Author's note: Sorry for the delay in posting. A return to performing opera and family commitments have taken precedence over my publishing schedule.

For the second night in a row, Sherlock lay in Molly's bed, unable to sleep. Again, he had so much to think about. It had been some hours since he had felt any withdrawal symptoms, and he felt that was a good sign. The withdrawal had eased unusually fast, though, and he wondered if perhaps it had something to do with God.

God. How strange it seemed that his own views on God had changed. Why had he never bothered to even look into the evidence of God before? Why had he simply denied God's existence without the benefit of research on the subject? He had no excuse. Research was an important factor when preparing to take on an investigation, and examining the facts was essential in determining the truth of what had happened at a crime scene.

Molly had pointed out that he had obviously been saved from death so many times for a purpose. But what was that purpose? He tried to do the right thing, to correct wrongs. What more was there for him to do?

And then there was the whole subject of how Molly believed that Jesus Christ, a man who had lived thousands of years ago, was actually God come to earth in human form. It didn't seem possible; in fact, it completely defied logic. But if Jesus was just a charlatan, why did so many people still believe in him and what he did for humanity two thousand years after his death? Had those early believers been somehow deceived into thinking he rose from the dead? And, if he did indeed come back to life, no earthly explanation would be possible for it. Tomorrow, Sherlock told himself, I will research evidence for the resurrection.

Molly obviously believed it with her whole heart, and he always felt there was something very special about her, even when he had thought only friendship lay between them.

His thoughts turned towards that now. Molly. He was so thankful she had come back when she did. He knew now that his love for her was something he'd never experienced before. He ached for her both physically and emotionally. The longer they were together, the more he wanted to be with her. Those few kisses they had shared heightened his desire for her, and he knew she felt the same. It was all so frustrating to have these feelings for her, to know she reciprocated, yet to have a barrier between them that might never be eliminated.

He had to smile ruefully at the memory of John's return text to him. Molly would be so embarrassed if she knew.

Very glad to hear she is back and that you have apparently sorted things out. So, have you been initiated into the ways of love yet? Don't worry, I'm not expecting an answer. I'm happy for you, mate. Romantic entanglements aren't so bad, after all, are they? And to be honest, she's a much better choice than Irene or Janine either, for that matter.

Of that, Sherlock had no doubt. Molly was everything Irene was not - honest, loyal, selfless, giving, not to mention the sweetest woman he'd ever known. And Molly didn't have the flirtatious, self-preservation attitude of Janine.

He sighed deeply, turning on his side, wishing Molly would join him again. For a man who had always slept alone, it was ironic that he now craved company in bed. Sherlock could still smell her scent on the sheets; he could almost feel the softness of her body as he lay his head on her shoulder. He wished to cover her body again with his arm, keep her close to him and never let her go. He was still thinking about Molly when he finally fell asleep.

He awoke to a soft knock on the door. Molly's voice came through the door. "Breakfast is ready, if you want it."

"I'm coming." He didn't bother dressing, seeing as the food was ready, and he was adequately clothed in pyjamas, rather than his usual boxers.

When he walked out of the bedroom, it was to see Molly also not dressed, and he realised she had not taken a change of clothes with her the previous night. Instead, she was wearing a short dressing gown over whatever nightwear she wore. He supposed it was that satiny nightie. Just the thought of how scantily clad she probably was beneath the dressing gown made his heart begin to thump faster in his chest, and his expression glazed. He longed to slide that dressing gown from her body and take a proper look at what she wore beneath, to feel her soft, womanly curves. He felt the same longing to slide those thin straps down of what was presumably the same nightie, to view her naked breasts. Involuntarily, his body began to react in a very primal manner, as had happened the last time he'd been fantasising.

He blinked, as her voice startled him to full awareness once again, "Earth to Sherlock. Did you want a coffee?"

"Er, yes," he said automatically, still trying to erase the mental image of himself undressing Molly. "Black, two sugars."

She gave him an odd look. "Sherlock, I already know how you take your coffee. I've been making it for you on occasion for years."

Inwardly, he cursed for allowing himself to be distracted by a fantasy. Now that was a first for him. "Of course you do. Sorry."

