Okay, excuse time: I had every intention of posting this a couple of days ago, but got a monster migraine. Ick! The good news is that this one is pretty long AND it's one of my very favorites! Again, thanks to my wonderful beta's and friends, this wouldn't be possible without them. No warnings this time, just prepare yourself for some humor.

I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~


Chapter 12 - Mama Said (The Shirelles)

She couldn't quite remember getting dressed, or what she told Mrs. Hudson, but she did remember the cop holding open the back door of the car and helping her in. She wondered briefly if anyone had seen and thought that she was being arrested. The ride felt like it took seconds, then she was walking down a hallway in a hospital that was not St. Barts. Greg had left her in the lobby after a warm hug a comforting smile. He assured her that Sherlock was fine, just being an arse, then hurried off back to the Yard.

It felt wrong. She'd been to the Royal London before, of course, but something just seemed surreal about the whole situation.

Once she rounded a corner, however, reality hit her in the face like a ton of bricks.

"... no reason for me to stay! My best friend's a doctor! His wife is a nurse and most interestingly, MY wife is a doctor! It's a sodding fleshwound, for God's sake!" Sherlock's voice rang out loud and clear. "If you would be so kind as to fu…"

"Sherlock!" Molly said as she entered his room. "I see that you're making friends." Looking around, she saw what looked like at least two doctors, three nurses (two of them male, and very large) and a security guard. Oh, they're just waiting to code him as a hostile patient. John was standing in the corner, arms crossed. He looked both amused and annoyed.

"Thank Christ! Molly, tell these idiots that I'm fine to go home and sign the release papers for me. John has them. He's holding them hostage in the corner like a little bitch!"

She looked at the 'little bitch' in question (he had no papers), her eyes wide, begging for an explanation.

"He might be a tiny bit high," John said in a bored tone. "They pumped him full of morphine before I could explain… things."

"Yes, and I feel fan-fucking-tastic! Molly, love, let's go home and shag like bunnies!" He looked up at the largest nurse and winked. "My wife." Motioning with his thumb. "She a cheeky little thing. I'm gonna have to tie her up and teach her a lesson." Turning his attention back to Molly, he said, "I haven't forgotten about your sassy mouth, you know. I owe you…"

"Can we have the room!?" she said, raising her voice. "I believe I need to speak to my… husband." Everyone seemed more than happy to comply. Stopping one of the doctors on the way out, she pulled him aside. "I assume you've cut off the narcotics?"

"Yes. We honestly didn't know about his, erm, problem, Mrs. Holmes," the man defended.

"I understand. But you are aware of who he is and that his brother holds a position within the government. If word of this should get out…"

"Oh, of course, of course. We take patient confidentiality very seriously, I assure you."

"Fine. I'm sorry for any trouble he might have caused."

"No. No problem at all," the doctor said nervously, then scurried out the door.

Molly survived the room. "You too, John, if you don't mind," she said. "Sorry, but I need…"

"It's fine." He waved her off. "I'm beat." Walking over, leant closer to Sherlock. "Don't be a dick to Molly, got it?"

"You have noooo idea," the injured man said with a giggle.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Good luck." He kissed Molly's cheek. "You'll need it."

"Hey! You're not allowed to kissy my wifey!" Sherlock shouted at John's retreating back, then grumbled, "I haven't even kissed her yet."

As soon as the door shut, Molly sat next to the bed. "I don't understand. You told me you used to regularly use morphine. Did you always act like an idiot?"

He exhaled deeply, letting his head fall to the pillow. "God, it's been too long." After a couple of minutes, his head lazily rolled to the side and he smiled. "You're cute. You kinda look like my wife, only angrier." Then he passed out.

o0o0o0o0o

Sherlock slept for several of hours; Molly was envious. Two nurses had checked on him, but neither attempted to wake him. She'd never heard such quiet healthcare workers in her life, as a matter of fact. Her back was killing her; the chair was far from comfortable. By eight am she was in desperate need of caffeine and her bladder was poking at her something fierce as well, so she decided she was entitled to a break.

