Sherlock barely slept anymore. Not that it was abnormal, but recently every time he got comfortable, he thought back to that day when Mary shot him and he was in the padded cell again.

After the first time he was in one... he took up boxing. Tired him out so much that he slept like the dead. He might still be a recovering addict, but he still felt the need to get some kind of relief from the dreams.

He looked over at his bed companion and knew she wouldn't like seeing him beaten up, but... it was better than a nice heroin nap. He left her alone in bed around 12:45am and went on the prowl trying to find an illegal fighting ring.

And he found it, in the middle of a shut down tube station. Someone there was a worker for the tracks and had a key. He observed the fighters before he was noticed on purpose. They chatted about how he was that famous detective, how he was going to get them in trouble, and it seemed to spark more of a fight rather than flight reaction.

Sherlock smirked and told them, if he made it out without a broken bone, he got to know when and where the next meet up was and he got into the betting and one on one fights.

So that was how he was beating 6 men in one night. He broke their noses, a jaw or two, a wrist, a couple bruised ribs. He was on fire.

Sadly that night he ended up with some bloody knuckle and a slight cut on his eyebrow bone. But he was in.

He made his way back to Baker St in the early hours, maybe around 4 he tucked himself back in against his girlfriend. She shifted around and he got his hands wrapped around her middle and pulled her closer until his head hit the pillow and he was out like a light.

When he woke up it was closer to noon, she was gone, off to work or something, and he checked his phone and saw that there was a message about the next fight in two nights in the same place, and for the same amount of money he wanted to put in tonight but it all had to be in cash. He worked his way through two easy cases before that night, and when he left his bedmate she was sated in more ways than the good meal he bought her on the date, and he headed out. He stopped on the way and got the cash out, and when he was gone, he didn't realize how worried his little woman was.

She called John, who pinged his phone, and he found him, in a brawl, men surrounding him, and as a joke, to get back at Sherlock for getting him out of bed at 2am, he bet on the guy who was currently kicking his ass. Sherlock already had a busted cheek, a broken finger, and had won three fights since he got here. He was getting tired and he knew this fight would be his last, he didn't end up losing, but John lost 20 quid. Sherlock saw him and winced as he made it to his side.

"You know she called, worried about where you went, why you left without saying anything. She said it wasn't the first time to did this this week." John told him and coughed slowly as they headed up and able to look for a cabbie. Sherlock's face had stopped bleeding, hid fingers were cold so they weren't in much pain, and he got to the point of his foot, which one man had stomped on, was hurting so he was limping when he got home.

"Where the hell have you been?" She shouted as they got to the stairs and John looked up as he finished helping Sherlock and saw Molly with her regular clothes on, a bag just behind her feet, almost as if she was about to leave.

"I was in a fight." He told her and she worked her jaw as she looked at him.

"I see that, where was that, a doss house?"

"No. Underground." Sherlock told her and she looked even more down stricken and then she turned. "Molly, where are you going?"

"Home."

"I am not high." He told her quickly as she waited for them to go up.

"Then why did you leave?"

"I needed to get some exercise." He said it like it was simple, like people left bed at 1am to go for a run, or go underground, and it was normal.

"Then you can have all the exercise you want when I am sleeping at my own flat. From now on." She pushed past John and he felt a little helpless as Sherlock was trying to get her to come back and stay.

"Molly!"

"Call me when you want to tell the truth." She shouted before they both heard the door slam shut.

"Get her John."

"No, you need to be cleaned up and your finger set. Let's go." He helped him up the rest of the way, setting him down on the couch before going to the bathroom where the first aid kit was.

John set his finger, bandaged his face, and looked at his foot which would just be badly bruised and hurt to flex in lots of ways for the next few days. "So I am good to go and get my girlfriends back into bed." He nodded and moved to stand up, he had to push through the pain and John let him take a few steps before he laughed lightly at how Sherlock was holding it up while he paused in the doorway.

"I say you just give her a few days, butter her up." John tapped his shoulder before going to get washed up before he headed home to Mary and Rosie. "Let's not to the fighting until you're healed. You wouldn't want a crooked finger." He headed down the stairs quickly, not letting Sherlock ask him for help, not going back when Sherlock shouted for him to come back... and there Sherlock stood until he mustered enough energy to get to bed again.

He was dog tired, he needed to sleep, it would do his body, mind, and foot a lot of good. He still smelled her perfume and hair care on the pillow next to him and he closed his eyes, imagining ways he could make this all up to her and before he knew it he was actually asleep, only to be woken up to Mary coming into his room loud and making sure to wake him up so she could tell him that Molly wanted her things that she left behind because she wasn't sure she would want to come back.

That set things in motion. He got up and out of bed, keeping his sheet tight to his body and he went down to the markets, looking for her favorite flowers, calla lilies which were the funeral flower and he found it almost adorable that it was kind of cliché of her to like them since she did do post mortems. He found a shop that did more than just the white ones, he had a bouquet sent to work for her, to her home, and to John and Mary's wherever she may be, she would get flowers.

She hadn't responded to any of his text and wishes to meet up, so he took it to the next level, using a phone in a shop to get her to answer.

"Barts Morgue, this is Dr. Hooper, how may I help you today."

"Molly, listen to me. Please." He begged, and she took a moment, to hear him beg, to get a real phone call from him period was a big deal, even after dating for 4 months it wasn't the normal way of him to talk to her, it was either texts, or through other people.

"You have two minutes Sherlock, I better hear the truth or we seriously are done."

"I was boxing. At night, it's like an illegal fight club. In my uni days I was locked in a padded cell, the one I kind of told you about when Mary shot me... that one in my mind palace was based on the one I was put in. I had a bad dose of drugs, and it did scare me shitless. I quit then just like I quit now, and when the cravings started I took up boxing, and I thought this time... instead of craving a good heroine nap I could get some sleep by finding people who want to fight."

"You were fighting illegally, you could have been killed!" Molly closed her eyes, trying to banish the thought of him beaten and bloody on a slab here at Barts and she felt all choked up when the view was crystal clear.

"The rules were set, we only fight until one person taps out, if we think we can't handle it we tap out. I can handle the men-"

"Sherlock... drugs were unacceptable. You leaving me in bed at 1am and coming home bloody and half conscious is just as unacceptable. If you go to a real boxing ring during the day, hell, set up a boxing station in 221C to get the energy out I would get it, not going to fight random men who might hurt you worse than you think they would... you need to get set up in a good way Sherlock, not like this... I can't handle seeing you like that."

"I know Molly. I know." He whispered and started to think about it.

"Ii will see what Hudders will say about the boxing stuff in the lower flat, but until then... no more fighting from me. Come back ok."

"I will, when you're all healed. John said you had a bad foot and you know I kick in my sleep sometimes, I am not going to hurt you on accident."

"Molly, you either come home or you get me in your flat with a hurt foot. We both know you like my mattress a whole lot better." Sherlock smiled softly, feeling like those love sick idiots she likes to see in movies, but not caring because she was going to come back, and he didn't have to worry about losing her, or quitting boxing again.

He wasn't sure if she would be up to it, but maybe he would teach her a few things, just in case.

Just wait until he finds out that she was already trained well in the ring.