Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading and hope you enjoy and please do review. I love hearing what you guys think.

Again - sorry if you feel Sherlock is ooc but I think he would have been like this.

Disclaimer: Please know that I don't own these characters. The world of Sherlock Holmes belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, BBC, and, of course, Sir A. C. Doyle.

Sherlock and John trudged up the stairs and through the door into their flat. There they saw their landlady finishing up some tea in the kitchen.

'Oh, Sherlock and John - Just in time for tea.' She turned and John could see the concern flooded over her face. She started to worry her fingers and gestured towards the bathroom. 'Molly's just just woken up and I have convinced her to take a shower. All that grime and her hair and those bruises...' She shook her head remembering the purple and green bruises around Molly's throat 'You know ... oh... well.. I'm going to leave you to it. Sherlock, you be good to that girl, you hear?'

'I'm always good to her, Mrs. Hudson.'

Mrs. Hudson and John exchanged a look, which did not go unnoticed by the detective.

'Of course, Mrs. Hudson. I do know how to be good to her. I promise... I will.'

'Good. Good. You boys need anything else, you just let me know.' She escapes downstairs

'Of course I'll be good to her.' Sherlock muttered to himself as he picked up his violin.

John shook his head smirking at what Sherlock was probably trying to calculate right then. Probably, what exactly being good to someone meant. He shook his head again and took a sip of tea and started to head upstairs with Molly's duffle bag. As he walked by the hallway leading to the bathroom, he heard a gasp.

'Everything okay in there, Molly?' He asked while he knocked on the door. He waited for an answer but only heard silence and then the shower turn on.

'She's fine' He thought to himself as he head upstairs 'A shower will be good for her.'

ooOOooOOoo

Molly, in the meantime, was still working off her clothes. The mere sight of her face in the bathroom mirror had given her a start, which of course John had heard.

'Everything okay in there, Molly?'

She heard him at the door - his breath and the slight shuffle of his feet. She turned the shower on in response and continued to look at herself in the mirror. She stared at her bloodshot eyes with dark circles that had formed under them from all the crying and late nights. She studied the huge bruise at her temple where her assailant had hit her with his gun. She drew her finger across the stitches. Four? No...six... sewn in a neat row, which she was sure would leave a scar.

She started to take off her shirt and her eyes grew large at the sight of the bruises that encircled her neck. She put her hand to them. Oh...how they hurt. Her hand slid down her abdomen and she shuck her pants and socks. She climbed into the shower - half hoping that the spray would wash the bruises that riddled her body away.

She could feel her muscles ache as she massaged shampoo through her hair. God, it smelled like Sherlock. Why did he have to see her like that...huddled in a ball in an alley. It had gotten to a point where he actually had started to see her a just a little more clearly. Sure, he still used her when he wanted access to the morgue or her lab, but he was a little nicer about it and that kiss at Christmas. Chaste but it had meant the world to her. She raised her hand to her cheek and started to cry. She tried to shake it off. She was so tired of crying. She needed to keep her stiff upper lip and focus on the task on hand.

She grabbed for the bar of soap and ran it down her abdomen. She could feel the contusions that riddled her stomach and the aches and pains deep inside. Damage to internal organs likely from the assailant's fist, she diagnosed quickly. God, she be so clinical about this. How could she do that to herself...something she did in the morgue.

The soap continued down around her side and to her back. Again, she felt bruises everywhere and pain in her kidneys. She started to shake. Water streamed down her back as she turned to face the tiled wall for support as she started to sob. She could have died she realized. Bruising like this she had seen before at work. She slipped down to the tub, not caring about the bottles that came with her, and put her head on her knees. Sobs racked her body.

'How will I come back from this?' ran through her mind 'How will I be able to work knowing that it could have been me on that slab and all her friends and colleagues know the same thing. How?'

'Molly!' She heard from the door followed by frantic knocking 'Are you okay? Molls?'

She shook her head at John's voice. Good old John...even he looked at her differently ... as did Sherlock...with pity. Another sob shook through her small body. Pity? Maybe not...maybe just concern. They saved her after all. But still why did she have to be so stupid and need to be saved?

ooOOooOOoo

'Molly! Are you okay? Molls?' John continued to knock. He could hear the shower running and her sobbing but it was the sound of bottles falling that had him concerned that she had fallen.

'Molly! Molly, I'm going to come in unless you respond.' He waited but nothing.

'Molly' He said as he opened the door and found her huddled in fetal position on the floor of the shower shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

'Are you hurt? Did you fall?' He asked as he rushed to her.

As he drew closer, he saw the bruises everywhere. The dark purple and green shading along her back where someone had beat her with his fists...along her side where they had kicked her when she was down ... smaller ones like fingerprints along her hips and thighs.

'No' she faintly said between sobs.

He reached for the towel on the bar and went into the tub crouching next to her. He bundled her up into it and reached over and turned off the spray. Now himself drenched to the bone, he turned to her. He looked to her eyes, which were clenched closed as tears streamed from them. He slid a crooked finger down her cheek, wiping some of the tears away. He didn't know how to help her with this...how to save her from what had already been done.

