When Sherlock finally got out of the hospital, they had a party at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was still a bit shaky on his feet, so John held his arm. Greg asked about Mary, but John said that she couldn't make it. The look of pity on Mrs Hudson's face told another story. Maybe later, she could have a quiet word with her about it.

John lowered Sherlock into the chair, and he smiled up at him. There was a quiet caring between the two of them that hadn't been there when Sherlock had first returned. John was gentle with Sherlock, and Sherlock went out of his way to show John more affection, as if he were likely to shy away at a rough touch.

Sherlock looked different to her now. Maybe it was the fact that he had almost died. Maybe it was the cautious way he acted, but she felt very protective of him. He was a beautiful man, nothing would ever change that, but he had also learned to be sensitive to others moods and needs. When he thanked John for handing him a cup of Mrs Hudson's tea, she couldn't help but smile.

The party was pleasant, but strained. No one talked about Sherlock's shooting, or why John was living upstairs instead of with his wife. No one talked of the baby, or any sort of future plans at all.

"You seem better Molly, new boyfriend I see," Sherlock said.

"Why do you?"

"Teeth marks on your jaw, but you're not very sure of him. You've hardly gained a pound. In fact, I think you've lost weight."

"Thanks for noticing."

"Oh that wasn't a compliment."

Greg showed pictures of his kids which Mrs Hudson cooed over, and he did compliment her on her dress which was pink and new.

John seemed distracted, and Sherlock's eyes strayed toward him like they always did. It reminded her of what Tom had said about her. Whenever Sherlock came into the room, her eyes had followed him. If Tom had seen it, Sherlock couldn't help but notice her attention. She wondered if he had felt uncomfortable to be regarded in that way. Objectified, as if he were simply a thing that she wished to possess. She may have once thought of him that way, a little. Now...

John stood up then and said that it was past time for Sherlock to go to bed. He protested like the most accomplished five year old. John gave him a stern look, and he relented with a sly smile. Molly sighed to see how content he was. He might never look at her that way, but she was happy for him. It seemed that what Sherlock really needed was not a lover, but a friend.

Molly clasped the bars over her head with both hands as she rode upon Jim. He cried out and she smiled before collapsing down on top of him. Then he ran his hand and up and down her sweat-damp back.

She rolled off of him then. Her hair was draped over his shoulder. She had been growing it longer ever since he admitted to liking the feel of it passing across his skin.

"You look beautiful!" Jim said.

She laughed. "You liar, with my hair across your face, you can't even see me."

"Oh I see you. I can definitely see you, Molly Hooper."

She ran her hand through her hair pulling it back against her neck. She could see the deep burgundy staining the bottom of the wine glass on the table. She had resolved not to come today, but at lunch Fiona had told her that she'd got engaged. All the other girls fluttered around her looking at the ring that was nowhere near as pretty as hers had been, and then someone had asked her when she expected to marry. There was a hush across the table, and the woman had apologized. She'd almost run to the flat then, downing the wine that he'd offered her, and kissing Jim as he reached out to offer her another.

She rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. "What is my life?" She asked not expecting an answer, but Jim gave her one anyway, rolling on his side to whisper into her ear.

"Life is for the taking! It is a ripe fruit hanging before your eyes. Take it, eat it, enjoy it!"

"But..."

Jim ran his hand across the top of her breast. "You've always been afraid of life, little Molly. You hesitate when you should run. Don't be ashamed of who you are. Don't fear the power that life gives to you. Power is meant to be used. A life untested is a life wasted."

She'd wanted to stay over that night, but Jim said it would be too suspicious. So they sat in the living room sharing a pot of coffee as she put on her shoes.

"I'm thinking of moving," Jim said. Molly froze in the middle of tying her laces.

"Moving? Where?"

"The States."

"America? Why?"

"I have to be careful to keep my cover. Mycroft Holmes still suspects me. If only I could be sure that he wouldn't discover my identity, but if some fact should surface, if the real body of Quincy Hoehn should be found, then he could discover who I am. It's safer to leave."

"But I don't want you to leave!"

"Where is the body of Quincy Hoehn?"

"Gone, cremated. The morgue isn't designed for long term storage. If a body remains unclaimed, it is sent to be cremated."

"Are you sure? That was the last piece of evidence left to expose me."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked placing her foot back on the floor. Wait, did you cause the server crash at the hospital!"

"They had too much data about the real Hoehn. I had to get rid of it."

"But."

"Molly, I'm only doing what I have to do to protect our future. You trust me don't you?"

"But Jim."

He stared at her with that blank emotionless face that she hated. "Molly, tell me that you trust me."

She didn't like it. She didn't like what he was doing, but he was Jim, her Jim. "I trust you," she said.

Jim rolled his chair toward her then and touched her hair gently, smiling before giving her a deep kiss. He lifted himself up then with his powerful arms and lowered himself to the ground. Then he pulled her down beside him, pushing her onto her back as he suspended himself over her. The weight of his body pressing down on her causing her heart to race.

"I changed my mind. I haven't had my fill of you yet," Jim said. Then he put his mouth against her skin and delighted her over and over until the morning.