Leaving the room, she made her way to the nurse's station. "Hi," she said, getting the attention of the woman behind the desk. "My, ah, husband is in room 512, he's sleeping and he's fine, but I need to get something to drink and…"

"Oh, of course, Mrs. Holmes. But you'll be back, won't you?" the nurse asked.

The woman hadn't been in the room when Molly had arrived, nor had she been one of the nurses to check on him. Evidently, word of Sherlock's behaviour had been passed to the next shift. "Yes. I promise. I just need a cup of coffee and…"

"I could get that for you if…"

"I also need the loo and to stretch my legs, if you don't mind…" Molly looked at the nurse's badge, "... Amy. I shouldn't be more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"Do we have your number if an emergency should arise?"

Molly gave the woman a hateful glare. "I've seen his chart, you know. It literally is a fleshwound." Though a large and nasty one. "I can't imagine what kind of emergency could possibly arise, but here..." She wrote down her mobile number and shoved the paper at the nervous nurse. "Just in case."

On her way to the canteen, Molly wondered what kind of training these people had received that they couldn't handle a stoned consulting detective!

o0o0o0o0o

Okay, she might have lost track of time. But the sofa in the large waiting area in the main lobby was far more comfortable than the chair in Sherlock's room. She was on her second cup of surprisingly good coffee when Mycroft sat down next to her. He took the cup out of her hand and downed the last two-thirds of her beverage.

She was gobsmacked. "What the hell!?"

"Just give me a moment, Molly. Please," Mycroft said, bending forward, elbows on his knees.

Oh, my God! she thought, suddenly frantic about leaving the injured man alone in his room whilst she enjoyed a dark Colombian blend and OK Magazine. "Is Sherlock…?"

"He's fine. Physically, at least. Mentally, however…"

"Mycroft?"

"I've just sent our parents to his room." He looked off into the distance. "May God have mercy on his soul."

Standing, she picked up the empty cup and threw it into a bin, intent on getting another before heading back up to Sherlock's room. "Bunch of drama queens," she mumbled as she walked back to the coffee stand, which was thankfully just outside the canteen. Made the wait shorter.

"Two coffees, please," she told the spotty teen behind the counter. Deciding to get one for Sherlock as well.

"Wow, you really love our coffee. That'll be…"

"Make that three and two teas, as well," Mycroft said from behind her. "Do you have anything herbal? Calming, perhaps?"

Molly turned and saw him pulling out his wallet. Fine. He can pay for it, she thought. He had stolen her last cup.

After stopping and adding the requisite milk and sugar, the pair headed for the lifts. Once they entered, Mycroft did the strangest thing. He hit the 'emergency stop' button on the panel, then turned to her and said, "Mummy is in quite a state. She's only just found out."

Okay, first of all… Mummy? "About Sherlock being shot?"

Mycroft shook his head, looking grim.

No! He can't mean! "She just found out that he wasn't dead?"

"No, Molly. It's so much worse than that." He took a steadying breath. "She just found out about… you."

So, evidently, Mummy (yes, Mummy!) didn't know about her and Sherlock's fake marriage. And the best part? Mycroft was terrified of the woman. Molly couldn't wait to meet her. She must have been smiling as he explained 'the problem' because half way through he stopped speaking and huffed.

"I fail to see the humour in this situation, Molly," he said, an air of annoyance. He tried to seem intimidating but holding a bag of beverages - his suit rumpled, tie askew - he couldn't simply pull it off.

"Sorry, Mycroft. But, why can't we just tell her the truth?"

A patronising smile formed on his lips. "Oh, Molly. Sweet, simple-minded, Molly. If we tell her the truth she will gut us all. Have you ever seen a female muskrat eat her young? I have…" His eyes grew wider and he gripped her shoulder with his free hand. "If we tell her that this is all for appearance's sake to save your job and keep you out of prison because someone is out to get me, the she-beast will devour us whole."

"Your mother is the she-beast in this scenario?"

"Indeed. And I assure you, Molly, it will not be pretty when she does."

Shaking him off. Molly moved to press the button to restart the lift, but he stopped her. "Really, Mycroft! Let's just go…"

"No! Sherlock is right now selling this situation as genuine affection. If you divert from that script, it will be death for us all!"