She gave him another sharp look, but turned away without comment.

He flushed, willing his body to return to its natural state and hastily seating himself at the table. Bloody hell, what was with all this fantasising, anyway? He'd never done that with any other woman. Even when he had been acting like a boyfriend to Janine, it was out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Kisses with her had not been sweet, the way they were with Molly. They didn't make his heart beat faster, nor had his body experienced any physical manifestation of desire for her. He'd simply been acting a part in a play, removed from any real emotion.

When Molly set down an appetising-looking plate of sausages and fried eggs in front of him, followed by his coffee, she asked, "How did you sleep last night, Sherlock? Any more withdrawal?"

He looked over at her as she collected her own breakfast plate and coffee and sat down across from him. I wished you were in bed with me, he thought, but decided to answer just the second question. "No more chills or trembling hands; I think I have purged the drugs from my system."

She gave him a bright smile. "Praise God!" He was amused by the open way she was expressing her faith in front of him now. He might have expected a "Thank God," as the usual way of being grateful, but her utterance of "Praise God" was definitely not one he had heard before, so it probably had a religious connotation. Not religious, Christian, he reminded himself.

They ate together quietly, the occasional scrape of a fork the only sound between them.

"Thank you, Molly," Sherlock said when he was finished.

"My pleasure." She pushed a stray hair away from her face and stood to collect their plates. Sherlock really did like her hair down. He wished he could curl his fingers into those long strands to bring her close and kiss her. He half wished he had not started on this path of kissing her at all. It just exacerbated his desire to do so again, to explore things further with her.

With a frustrated sigh, he rose and walked over to the sofa, determined not to look at her.

He bent forward and picked up his laptop and set it on his lap. He would do what he had said - research the resurrection and examine the evidence for himself. That should provide an excellent source of distraction from Molly Hooper.

Sherlock began to type into a search box, and he looked up only when he heard Molly say, "I'm just going to get dressed while my bedroom's free."

He nodded and returned his attention to his laptop. He was scouring different articles when Molly returned and sat beside him. "What are you researching now?"

"I thought I'd look at evidence to support the idea that Jesus returned to life."

Molly placed a hand on his arm. "If you don't mind me saying, I think you are getting ahead of yourself. Why don't you read one of the gospels that tells about the life of Jesus first? Then you will get to read about how he was crucified and resurrected."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then nodded. "That makes sense. So what do you suggest I read?"

Molly's answer was immediate. "Seeing as I began reading to you from Luke, with the Christmas story, I think you should just continue that one for now. The four gospels often have accounts of the same events, but each has unique stories, so all are worth reading." She indicated her Bible, which was still on the coffee table. Then she smiled."You might consider getting dressed first, though."

He closed his laptop and stretched. "I guess I should do that."

A few minutes later, he too was dressed and ready to delve into the mysteries of the Bible.

Molly was sitting in her yellow armchair, reading. He glanced at the cover. The author was Barbara Cartland, and there was a picture of a woman and a man looking at one another, dressed in old-fashioned clothing. Aha, he thought, Molly is quite the romantic. If we do end up together, I need to remember that and behave accordingly. "Historical romance?" he asked, seating himself on the sofa and picking up Molly's Bible.

"Yup," she responded, giving him a rather bashful smile. "I love reading about that time period, especially the aristocracy."

"If you like the aristocracy, you might find it interesting that I am distantly related to Richard the Third on my father's side."

Her brows lifted. "I suppose that accounts for your aristocratic nose and cheekbones," she commented, then returned her attention to her book.

Sherlock opened the Bible to a page bookmarked by Molly, which was where she had concluded reading aloud to him.

He spent the next two hours reading through the gospel. Typically, he would speed read through material, but this time, he did not wish to miss anything. Sherlock found the narrative fascinating. If everything written about Jesus was true, there was no doubt he could not have been just a man. He performed miracles - healings, raising people from the dead, feeding multitudes of people with few resources. These were things Sherlock had never heard of anyone doing. By human standards, they were impossible. He could see why Molly believed Jesus was God, because surely only God could do these things.

