AN: Wow, I had no idea that my smutty one shot would get so a huge response in reviews and strangely enough, PMs. So I thought that maybe this could get turned into a multi-chapter fic? We'll see. Originally I wasn't going to because doing a Sherlock POV pretty much scared the crap out of me. So here's my go at it. Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you, Molly Hooper

He groaned. By God he felt awful. In fact, he was fairly certain that the last time he felt anywhere near this horrific was the day after he decided to get clean. The withdrawal had been so intense back then that he'd hardly been able to think straight, let alone solve cases. It had been the lowest point of his life and one he wasn't fond of recalling, ever.

He opened his eyes and tried to get his bearings, confused for a moment when the scene the met his eyes was not that of 221b Baker Street, bright and cheery instead of dark and brooding. Confusion filled him for half a second before everything came rushing back. Moriarty, Bart's roof, talking to John on the phone and then falling…

He squeezed his eyes shut again and sucked in a deep breath as a wave of nausea hit him. He tried to refocus his mind away from his treacherous body's reaction by going over the previous day. He recalled fully realizing Moriarty's final move in the game only to find that the genius criminal had successfully moved him into a checkmate. He'd needed help; he couldn't do it alone and Molly Hooper had been the only one that could be counted on to be that help that he so desperately required. His mousy little pathologist hadn't even batted an eye when she'd said yes despite how he'd seen her pupils constrict, her face pale and her breathing increase. She'd been scared, terrified if he was correct and he tended to be.

He'd then met Moriarty on the roof and for a short time, he thought he'd beat him at the game until the insane man put a gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger forcing Sherlock's hand. So he jumped.

He jumped to keep Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John, his three… friends, from an assassin's bullet. He barely even remembered waking in Molly's morgue; the only clear memory was of the sound of the zip on his body bag being fully removed once she'd resuscitated him. He did not remember the rest of his time at Barts but that didn't mean he didn't know how they'd left. He'd given her detailed instructions for how to best to extract him after making the switch with a second body that she quickly scheduled for the incinerators. It seemed to have worked. The lack of police knocking down the door meant that both he and Molly had pulled off the illusion of the century.

He somewhat remembered the ride here and getting up the stairs. She'd dropped her keys but managed to get them inside without any other frustrations. Then she'd gotten him water and…

He sat up immediately, his hands shot to his face, running a path from his jaw and up through his hair as the realization of what had occurred hit him. He regretted the move (the sitting and the fornication) and fell back when it felt as though he might actually pass out.

It had been him; he'd instigated it. Of course she hadn't stopped him, not with the infatuation she'd been harboring for who knows how long. He'd only learned of it due to his regrettably dreadful behavior over Christmas.

But why had he done it? He took another deep breath, wishing he had some water, something, anything, to help alleviate the terrible scratching dryness of his throat. He opened his eyes again to see if he thought he could make it to her kitchen on his own for water without heaving or passing out. When he glanced towards it, relief washed over him as he saw a full glass sitting in the center of her coffee table, along with several pills and a plate full of crackers. Slowly this time, he sat up and reached for the glass, swiping up the pills in the same move. A note lay under the plate and he read it after gulping down most of the water.

Take these and try to eat some of the saltines. Do not move about too much. Despite no broken bones, you'll have some deep contusions.

She'd gone into work and Sherlock found himself quite relieved by that. He didn't particularly feel like dealing with the ramifications of their actions from the night before.

"Why?" he moaned aloud.

It had to have been the drugs or the adrenaline of the fall and the stress… Perhaps it was something like the battle lust countless soldiers had experienced over the centuries, the desire for some other sort of physical or emotional outlet after a near death experience. A life affirming action of sorts. But he was Sherlock Holmes and he was not supposed to fall prey to what normal people experienced no matter how extreme the circumstances.

He wasn't supposed to but it seemed as though he had.

