As outside sources, I must concede that their writing corroborates the authenticity of Jesus. I am satisfied he truly lived and was not a myth developed by zealots who wished to start a new religion, as some would contend."

Hope sparked in Molly. "I'm so happy to hear that, Sherlock. What about God? In order to believe in what Jesus did, and that he was God, you have to believe in God as well."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Don't rush me, Molly. I think I will need to do more research about it. I must also contemplate the reasons for my existence, and determine whether there is a greater purpose for my life."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm not trying to rush you. I'm just so anxious for you to know and understand what I believe. Please, consider the reasons why you are still here when you could so easily have died, and think about the way your violin survived that explosion. If it defies logic, you have to concede the possibility of a higher power at work."

A smile touched his lips. "You are one pushy lady, Molly Hooper."

She kept eye contact with him as she rose and walked to stand next to the chair in which he sat. Her voice held a note of determination. "That's because I'm fighting for you, and so is God."

He pushed his chair back and stood, as the blanket he'd still had over his shoulders, fell. Apparently, he was no longer feeling chilled. He turned to face her, and his words were completely unexpected. "Has anyone ever told you how incredibly alluring you are when you are passionate about something?"

A blush stained her cheeks. She didn't know whether to be thrilled at his words or annoyed that he seemed to be ignoring what she said about fighting for him, so she repeated them. "This is a fight for your soul, Sherlock. Of course I'm passionate about it. I love you."

His hand came up to cup her chin, while his thumb traced a line along her lower lip, causing her to tremble and her breath to quicken.

"Will you allow me to claim a small reward for doing what you have asked?" His words were soft, mesmerising, and she couldn't look away from him.

He lowered his head, and she closed her eyes automatically in capitulation as his lips found hers, warm and soft. To his credit, he didn't prolong the kiss, ending it just when she was ready to throw her arms around him and beg him to continue. She felt ashamed of her weakness, but resigned herself to the fact this was going to be an ongoing issue for her. She supposed right now, Sherlock was to be her "thorn in the flesh" as the Bible said. If he came to faith, that thorn would be removed, and she clung to that hope for him. Her eyes remained closed as once again she prayed for him. Please, Lord, may the Holy Spirit awaken him to truly know you with his heart.

"Wow, I must be a better kisser than I thought, seeing as your eyes are still closed," Sherlock quipped, and she heard the amusement in his voice.

She opened her eyes. "I won't deny that I enjoy your kisses very much, but actually, I was praying," she told him.

An eyebrow rose. "You've been doing a lot of that lately, haven't you?"

"It's important to me, Sherlock. I've been praying for you for years."

Unexpectedly, he touched his forehead to hers. "Then keep doing it, love, and I'll keep researching."

Even as she felt a little thrill run through her with his use of the word "love", he sat down once again, and she saw him type a search on his laptop, "What is the evidence for God?" as if to show he was taking things seriously.

She placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. "I'll let you get back to it." Then she returned to the sofa, even as she heard a video he'd apparently selected, start to play.

He continued to be absorbed in what he was doing as Molly prepared lunch for them a little while later, taking his plate of food and cup of tea with a once again distracted, "Thanks, Molly."

A little later, as she cleared the plates, she saw Sherlock lean forward in his chair and close his eyes. He placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers under his chin, as she'd seen him do many times before when he went into his mind palace.

Again, she prayed fervently as she sat on the sofa, burying her face in her hands. Please God, let him understand you are real, that you are the Great Designer, and that his life has a purpose.

She continued to pray silently, even as she heard the sound of his chair being pushed back.

She didn't look up until he sat beside her. He took her hand. "Molly, I find irrefutable logic in the existence of God. I have been reading and watching videos, reflections on nature and how the world is perfectly balanced to sustain life. I have reflected upon my own existence and, as you suggested, the many times I have survived, in spite of what would seem impossible odds. I cannot hide my head in the sand any longer." He paused, and she held her breath, waiting.

"God is real, Molly. I believe it."

She let out her breath and smiled. He'd come so far, so quickly, but how could it be otherwise? He could make rapid fire deductions at a crime scene, his mind worked so fast. She squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad, Sherlock, and I'm so proud of you. What do you want to do now?"

He looked at her. "I think I need to take a break from all this research and just watch some mindless crap telly. Would it be an imposition if we sat together as friends and perhaps I put my arm around you?" His lips quirked as he added, "As a reward for my hard work?"

She dimpled at him and picked up the remote in her free hand, her heart light. The Holy Spirit was working on his heart; she felt that strongly. "I'm not sure whether having an arm around me is the gesture of mere friends, but I'll allow it." She peered at him. "You seem to be over the withdrawal pretty well. Is your stomach doing better?"

"No more pains in that regard. Aside from feeling cold now and then, I think I've been too distracted to feel any desire to return to using. Besides, I have no wish to escape from my life, now that you are beside me, even if I must content myself with being just friends for now." He removed his hand from hers to drape it across her shoulders. A smirk crossed his features. "Well, perhaps just a little more than friends."

She allowed herself the luxury of leaning into him as she turned on the television.

For the rest of the day, they watched television shows, laughing about ridiculous talk show premises, enjoying the comfort of one another's company.

When Sherlock experienced another bout of the chills, she retrieved the blanket and placed it over them both.

More than once, she felt his head turn to press a light kiss to her neck as they watched the telly. Yes, his actions definitely crossed the friends line, but not by much, and she didn't mind. She didn't press him to read any more of the Bible. They had time.

At one point, after a show had ended, Sherlock said, "I suppose I should send a text to John, let him know I'm feeling better, that you are back in London, and that I'm staying with you for now."

Molly bit her lip. "What will he think about you staying with me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Does it really matter? He knows I love you, so I hope he will be happy for me. If he thinks we are together now, well, I'm hoping that at some point it will become a reality." He placed a finger against her lips so she would not speak. "And yes, I know that's only going to happen if a certain set of circumstances happens. Let's just leave it at that, for now."

She nodded, and Sherlock sent the text to John.

When the response came, he smiled, but did not show her, and she did not ask.

And when they said goodnight, she allowed another sweet kiss from Sherlock that made her lips tingle and her heart yearn for more, knowing he longed for that too. But she appreciated the way he respected her boundaries. "Goodnight, Molly."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

As Molly settled into the spare room bed, she felt decidedly more hopeful than she had been the day before, and she slept peacefully, uninterrupted this time by Sherlock turning up during the night.

Author's note: I hope you are enjoying where this story is going and find it plausible. Personally, I find it completely logical that Sherlock could become a Christian, despite what a lot of people have said to me in the past that they do not see it themselves. They are entitled to their opinion, and I am entitled to mine. I have been a personal witness to a heart changing and turning to the Lord in a very short time period, the heart of a person who is very special to me, whom I love dearly. My regular readers and close friends know of whom I speak, and I rejoice in his newfound faith. Even if nobody else ever turns their heart towards Jesus, I know that my writing has yielded positive results, and I am incredibly blessed by that knowledge. I feel that God has validated my ministry in this fandom.

I also try to write Molly's struggle in a very realistic way as well. She is subject to temptation like anyone else, and sometimes she slips up, as we all do. Christians are certainly not perfect!

For reference, if you do a search for "evidence Jesus lived", you should find the page I used as reference at , the Josh McDowell Ministry website. If you have any doubts, or even if you don't, it's a fascinating read.

Your response to my writing is always appreciated and acknowledged.