The utter terror in the man's eyes was starting to get to her. Molly was exhausted, she was hungry and great! she had to pee again because of all the coffee. "Fine, Mycroft. We're in love and can't get enough of each other. Will you start the bloody lift!?"

He straightened and turned, pressing the button. Molly sighed, wondering just what awaited her in Sherlock's hospital room.


"Mummy, please. I told you, I'm fine, the bullet grazed my leg! Besides, Molly will take care of me once we're back at Baker Street…"

"Oh, yes. Molly!" Violet Holmes said, 'the eyebrow of doom' arching high, promising more chastisement was on its way. "Wouldn't you like to hear all about our daughter-in-law, Siger?" Though she addresses her husband, she was still looking at her bed-bound son.

"Tell us about her, Sherlock," his father encouraged kindly.

"I assumed that Mycro…"

"He told us that you were married a month ago. He told us that you got married and didn't bother inviting your own parents!"

"Mummy…"

"He told us that you, young man, would explain it all. So… explain!"

At that moment, as if sent by God himself (suddenly Sherlock decided that there actually might be a God), his glorious saint of a wife and sniveling coward of a brother walked into the room.

"Mummy, Dad. I brought you tea," Mycroft announced.

"Thank you, son," Father said. Taking the bag he fished out the correct cup and held it out to his wife. "Here, Vi, I think you could use this." Then the man mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'or a sedative' as he looked for his own.

"Do you really think that tea will fix this, Jonathan Mycroft Francis Holmes?!" She sat down the cup, rudely pushed past her oldest child, marching up to Molly and stopped. "Violet Holmes, dear. I understand that you and I have something in common."

"Hello. I'm, ah, Molly… but you must..." She huffed, adorably frustrated and possibly frightened (if she was smart). "Sorry. In common, you say?"

"You and I both married Holmes men and Holmes men are brilliant idiots. I should know, I'm surrounded by them."

His wife giggled. "Yes, ma'am. I have noticed that. Brilliant but a little thick at times." She looked from Mycroft to Sherlock then finally to their father. "Fantastic bone structure, though. And so very tall."

Mummy turned to Sherlock, her eyes suddenly sparkling. "Ooo, I like her!"

"Thank God," Mycroft said, heaving a great sigh as he sat.

"That doesn't get you off the hook," Mummy scolded. "You didn't marry her!" Turning back to Molly, she took the younger woman by the hand. "We'll have a chance to talk later, but right now I need to speak with Sherlock. Alone. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied with a smile before stepping over to Father. "Mr. Holmes? I'm your daughter-in-law, Molly. Could I interest you in a very comfortable couch on the ground floor?" She leant in and whispered, "They have better magazines, too."

His dad rose, offering Molly his arm. "My dear, how could a man turn down an offer like that from a lovely young lady like yourself. Come along, Myc. Mother wants to finish flaying your brother."

Mycroft practically ran from the room, Molly and Dad following in his wake.

"Well," Mummy started, sitting next to the bed and handing Sherlock his coffee. "I suppose she brought this for you."

"Thanks."

"Spill," she demanded.

"We've known each other for years. Molly helped me fake my death…"

"Not forgiven you for that yet. But go on."

"Yes. Well, as I was saying, she helped me and whilst I was… away…" He cringed, actually cringed at the look in his mother's eyes. A grown man. The scourge of London's criminal underground, who lay in a hospital bed, with a bullet wound no less, cringed at his mother's angry look. "... I couldn't stop thinking about her, Mummy. It was then that I realised what I had to do…"

"Have your brother rush a wedding, forget to invite or inform your family and somehow not post the banns?"

"I don't want to be without her, Mother." And whether it was the last bit of narcotics in his system or his scowling mum, when he spoke the words they were true. He didn't want to live without Molly. Maybe there was a way for them to continue on after everything was solved. Maybe.

Mummy reached out and took his hand. Her eyes softened… just a bit. "I understand, son. But once you're healed, I insist on a visit. Overnight. And a dinner with the family." The softness faded, replaced with a look of pure menace. "Including Aunt Agatha," she added sweetly.

This marriage must end today! "Of course, Mummy. I promise." That's my punishment, what's Mycroft's? "What are you going to do with Myc?"