He should delete it. Yes, that's exactly what he should do. Nothing good could come from keeping such unimportant information. He had far greater things to worry about, like Moriarty's network and taking it down, proving his innocence and ensuring that his friends would remain safe. All of those were far more important than dwelling on the fact that he'd had his first outright sexual encounter with the pathologist that had saved his life. But in order to delete it, he was going to have to go over every detail and remove it. He didn't really feel up to that challenge at the moment. It could wait. Besides, Molly would eventually return and he doubted that she'd willingly say nothing of it and pretend as though it never occurred.

After drinking the rest of the water, he lay back down and tried to rest. He felt as though he hadn't slept in weeks despite having slept through the night and most of the day. He closed his eyes, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the light. Unfortunately, resting seemed as though it wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. His mind kept racing furiously over all the details of the past few days, plans began to form and every once in a while, thoughts of what he had done with Molly would leak into his mind.

His frustration mounted each time it did. He huffed and turned himself onto his side, curling up on himself, his back to the rest of the room and his face sequestered in the cushion of the couch.

"It's only sex. A base, physical thing. Nothing of note." He muttered aloud.

And it really was only sex. It should not be affecting him like it was. Maybe he should delete it now and be done with it. Even as he threatened the memory, he knew it was empty, only further frustrating himself. It had felt better than he'd imagined, better than the self-stimulation he occasionally gave into when he found it absolutely necessary but it wasn't earth shattering. He'd had highs on cocaine that he recalled being far superior though comparing the two might have been unfair. He only took coke when on a case, so the two highs, the chemical and the mental, were combined. Also, he'd been somewhat out of it as he'd rutted her like some animal, likely not allowing for the full sensory experience of coming while inside of her.

He groaned again, both from the way his body was now reacting to his analysis of the memories but also from the realization that such a thing could very well potentially lead to offspring. He had no desire to be a father. The thought actually set off another round of nausea.

It was at that moment, that the door to Molly's flat decided to open and its owner entered quietly. He didn't move. If she thought he was asleep, she would not ask questions. If she didn't ask questions, he wouldn't have to answer them. Yes, brilliant.

He heard her kick off her flats and tiptoe over to him, standing still for a fair bit of time, making him wonder if she knew whether or not he was actually sleeping. The quiet sigh she let out didn't do anything to tell him one way or another. He then listened as she made her way to the kitchen with her sack of groceries. Next came the sound of her putting a kettle on the stove.

"We don't have to talk about it."

He mentally cursed himself while simultaneously repressing the instant quip that formed in his mind about how saying you don't need to talk about something is, in actuality, talking about it. He held it back; knowing that such a thing probably wasn't appropriate at the moment. John would be proud of him. Instead, he rolled over and gingerly sat up. She spoke again.

"It shouldn't have happened, it was a mistake."

Though he agreed, he found that her words stung slightly.

"I mean, yesterday was a bit insane and I guess that sort of thing happens. It's not like it meant anything to you… or me," she hastily added, "so we can just forget about it, pretend it didn't happen."

She was rambling and if history was any indication, she would likely continue unless stopped. Also, this was a lot of talking about it despite her first statement. He almost wasn't able to hold back pointing that out to her but her drawn face and puffy eyes reminded him that such a thing would likely be unwise. She looked worse than he felt and he felt terrible.

"Molly…"

"And I nicked some levonorgestrel so all bases are covered there."

Her voice was rising in pitch, almost a squeak, as she alleviated his fears of possible parenthood.

"Molly…" he started again but once more she seemed to either not hear him or just ignore him.

"I'm going to get cleaned up and then I'll check up on you, though you seem amazingly recovered despite… everything." And with that, she was gone down to the hall. He heard the shower turn on a minute later. After five minutes, the kettle was boiling and he managed to pull himself up to a standing position. The pills she'd given him had done their work and he no longer felt the vertigo he had no so long before. He managed to find her stash of tea and set it to steep. He then made his way back to the couch, the exertion of his trip to the kitchen enough to make him want to lie down again.

Five minutes later, she reappeared, looking only marginally better with wet hair and a fresh change of clothes. She glanced at him for only a moment before checking on the tea and pouring them both a cup.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"No."