He turned her chin up and said 'Molly, look at me.' She opened her eyes, which were red from crying and filled with pain and fear but glimmer - just a sliver - of hope that he would save her from this 'Molly - are you okay? Did you fall? Have you hurt yourself?'

She nodded and whispered 'I'm okay' with her lower lip trembling. John felt her body shivering.

'Okay then. Come on up. Let's get you upstairs then.'

They both stood, John's arm around Molly's bare shoulder holding her up, and turned towards the door and Sherlock at it. His eyes were wide as he took in everything that just had happened. From every bruise he had seen, he could deduce exactly what happened that night. His fists were clenched at his side.

'Sherlock. Grab a robe. Sherlock' John said taking charge of the situation and shaking Sherlock from his state with the tone of his voice.

'Yes... of course.' He went into his room for a second and came out with his blue dressing gown, which he handed to John.

'Here, Molly. Let's put this on, okay?'

He wrapped it around her shoulders as she continued to clutch the wet towel to her slender frame and watch Sherlock with wide eyes. She followed John down the hall and allowed him to pull her up the stairs.

'Sherlock - bring up some of that tea, will you?' John said behind him to the silent man towering at the bottom of the stairs obviously unsure with what to do.

'Yes - Yes, of course.'

'Here...you sit here.' John said to her as he placed Molly on the edge of the bed. He turned to the duffle bag on the desk and pulled out some clothes for her to change into. He turned with the pile to give them to Molly and found her with her knees pulled up to her chin.

'It could have been worse, right, John? I could have been a corpse on a slab that Sherlock was taking his riding crop to...'

'Molly, I would never do that to you' Sherlock said as he entered the room. He knelt in front of her and took her hands 'You know know that. Don't you?'

'I know...I know but maybe it would have been better... maybe it would have been better to have been left whole like that than to be turned to pieces like this...' she whispered he voice cracking at the end.

'No, Molly. No. That's not true.' John said shaking his head as he sat next to her on the bed and slipped his arm around her shoulder 'You'll make it through this. You'll see. We'll help you make it through this.'

She looked deep into his eyes - blue with a golden circle around the center. She could tell he believed every word that he said. She turned to Sherlock looking up to her with his intense blue eyes.

'He's right, you know, Molly. It will get better. We just have to let these bruises have time to heal.'

She leaned into John and nodded. 'Yes...that's right. They heal.' She closed her eyes and felt sleep drawing her in 'Not something I ever see at the morgue.'

After a few minutes, her breath slowed and steadied...exhaustion from the ordeal having taken over. John and Sherlock looked at each other and then moved to tuck her in. She whimpered in her sleep and grabbed John's hand as he brought the blanket to her chin

'Don't leave. Please stay with me.' She said slowly.

John cleared his throat and shook his head 'Molly, Sweetheart, you need to rest.'

'I know...but you make me feel safe. Please...I don't want to be alone.'

John looked up to Sherlock questioningly and Sherlock gave him a quick nod.

'Okay' He whispered, toeing off his shoes and climbing into the bed beside her. 'Move over.'

Sherlock turned off the lights and closed the door silently behind him.

John turned onto his side and propped his head up on the heel of his hand and just watched her.

'Thank you for staying.' She whispered, still clasping his free hand, drifting back to sleep. 'Thank you.'

ooOOooOOoo

When she woke the next morning, she laid there for a minute before opening her eyes. She heard him breathing next to her and his hand was still in hers but it felt different. Not the callused fingers of the army doctor but the long elegant fingers of the violinist.

'Oh' She gasped as she let go and brought her hand to her mouth. She opened her eyes and found Sherlock laying on his side next to her watching her with his intense stare.

'John had to go to work. You were so peaceful... I thought it would be best if I took his place rather than you have to wake alone.'

'Oh...mmm...Okay.' She whispered.

'Molly, can I ask you something?' He asked propping his head up with his hand. 'Why do you trust John so much more than me? We have known each other for so much longer and we both know about your...erm... feelings for me. Yet, he was the one you called. He was the one you sought comfort from...the one you spoke to...the one you turned to. But I found you...I saved you. Why would you have allowed him to see you like that but didn't want me to?'

'Oh, Sherlock.' She said as she reached her hand to cup his cheek. 'I've always wanted you. But John... He's... John's a doctor... not just that. John's the heart and you're the brain. You deduce people for a living but he... he fixes them. He wouldn't have know how many beers I had had and told me that I shouldn't have been out there that night and made me believe it was my fault. He wouldn't have judged my bad decisions and what trouble I got myself into. He would have just helped.'

'I would have too, Molly. I'm new to this having friends but I believe that's what they do...help.'

'Oh, Sherlock.' She whispered as she curled into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. 'I was so scared that you would look at me differently. Not that you ever look, but if you did, I was scared you would see damaged goods. I couldn't stand that you might see me like that...'

'Never!' He said feeling something he had rarely felt - his heart swell in his chest 'Never!'