Molly didn't know how to describe Sherlock at the moment. He was completely silent and unresponsive, as well as loud and active. It was as if she could almost hear his brain screaming with the thought that was visibly whirring throughout every feature of his face.

He looked like he was malfunctioning. She wanted to offer help; help calm him down while she attempted to do so herself. They were both shaken.

Yet, that was made completely impossible by Sherlock's constant flitting about; easing her down onto the sofa and practically swaddling her in a heavy blanket, sending several angry texts to John inquiring why he wasn't here yet to provide medical assistance, and asking her at least seventy times if she was okay without waiting for an answer and rushing to the kitchen to refill the teacup that had been sipped out of once or twice each time. All things aside, the good-natured effort of it was endearing. Still, she didn't enjoy the sight of him visibly tearing apart at the seams.

"Sherlock?" Molly said after the eleventh tea refill, watching him pace about and yank his mobile from his pocket, tapping in such a way that she was nearly surprised he wasn't cracking the screen.

"Sherlock," she tried again, only succeeding in having him snap up his head and glare out of the window, as if Moriarty himself had been the one saying his name, before he was typing and pacing again. His mind was having an outright seizure; working as fast as it possibly could to the point he was about to walk into a wall, thinking of nothing standing in the actual reality he was currently walking through.

"Sherlock."

Something finally clicked, and his entire body shifted in one swift move in her direction. "Molly," he stated, striding towards her and sitting on the coffee table in front of her. "What is it? Are you alright?" Before she could answer, he'd placed his hands on her shoulders and was surveying her body as best he could with the thick fabric curtaining most of it. "Are you bleeding? Did something crack? Abnormal heartrate over an increased 5 beats per-"

"You need to stop."

Sherlock blinked and looked up at her. "Sorry?

For a split second, the hard lines on his face drifted away, and he looked panicked. She instantly felt guilty for it and reached a hand up, though she honestly didn't know where to put it. It occurred to her that she had never tried to physically comfort him, and even starting now she had no idea how to. She settled for placing it very lightly on his shoulder. His eyes moved with her hand, and his brow furrowed at the touch. He looked back over to her, the cold and indifferent mask trying to slip back on, though it was really a failed attempt.

Molly didn't believe it for a second, and she squeezed his shoulder lightly. "I know that was...unexpected. But it isn't the end of the world." Sherlock opened his mouth, but she interrupted him, not wanting to set off a strand of words that she wouldn't know how to stop.

"I'm okay. He didn't kill me, and he didn't kill you, either." He only stared at her uncomprehendingly, and her hand trailed slowly to his forearm, her grip still light and unsure. "I wasn't too happy to see him, and I'd rather not have to again."

"You won't-"

"But," she spoke over him once more, causing him to, quite surprisingly, straighten up and stare intently at her, mouth closed. "As kind as it is that you're caring for me, you're about to burst."

His jaw set in defiance. "I am not-"

"You are," she said softly, keeping her tone gentle for the sake of hopefully managing to comfort him. "In anticipation of seeing him again, it scared you. You're pale and shaking, and you need to think about yourself before you somehow manage a peptic ulcer."

Sherlock only stared at her for a while, eyes flickering down to her hand as he replied. "That's not why."

"Sorry?"

He bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance at his sudden lack of the ability to formulate comprehensible sentences. "I do not care that I saw him again." His eyes found hers again. "In fact, I was anticipating it. It was going to happen and I would be prepared for another face off with him. He is a dangerous man, but alone, at most times, when the visit is predicted he is not very frightening."

Molly tilted her head and continued to look up at him in confusion. "If he isn't scary, then why are you panicked?"

"I am not panicked," he insisted stubbornly. "But if you are referring to the actions I have taken since we reentered the flat from the rooftop, I feel slightly more than indifferent towards his presence at my flat simply because it was not me that he came to harm. That is something that I was prepared for. What I was not prepared for was seeing a knife to your throat, which has in turn caused a state of bias against him."

Had it been anyone other than Sherlock saying that, it would have only sounded like a statement. Nothing to do with feeling or sentiment whatsoever. This was Sherlock, however. And it was possibly the most surprising and heartfelt thing she could have expected from him. His way of saying she mattered more than she had thought from him. Saying that he wasn't afraid of Moriarty, he was afraid of who Moriarty had close to him. He was shaken because he was afraid Moriarty was going to hurt her.

Instantly, her chest tightened and she was stuck between wanting to hug him and wanting to snog that horribly composed mask off of his very not indifferent face. The former was the only one she knew she could actually do without getting shoved away.

Her chance of doing that faded quickly, however, when there was the sound of angry footsteps pounding up the stairs and a male voice grumbling about the "bloody git" who couldn't be bothered to unlock the door downstairs for him. "Sherlock?" John called, pounding the door once with his fist. "I swear, if you've just tricked me into coming here because you want me to hand you a writing utensil, it's going right up your-"

"Coming, John!" The detective called back with the same level of impatience, rolling his eyes and withdrawing Molly's hand gently from his arm. "If you don't mind, he'll just be having a look at you. Ensuring nothing is sprained or bruised." Stunned, Molly only nodded in response as he stood and strode over to the door to let the army doctor, who had received several vague and gradually aggressive texts about needing his expertise and was less than joyful about complying.

I'm hoping you're enjoying this! It's most definitely very entertaining to write :) Thank you so much for all the positive feedback on this, it brings the biggest smile to my face. *gives everyone hugs and cookies of their choice*