And then there was the crucifixion and the scenes surrounding it. If the story was to be believed, everything Jesus went through was so unfair. Sherlock recalled all too well how his own reputation had been dragged through the mud by Moriarty when he had been posing as Richard Brook. Sherlock knew what it was like to be labelled a fraud.

But everything in the story hinged on whether Jesus really rose from the dead, as was explained in the Luke account. If that were true, the narrative would also have to be true. After all, if you eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, must be the truth.

He was still deep in thought about what he'd read when he heard Molly rising from her armchair. She had made no sound while he'd been reading. An occasional page turn had been the only indication she waspresent.

When he looked over at her, she explained, "It's time for lunch. Did you finish reading Luke?"

"I did. I have been considering the probability that everything in it is true, and I have come to the conclusion that if the resurrection of Jesus is true, I will have to accept the rest of it. Inconceivable as it seems, how else could one deny what he did as being factual if the evidence supports the events following the crucifixion as written in the-" he thought for a moment to recall the unfamiliar word, "gospel?"

He was just thinking out loud, but when he noticed the way Molly's eyes were shining and the way her lips were curved into a smile, he suddenly felt hope. He realised he wanted it to be true. "I want to believe, Molly," he said, getting to his feet and stepping towards her where she still stood. "I know it's the only path for us to be together." He took one of her hands, which trembled.

"I want you to believe too, but I don't want you to say you believe just for my sake. It has to be more than your logical mind making the decision. Your heart needs to truly change, to understand it. That change can only occur from the Holy Spirit."

His brow furrowed slightly. "I'm still unclear about what, exactly, the Holy Spirit is."

Her hand squeezed his. "If you read the book of Acts, that follows the timeline of the gospels, and it explains all about the Holy Spirit."

Impulsively, he lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, then her palm, noting the way her breath hitched slightly. He felt that overwhelming urge to kiss her again, but restrained himself. She was right. He needed to believe things for his own sake, not hers. "I will read that next."

She smiled and moved to pull her hand away, but he refused to relinquish it. "Listen, after lunch, would you like to take a walk with me? Aside from leaving Baker Street to come here, I have not been outside in quite some time, and I feel the need for some exercise."

"We can do that. There's a park nearby where we can sit as well, if you'd like. I wouldn't mind spending some time outside now that the weather is getting warmer."

He nodded and dropped her hand.

After lunch, they headed outside. It was a beautiful day for a walk, Sherlock thought. There was a slight breeze that made wisps of Molly's hair float around her face and his own hair to lift slightly. He hadn't worn his Belstaff; it was much too warm for that, and he probably could have dispensed with his suit jacket, but he did not like to appear in public without his suit. There was no telling who might be out and about who might recognise him.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind and just enjoy being with Molly, Sherlock reached for her hand as they walked to the park she had spoken of. He was pleased she did not pull her hand away. It was something that felt so natural, holding hands with the woman he loved.

At the park, they found a bench to sit on and look at a bed of flowers in front of them. For once, the sun was shining, and Sherlock could see the way it made Molly's hair shine with a tiny hint of red he'd never observed before.

She noticed his scrutiny and smiled shyly, then gestured at the flowers in front of them. "There's a Bible passage that says to look at how the wild flowers grow. They neither labour nor spin, yet Solomon in all his splendour was not dressed like one of them."

He glanced at her curiously. "I know nothing of this Solomon of whom you speak, but I presume you are saying that no man-made finery can compare to how God has made these flowers." He looked over at the vivid colours of the flowerbed. "They are indeed exquisite."

She rested her head against his shoulder. "That's exactly what the verse means. Solomon was a wise king, son of King David. King David was one of the most prominent men in the Old Testament, and an ancestor of Jesus. Solomon had a huge amount of wealth. He even built an amazing temple dedicated to God. God's creation is incredible, though, far beyond anything we could create ourselves. It's one of the things that displays most clearly to me that He exists, that He created everything."

He smiled at the passion in her voice. She didn't need to convince him anymore that God was real. He was seeing it more clearly each day. He raised a hand to tenderly tuck some of her wayward strands of hair behind her ear. "I think you are a beautiful example of God's creation, Molly."