"You should, those meds can upset your stomach."

That explained the continuing nausea. He picked up a cracker and forced it down as she set his cup in front of him. She didn't sit down herself, opting instead to stand on the outskirts of the room, holding tightly to her cup and sipping it despite the fact that it was still likely scalding.

He found himself at a loss for what to say but after a time she filled the room with her voice once again.

"It was awful," she whispered. "John and Lestrade were there today. John didn't say much but the inspector, he kept asking questions and not being able to finish them without… getting a hold of himself." She glanced over at him before focusing on her tea once more. "They're devastated, Sherlock."

"They're safe." He stated plainly, not knowing what to think about what she'd just shared with him. She nodded at what he'd said.

"And are you?" she asked.

"If both the inspector and John believe it, then yes, I believe I am."

She nodded again and silence filled the room once more. He studied her as she continued to absently look from her tea to the street outside her window. The redness in her eyes was returning. She was about to cry again. A moment later, she sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

"Its just nerves." She told him with a hitch in her voice without looking at him. "Just nerves," she whispered, wiping the other cheek of the tear that had escaped.

It was more than that. One didn't need skills or talents such as his to know that but he wasn't going to contradict her half lie. He wouldn't know how without somehow mucking it up and making everything worse. John would. John would know how to handle a situation like this, would know how to handle a woman that was on the verge of breaking down. But John wasn't here and the best thing for him to do was keep his mouth shut lest he make matters worse. Normally he wouldn't care how his words were received but normally he wasn't speaking with people that mattered. Molly mattered. She'd saved his life and risked her job and freedom in order to help him. She wasn't built for this sort of thing. She wasn't built for being able to handle being his assistant. She wasn't a soldier like John had been, someone that thirsted for adrenaline inducing excitement and danger. She was a doctor whose patients, until he came along, had all been dead. He'd gotten her involved in something that was completely out of her depth and incredibly dangerous in so many ways.

"Thank you." He said quietly while looking at her. "Thank you, Molly Hooper, for everything." He hoped it was enough, that it was a good expression of his gratitude. He kept it simple in the hopes that he wouldn't screw it up somehow. Without John as his social barometer he felt a distinct lack of confidence in his abilities in this area. In this, he was the one out of his depth. When she turned to him, a real smile on her lips, tiny but real, he was certain that he'd succeeded.

She nodded. "More tea?" she asked.

"Yes, please." He hadn't yet touched his cup.

XxXxX

AN: Thank you to all you lovely reviewers, you really kicked me in the creative but to continue this one shot!

CeffylGwyn: Oh, thank you! I'm glad you liked it and the song. My first favorite!
Crede Biron: Thanks. I never see it happening in the series either but that's what fan fiction is for, right? And now you know about Sherlock's POV. Glad the details worked for you.
magicstrikes: Great. And I think this answers your question. :)
MorbidbyDefault: Frantic and hot, just what I was going for! Were the next day emotions believable? I hope so.
AnnMore: ROFL. I like to try my hand at different things from time to time when the mood strikes. Full time? Wow, that sounds like a lot of work, lol. Mizjoely: Glad you thought so. I wish I'd been an English major since I know I mess up my grammar a bit. But I'm glad it didn't take away from the story too much. I'm glad it didn't come across as romantic since that's not what I was going for. I wanted it carnal and frantic. Lucky for you, I couldn't ignore all the attention this 'one shot' got and here you go. And since then, my mind has planned for more.
AuroraRose16: Yeah, I don't think this would ever happen in series but it's fun to dream, lol. I decided to do a fairly silent Sherlock for the morning after. Glad you liked it!
Emma: haha, so pleased you liked it!
Cynna1012: You got your wish! Hope the morning after met expectations.
KeeperoftheNine: Haha, I got you to watch the series! That's awesome. It's such a good one and now I'm chomping at the bit for the next season. They do both need an… outlet and this seems like a good way to go about it (to me anyway, lol). Thank you! Too kind.