"Oh," she said with an evil grin as she stood. "I have a special kind of repayment plan in store for your brother. But you'll just have to wait and find out like everyone else." She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Stop getting killed or fake killed or nearly killed, Sherlock. It's turning me prematurely gray."

As he watched his mother leave, he was filled with pride. The woman really was an evil genius. And she likes my Molly... Which was just a bonus.

o0o0o0o0o

They released him later that day. He wasn't sure if it was because he was well enough or because he had annoyed them to the point that they simply wanted him gone. But he was home, that was all that mattered.

Lying in his bed, his right leg propped up on several pillows, he heaved a great sigh of contentment. This feeling would not last for long, and he knew it. Boredom would set in and he would start going mad… very quickly.

Molly had tried, however, bringing him books and his laptop. She had also made an early dinner and eaten with him in his room. Which he appreciated. Maybe having his engaging wife around would stave off the madness that an idle mind usually brought on. Something to ponder.

Twenty minutes after she'd cleaned up the dinner dishes, Molly knocked and reentered. "I have your nighttime meds, if you're ready for them?"

"You don't have to keep knocking, you know," he explained, holding out his hand for the pills. They were non-narcotic, but did help, a little. Popping them into his mouth, he picked up the glass of water she had given him earlier and finished it off.

"I wouldn't just walk in. That'd be rude." Molly took the glass from him and left the room. She returned less than a minute later with a fresh glass.

"You didn't knock."

"Arse." She waved her (now gloved) hand in his general direction. "I need to change your dressing."

Whipping back the sheet, Sherlock said, "By all means, nurse. Do I also get a sponge bath?" He was wearing only a pair of shorts.

Molly shook her head as she sat in the chair where she had eaten her dinner and started removing the bandages. "You are a bathtime menace, Mr. Holmes. I just may ask Nurse Mary to come over and take care of bathing you," she said as she focused on his wound.

He hissed when she pulled at the 'non-stick' dressing away from the most sensitive part. It had stuck… a little.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." The bullet had grazed his thigh, but the powder burns hurt the most. "I think I'll pass on Mary, thank you. I doubt that John would approve or Mary, for that matter. Besides, we have some unfinished business, wife." He was in no shape for sex of any kind, but the pain was worse than he was willing to admit and needed to distract himself.

Molly laughed. "As if I'd allow you to attend to such business in your current state." She cleaned the wound, then redressed it. As she finished up, she ran her hand across his thigh. "I could shave the rest of your leg - both legs - for you, if you like. This is rather nice." Her hand stroked higher over his hairless skin, causing goosebumps to alight on his flesh.

"Do you have a shaving kink, pet?" he asked, closing his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her hand. It couldn't go anywhere at the moment but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it.

"Not that I'm aware of, but…" She got up from the chair, leaning slightly over him and said, "I'm thinking I might have a 'Nurse Molly' kink."

Sherlock reached up, cupping the back of her head. "Definitely something to explore." Molly bit her lip, her eyes lighting up and he had the sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss her senseless. "Sleep down here with me?" The words tumbled out of his mouth making him wish that he'd kissed her instead.

She pulled back, just out of his hold. "That's not a bad idea, actually. Just in case." She straightened her tee shirt, then moved the chair. "I'll, ah… let me go get changed and brush my teeth."

Sherlock nodded as he adjusted the sheet, covering his injured leg and smoothing it out as Molly scurried out of the room.

He couldn't explain it, even to himself, why he'd yet to kiss Molly on her mouth. He'd certainly kissed other parts of her. It wasn't as if it were off limits. They had no limits; they'd never discussed them. If she ever asked, he'd explain that he wasn't into breath or blood play and a few other more extreme elements of BDSM. But she hadn't, at least not yet.

He had already deduced her likes and dislikes. For Molly, this wasn't about hardcore sadism or masochism, this was about the freedom to let go. Whilst in the bedroom, when Sherlock was in control of her sexual needs, his wife could give herself up to the pleasure he offered.

But why he had held off on kissing Molly he could not quite explain. It was a very intimate act, or could be under the right circumstances, but Sherlock had never put much stock in that idea. Many times he had used the act of kissing, snogging even, to disarm or manipulate a person - a suspect or a witness - he was not above using his physical appeal to his advantage. He saw it as a tool and nothing more. In this case, however, he kept holding back, waiting for the right moment. What that 'moment' was precisely, he didn't quite know, but…

His train of thought was cut off by a knock. "Just open the damn door!" he barked.