Impulsively, he bent to brush his lips against hers.

The sound of a camera click had him turning his head around for the source.

He considered getting up and giving chase to the man who was hurrying away, but decided he didn't really care if anyone knew how he felt about Molly.

Molly, however, didn't seem to feel the same. Her eyes opened wide, and she said, a nervous tone in her voice, "Sherlock! What if that man was a reporter or something?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Why do I care? I'm not ashamed of my feelings for you."

"B..but.." she stammered the word, "we're not together, not really."

He gazed at her. "I'm still hoping that will change. I'm not going to stop loving you, Molly, whether we are together or not, anyway."

She sighed. "You make it really hard for me to keep my distance, Sherlock."

His lips curved upwards. "I suppose that's a good thing for me."

She bit her lip. "But what if that picture comes out in the papers and people start asking questions? What about your brother?"

A crease formed between his brows. "Mycroft already knows I love you. The only people who might be a little upset would be my parents, and that is only because they would be cross that I didn't inform them of my change in attitude to romantic entanglements."

Molly's mouth dropped open. "Your brother knows? Have you spoken with him recently?"

"Not since the day after I found out you had left London. I was in a pretty bad place at the time, and I told him to leave me alone."

Molly stared at the flowerbed for a few seconds before turning to him again. "Maybe you should at least let him know you are feeling better."

"Fine, I will do that once we return to your flat. Can we at least sit here and enjoy the sunshine for a bit? It's such a pleasant change to be outside, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be sitting with than my favourite person - you."

"Why must you say such sweet things to me?" she asked, and he saw tears shimmering in her eyes.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "To quote you, 'Because it's true. It's always been true.'"

She gave a choked laugh and slid her own arm around his waist.

He turned his head to kiss her hair, and they sat for some time, fortunately untroubled by any other sneaky photographers. Sherlock felt such contentment. His heart was bursting with love for the woman beside him. He wanted to kiss her over and over, beg her to give him a chance, but he knew she was too strong to back down. She might bend his way, but she would not break unless he himself broke her by forcing the issue, preying upon her weakness for him. But that would be unconscionable, and he would destroy her trust if he used their physical attraction to his own ends. No, he would continue to play by her rules.

Finally, reluctantly, he said, "I guess we should leave now. I should call Mycroft at some point, as you suggested. I need to find out how things went when he talked with our parents." At Molly's raised eyebrow, he added, "He said he needed to let them know Eurus is alive after all these years, rather than having been burned to death as a child in the asylum in which she resided."

Molly released her arm from around his waist, and he took his from her shoulders. She stood and shook her head as she said, "I imagine that would come as quite a shock."

Sherlock stood as well. "Definitely an uncomfortable conversation."

He took her hand again as they walked back to her flat.

Inside, Sherlock picked up his phone, which he had left on the coffee table.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered, when he picked it up and saw the missed call notification and a rather lengthy text message which had come in a couple of hours earlier. Mycroft was not prone to texting, so Sherlock knew he was either concerned or irritated.

Where are you, Sherlock? I have given you ample time to yourself to "get over things" as you asked. I thought I'd call around to Baker Street earlier, and your landlady informed me that you were with Molly Hooper at her flat. When we last spoke, you informed me she had left town, so I would like to know what is going on. Please call me as soon as possible.

He had even used the word "please", Sherlock noted. Had his brother really been worried about him?

"Mycroft?" questioned Molly as she went to turn on the kettle.

He let out a deep sigh. "Yep. I'm going to call him back now, get it over with."

Her lips tilted upwards. "You make it sound like you're going to the guillotine."

He snorted and sat on the sofa. "Sometimes it feels like it."

He punched in the numbers and Mycroft picked up almost immediately. There was a distinct note of annoyance in his voice as he said, "About time you called. Where were you?" Then his voice softened a little. "I've been worried about you."

Sherlock couldn't help feeling a little surprised, yet gratified, that he had deduced his brother's underlying concern correctly. Sentiment wasn't something Mycroft expressed often. "I'm doing fine, Mycroft. More than fine, actually." He looked over at Molly, who was pulling out two cups from the cupboard. By the little smile on her face, he knew she was listening.

