Chapter Nine:

Sherlock was not certain how long he had been asleep, but in his estimation, it was not long. The sun still shone outside Molly's window, as it had early that morning, but it was brighter this time. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly glanced at the screen. It was noon; just as he suspected. As he placed his phone back into his pocket, he groaned. The muscles in his back ached from sitting in one attitude for so long. He stood up slowly, stretching out his tired muscles. Just as he was about to sit down, he noticed a small piece of paper on the nightstand. Grabbing it quickly, he scanned it's contents.

iSherlock, Mary and I were in this morning, but you were asleep. We're not coming back until tomorrow. Mary is anxious to see Grace, as am I. Call if you need anything. -JW./i

At the sight of Grace's name, Sherlock let a small smile form on his face. Mary had given birth to a little girl three months ago, christening her Grace. He had been delighted when John asked him to be Grace's Godfather. Since then, he had taken a special interest in Grace, and she held a special place in his heart, despite his detestable relationship with sentiment.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he looked over at his sleeping pathologist and let out a small frustrated sigh. It had been a little over two weeks since the accident, and Molly had shown no sign of waking. The sight of her hand moving continually played in his mind, but as time went on, hope for her slowly began to fade. Now, as he stood above her, he took all the sentiment in his heart and threw it away. More than likely, Molly Hooper would never wake up.

These thoughts made him uncomfortable, so Sherlock decided it was time for a change of scenery. Surely, Lestrade would have a case for him, considering it had been over two weeks since his last solved one. It had been quite an easy case; a woman had disappeared from her home, leaving a worried husband and an unsuspecting infant. Everyone believed her abductor was a complete stranger, but Sherlock had figured it out almost immediately. The woman did not disappear; she was murdered by her "adoring" husband. When he had been questioned, all the signs were there. Lack of eye contact, hesitation in answering questions, apparent agitation. Honestly, it was pathetic. He hoped this next case would prove to be above an eight, at least.

Just as he was making his way out the door, a sound from behind him caught his attention. Any normal person would have missed it, but not Sherlock. It was a soft, yet muffled groan, barely audible to the human ear. He spun around quickly, immediately fixing his eyes on Molly. She was as still as a statue, but that meant nothing. Of course, she wouldn't be moving like a healthy person waking up from sleep. Her muscles would be tense and it would be difficult for her to open her mouth to speak. Much to his delight, the sound he heard reappeared, and instantly, he knew she was waking up.

"Molly," He whispered, coming to her bedside and taking his usual seat. "Molly, can you hear me?"

There was another soft groan from Molly's throat, and Sherlock watched in anticipation as her eyes slowly began to open. At first, her gaze was vacant of any emotion or recognition. For the slightest second, his heart dropped at the thought of her concussion being more serious than they thought. Then, as Molly's eyes adjusted to the light, that spark he had come to know reappeared. She turned her head in his direction, and smiled warmly.

iShe recognizes me; thank God./i

"Sherlock..." Molly mumbled, his name sounded slightly jumbled.

He smiled softly at the sound of his name. "Hello, Molly."

To his surprise, her hand began to reach for his, and for a moment, Sherlock didn't know what to do. Hesitantly, he met her hand in the middle and allowed his fingers to become entwined with hers. A sigh escaped her lips, and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at her reaction.

"Thank you," She said, her voice clearing.

"For what?"

"For punching me in the face."

Her words shocked him. "Excuse me?"

A quiet laugh escaped her lips before she began coughing. It took Molly a few moments before she her lungs calmed down enough for her to respond to him. "Never mind; I'll tell you about it later."

As her words faded, her eyes suddenly widened. Apparently, she hadn't realized they were holding hands. She pulled her hand out from his as a soft blush crawled up her neck. "Did I do that?" She asked softly, avoiding eye contact.

He nodded. "Yes, you did. Actually, you reached for my hand almost immediately."

The blush on her cheeks deepened. "Sorry, I..uh..."

Sherlock's first instinct was the reach for her hand again and tell her he didn't mind. However, he could see that Molly was thoroughly embarrassed and didn't want to make it worse for her. They sat together without saying anything for awhile. The silence was an unwelcome guest for him. He had spent weeks in silence with Molly, and more than anything, he wanted to hear her speak.

"John and Mary will be happy to know you're awake."

She nodded, the blush from her cheeks subsiding. "How long have I been...?"

"A little over two weeks."

"What happened, Sherlock?" As the words escaped from her lips, a look of fear began to color her face. He decided to not answer her question, as he could tell she was remembering everything without his explanation. To his surprise, the hurt on her face made his heart ache in a way he never felt before. It was shocking; so much so, that he couldn't look at her. The sight of her after the accident was difficult to witness, but this, seeing her in pain while she was conscious, was too much for him.

"I think I'll inform John and Mary that you're awake," He said rising from his chair. "If you'll excuse me, Molly."

Before she could respond, he rushed quickly out of the room, remaining just outside her door. Sherlock wanted to run from this place as fast as he could, yet how could he leave her? With the feeling of discomfort still welling up inside of him, he pulled out his phone and began to call John. However, before he could hit the call button, a text message popped up onto his screen. As he read the words, the discomfort he felt was replaced with a rage that could rival the heat of the sun.

"How's your pathologist, Sherlock?" -JM