"Don't get stroppy with me already," she said as she entered, leaving it cracked.

"I wasn't being stroppy and why is the door opened?"

"I told Toby where I was sleeping. He'll be in later, I imagine." She sat on the other side of the bed, pulled off her socks, putting them on the bedside table then got under the covers.

"And you are under the impression that he understood you?"

She smiled and turned to face him. "He is a very intelligent cat, Sherlock."

He chuckled as he tried to find a comfortable position. He usually slept on his left side, which wasn't an option at the moment. Molly was still fully dressed and he had considered reminding her of the rules, but decided against it. Sleep would be challenging enough without his naked wife distracting him.

"God…" Molly sighed. "You better be careful, your bed is infinitely more comfortable than that mattress of torture in my room. Where'd you buy it by the way? Morte's Medieval Mattress Emporium?"

"There's nothing wrong with a firm mattress, Molly."

"I notice that yours isn't firm."

"It's firm enough." He turned off the light. "Now stop complaining and go to sleep." As he closed his eyes, he wondered if he had deliberately chosen an uncomfortable mattress in hopes of getting Molly into his bed regularly. Ridiculous! Though he had been formulating the plan to move their relationship to a more mutually beneficial arrangement, he had not formed any kind of attachment for her at that point.

Or now, he reminded himself. I'm not attached now either. He didn't even know why he kept asking her to sleep in his bed.

Are you sure about that, son?

This time, for some reason, the 'other' voice in his head sounded a lot like his father. I am absolutely certain. As a matter of fact, I need to refocus my mind on solving our problem and returning our lives back to normal. Molly belongs in the morgue, not my bed.

Keep telling yourself that and you just might start to believe it.

Sherlock shuddered at the truth of the statement his mind had provided. It had only been a month since she'd moved in, just a few short days of engaging her in sexual contact and he could not deny how much he had come to depend on her presence in his life. Not just in his life - she had been in his life for years - but in his home, his bed…

Damn…

There you go.

Now what?

Enjoy it, I suppose. Remember, I don't have any actual advice for you, Sherlock. I'm still you, of course. You see, your subconscious is just using the voice of your father to get the point across. Most likely because you saw him earlier today and the connection is fresh. That and you think of him as a source of wisdom, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

Heart, he scoffed. This is about consistent sexual release. Something which I've been without for far too long, it seems.

So it has nothing to do with the fact that Molly is absolutely perfect for you in every possible way?

None.

The voice in his mind sighed, just like his dad. Sherlock felt himself smile fondly. Son, can I ask you a question?

I suppose, but won't it just be me, asking myself a question?

Indeed. The voice was exasperated now. It made Sherlock happy, for some reason. Why did you do all of this? Why did you approach her that first night?

He felt slightly uncomfortable talking with the voice of his father about his sexual experiences. He told himself that it wasn't really Siger Holmes, but his own thoughts. Then he started to offer up the same explanation he'd given to Molly about helping her 'sort through' her needs and the rubbish about 'reducing stress' and he stopped.

I wanted her, he answered. I wanted her the whole time I was away...

Ah, the truth comes out… finally. And when, son, did you know that you wanted her?

The night I asked for her help. I wanted her then. I almost…

Almost what?

I almost kissed h…

Pain shot through Sherlock's right leg and he sat up, reaching out blindly. "Damnit, Toby!" he hissed when his hand met fur. Blinking, he realised what had just happened. He'd been sleeping, dreaming.

"Mmrowff."

"Yes, well, sorry. But you jumped on a fresh gunshot wound, you spoilt beast!" he said in an angry whisper. Nudging the cat off of his lap and towards his sleeping bedmate, he lay back down. "Go cuddle your mistress."

Sherlock drifted back to sleep as his mind tried to recapture the conversation with his father. The next morning he would have no memory of it whatsoever.


As I said, one of my faves! It'll only take a minute to hit that 'review' button and it will make my day. So much more to come. Thanks! ~Lil~