"I'm glad to hear that. Last time we spoke, I was worried you might return to using. You were so dejected."

Sherlock chewed on his lower lip. Should he tell Mycroft the truth? Well, he supposed, he should be honest. "Mycroft, the truth is, I did go back to using. In fact, I think I might have killed myself if Mrs. Hudson had not been privy to where Molly went and called her to come back to London."

He heard the inhalation of breath. "Oh, Sherlock. When will you learn that drugs are not the answer to your problems?" He could visualise Mycroft shaking his head in sorrow and disappointment.

Sherlock glanced over at Molly again as he answered. "I know that, Mycroft. Thank God, Molly came back in time. I truly believe she saved me. She's always saving me."

Molly looked over at him with a tender smile. She really was like a guardian angel to him, he thought.

"So," he heard the curiosity in Mycroft's voice, "you have resolved things with Miss Hooper?"

"Doctor," Sherlock corrected automatically. "Of a fashion. We are taking things slowly. We still have some issues to work through, but we know where we both stand." Before Mycroft could respond, he continued. "So tell me, how did things go with Mummy and Daddy?"

Mycroft expelled a long breath. "Not well, as you might have expected. I could certainly have used your presence as a buffer."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," said Sherlock, feeling a little guilty about his absence. He knew he didn't need to feel that way, but Mycroft had always been there for him, and, on the one occasion his brother had needed his help, he had let him down.

"Don't trouble yourself with regret, brother mine. It was my mess. I would, however, appreciate it if you would consider visiting Sherrinford this Friday. I have told our parents that Eurus is catatonic, unable to communicate, but they wish to see her, anyway."

"I can do that." He was struck by a sudden thought. "Why don't I bring my violin and play for her? Perhaps it will elicit a positive response."

"Perhaps."

He made arrangements to meet Mycroft at his office on Friday morning and rang off, even as Molly set down cups of tea for them and sat beside him.

"You're going to see your sister," she commented, taking up her cup and raising it to her lips.

He took his own and looked at her. "Thanks for the tea. Yes, on Friday morning. I'm not angry with her. I think, in her own way, she was attempting to right a wrong she perpetrated against me as a child. I don't believe she meant Victor harm. She wanted to test me, to see if I could find him, but I failed to solve her riddle."

Molly set down her cup and touched his arm briefly in a comforting gesture. "You are not to blame yourself for not solving her riddle. You seem to have this tendency to hold yourself responsible for the actions of others - Moriarty, Mary, and now, Eurus."

He set his own cup down and looked at her. "Intellectually, I understand that. But emotionally, I find it difficult to accept it."

"And that is why, despite the way you have tried to deny expressions of sentiment, your true nature is clearly an emotional one. I've always known that."

"You've always been able to see me, the true me, Molly, rather than the detective part of me. I ran away from recognising that for so long. You centre me." He brushed his hand against hers, squeezing it briefly before releasing it.

She smiled at that, then sobered. "Much as I like the sound of that, I want you to know Jesus as your centre."

"In that case, I suppose I should continue my religious studies," he said, with a quirk to his lips. "Guess it's time to get back to it." He bent forward to retrieve the Bible.

Molly reached to retrieve her own novel, which was also on the table. He had to smile at the title, The Love Pirate.

And then, continuing to sip his tea occasionally, he began to read the book of Acts.

Author's note: Poor Sherlock is certainly battling his desires for Molly, but aren't you proud of him? He knows her weakness for him, but he respects her enough to restrain himself.

I just feel Sherlock would find himself quickly absorbed in the Bible if he started reading it. If you aren't familiar with it yourself, I encourage you to do likewise.

So, that kiss and the photograph - will there be a fallout from it? I'd love to know what you think.

I couldn't resist putting in a bit of my personal canon Molly's love for reading historical romance.

I haven't been hearing from many people lately. Perhaps people are too busy to read. Or perhaps this story is taking a turn that isn't to the liking of some. Anyway, as always, I appreciate any and all feedback, so if you can spare a moment, the review box is below.