Sherlock opened his eyes. It took a moment for his vision to focus, but when it did, he found that he was lying in a hospital room. His arm was bandaged and strapped into a sling. Molly was sitting in a nearby chair, and she was currently slumped over the side of the bed with her head cradled in her arms. He groaned.

Molly stirred and sat up. She had dark circles and puffy eyes, and she must have had a crick in her neck for she was rubbing it with a pained look on her face.

"Molly, I told you not to bring me here."

"You needed a blood transfusion, Sherlock. And the shrapnel was still in your arm. You've been unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours."

"The police have been here."

"Well of course they have. Shootings tend to garner their attention. I told them that we accidentally stepped in the middle of a shoot-out between two low-lifes, but it all happened so fast that I didn't get a good look at either of them."

"Did they believe it?"

"They were a bit skeptical, but I think they bought it. We should probably leave before they do a more in-depth investigation."

"Indeed. Bliss's men will be here shortly, and we're going to have to make a break for it." Sherlock attempted to get up, but his vision blurred again. He was unable to put up much of a fight when Molly pushed him back down.

"You're in no condition to put that much physical strain on your body, Sherlock," she said firmly.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright. A few more hours, and then we leave." He took a moment to really look at her. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid sweater she had bought while maternity clothes shopping, and the only jewelry she was wearing was her wedding ring. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail. He could see worry lines beginning to form around her eyes and on her forehead, and stress hovered over her like a gray raincloud. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Got your blood all over my clothes, so I figured I might as well change," Molly said with a small laugh. "They checked me out too, by the way. Just in case. They even did an ultrasound. You can't tell the sex yet, but our baby is healthy. Tiny, but healthy. Strong heartbeat and everything." She smiled.

"And how are you feeling?" Sherlock looped his fingers through hers.

"Tired." Molly's shoulders dropped. It was pointless to feign wellness in front of Sherlock Holmes. "No, more than tired; drained. I think I've slept two hours since we've been here."

Sherlock frowned. "You need to rest, Molly."

"I know. I tried." Molly looked at the couch in the corner of the room. It was upholstered in green vinyl fabric and had felt like cellophane when she'd attempted a lie down on it. "I don't sleep well without you."

"There's plenty of space." Sherlock scooted over, grimacing a bit when he moved his injured arm. He patted the mattress next to him.

Molly's eyes widened. "Is that allowed?"

"I could care less. I doubt you're going to break it. You don't weigh that much yet."

"Oi!"

"Are you coming or not?"

Molly cast a furtive glance at the door. Then she slowly climbed under the blanket, just fitting in the narrow sliver of space next to Sherlock. He wrapped his good arm around her, being careful not to disrupt the IV and pulse oximeter that were attached to his other hand, and kissed her forehead.

"Better?" He asked.

Molly didn't answer. She was already out cold.

"Molly!"

Molly stirred and opened her eyes. The hospital room was still dark; the barely-visible clock on the wall told her that she had been asleep for four hours. Her body tried to tell it wasn't long enough. She looked at Sherlock.

"It's time to go." He said.

"In the middle of the night?"

"Yes. Did you bring me a change of clothes from the car?"

"I did, actually." Molly forced herself to get out of bed and retrieve the shopping bag that was sitting by the vinyl couch.

Sherlock swung his feet over the side of the bed. He pulled the pulse oximeter off his finger and quickly fiddled with the machine it connected to so it wouldn't alert the nurses. Then he ripped out his IV and stood up, swaying on the spot.

"Are you sure about this?" Molly asked, reaching out to steady him.

"We've been here long enough as it is," Sherlock answered. He regained his balance and began changing from the thin hospital gown into his own clothes. Molly helped him get his shirt and coat over his injured arm. He winced but pressed his lips together, determined not to vocalize the pain he was experiencing.

Molly slipped his discarded sling into her bag, and then they crept into the corridor. By some stroke of luck, the nurse who sat at the desk that monitored the floor had stepped away for a moment. Sherlock motioned for Molly to follow him. He stole across the hall and opened the door to the stairwell, leading a descent down four flights. When they reached the hospital's lobby, Molly began to walk out first, but Sherlock pulled her back. Two burly men in black overcoats were passing by. They both had on earpieces, and one of the men's coats flew open long enough to reveal a holstered Walther at his belt. Despite Sherlock's body heat pressed against her back, Molly shivered.

"They're here," Sherlock murmured in her ear.

Once Bliss's hired hands had rounded the corner, Sherlock and Molly cautiously made their way through the lobby. They did their best to act normal as they went by the security desk, although the guard on duty—a different one since Molly passed through last—only glanced up for a second from the newspaper he was reading. They made it outside without incident.

A few stars were twinkling in the night sky, but the moon offered no more than a sliver of light. The darkness was most welcome, however, for no one saw the couple running through the parking lot. They jumped into their Land Rover, and Sherlock drove at the hospital speed limit until they got to a main road. Then he floored it.

"How is your arm?" Molly asked.

"It's fine." Sherlock changed the subject. "We need to get as far away as possible. Once those thugs realize we escaped, they'll scour the surrounding area for us, and they know what we're driving."

"So what do we do? Ditch it?"

"Not yet. I can't secure another vehicle at this hour, and we won't make it very far on foot."

"And you need to lie down again. You're white as a ghost, Sherlock."

"I told you I'm perfectly fine."

Molly shook her head. She was convinced that his stubbornness was going to kill him one day. Well, unless she got to it first. They drove on for another hour before she had an idea. "When I was getting our clothes out of the trunk, I noticed a sleeping bag. You know, one of those made for below freezing temperatures. And there's enough room back there. We could kip in the car for the remainder of the night."

"It wouldn't be very comfortable."

"I hardly think my body is concerned about the luxuries right now." Molly yawned as a new wave of exhaustion crashed over her.

Sherlock considered this. "Alright, but just for tonight. November isn't an ideal month for camping, and I'd rather have you sleep in a heated building." He pulled off the road onto a track that led to a campsite and parked within a circle of trees that grew close together.

Molly worked on spreading out the wide sleeping bag in the trunk, thankful that the windows were tinted enough that prying eyes would be disappointed. She and Sherlock climbed in, wrapping their bodies close together for warmth.

"Well it isn't exactly what you would call a five-star hotel," Sherlock said. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. He ran his fingers through Molly's hair, and she began to drift off towards sleep.

"No, but I wouldn't trade it," she murmured.