Note: Another late one, soooo sorry. Thank you for your patience and all the nice reviews again!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own anything.

Sherlock and Molly hadn't spoken a word on their way to her car. Her head was just too crowded with emotions to concentrate on a single one to put into words. Instead, she had settled on silent crying. She was a bit embarrassed to be so out of it in front of Sherlock, but soon she decided that embarrassment was an extra emotion she didn't need right now. He was mute for different reasons. Of course, there were also emotions, mainly anger towards David. But he didn't say anything because he just knew of nothing to say. He wasn't good in these situations and was bound to say the wrong thing. He hoped that Molly recognised this and accepted his lack of comforting words. Also, he was fairly sure nothing could comfort her at the moment.

Sherlock sincerely hoped Molly would stop crying soon. All he wished for was some quiet to think about all that had happened. When they arrived at her car, his brain told him to leave her there and go home as quickly as possible. He needed some violin time. His stomach, however told him to stay put and finally look Molly in the eyes.

Her hands were shaking when she tried to put they key in the lock and small sobs escaped her as she grew frustrated. The stream of tears wasn't diminishing. With a small sigh, Sherlock said, "you shouldn't drive in that state. You'll kill yourself driving into something because you cannot see the road. Give me your keys."

Molly was surprised that he spoke at all, more so when she considered the relative softness of his voice. Even the demand of her handing over the keys wasn't spoken in his typical manner. He sounded genuinely concerned. So, she weakly raised her hands and dropped the keys into his waiting hand, not really pleased with the fact that she would have to take a cab home and come back for the car tomorrow.

She knitted her brows in astonishment when he moved closer to her, placed his free hand on her back and softly led her to the passenger's side of the car. He unlocked it and opened the door, motioning for her to sit down inside.

"Sherlock, are you planning to drive my car?" She looked up at him, regretting her stupid question immediately. He indulged her and didn't comment on it. A small smile formed on his lips and he plainly nodded.

When he was seated in front of the wheel, he looked at it for a while. Furrowing his brows, he studied every button there was.

"I… I didn't know that you could drive. You can drive, right?" Molly's impression grew concerned when he hadn't so much as turned the key in the ignition after almost a full minute. Sherlock noticed that she had stopped crying. His tense muscles relaxed a bit. He could somehow deal with her as long as she didn't start crying again.

"Of course I can drive," he said, employing all his persuasive power, "I just didn't do it for quite a while. So… which one was the brake again?"

_.:0:._

Molly hadn't shed another tear during the drive to her flat. She was far from being happy but she didn't dare close her eyes or concentrate on anything else than the streets in front of her and her hand hovering over the handbrake. She was highly alert and was thrown toward the window more than once by sudden turns in Sherlock's driving. He nodded curt apologies and sped on. Really surprising how a primal survival instinct overshadows all other misery in life, she thought. But, when she stepped out of the car in front of her flat, she didn't make a comment on his driving. She had caught the real 'comforting' meaning of his gesture and had appreciated it.

Sherlock closed the car door behind him, locked the vehicle and caught up with her on the way to the building.

"Thank you!" Molly said.

"Not a problem. I had actually planned on driving again some time soon. One never knows when it's necessary; so I did well to refresh my knowledge of the process."

"No, I didn't mean that." She was thankful in a way that she made it home alive but she wasn't really thankful for his initial decision to drive her. She would have felt saver driving herself, even with teary eyes. Of course, she didn't tell him this. Instead, she quickly added, "I'm thanking you for what you said, and did, earlier." Her eyes were glistening with tears once again. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, yes. That's… not a problem either. I just… I mean he didn't…" His dim-witted search for words made him angry. He cleared his throat and began again. His expression grew more sincere. "I would do that anytime, Molly. And you don't have to thank me for anything. I quite enjoyed punching David," he added with a smirk. A small smile played on her features but she stayed silent. After a pause, he went on, "you know, his behaviour made me furious. You don't deserve such treatment. With all that happened with… You are better than that and I'm sorry you have to endure this. Even though this time it wasn't my fault, you shouldn't -"

"Sherlock, what are you saying? The whole Jim-business wasn't your fault. I never blamed you and I never will. You know that, right?"

He had been avoiding looking her in the eye not to see the distracting tears but now he was turning his head to face her, giving her a gentle smile.

"You're very kind, Molly Hooper. Come on, I will make you tea. That's the procedure when a friend is distressed, right?"

_.:0:._

Molly couldn't believe it when she entered her small flat. In less than a week Sherlock Holmes had been here twice. She had so often wished for the situation she found herself in at the moment. Him accompanying her home after a night out together. Of course, the circumstances were completely different from the ones she had dreamt up. She wasn't feeling well and she would have liked to just be left alone. She just wanted to cry for a few hours until she was too weak to keep crying and fall asleep.

But Sherlock had been persistent. And there was still a part of her that couldn't send the man away just like that. Especially not after he had punched, and most likely broken the nose of, that bastard David. Never in her life had someone punched another person just for her sake. Although it wasn't as chivalrous as she had expected the gesture to be, she still felt some gratification.

After taking her coat, Sherlock manoeuvred her into her living room and positioned her on the sofa. He went straight into her kitchen and filled the kettle. Molly watched him curiously through the open door. All his movements seemed oddly out of place. Sherlock Holmes making tea was too… domestic. Not enough grace and / or excitement involved in the task.

After a few minutes of silently preparing the tea, Sherlock joined her on the sofa and placed the cups on the small table in front of them. Neither of them knew what to say. Sherlock wasn't someone to lengthily discuss matters like hurt feelings, or even broken hearts. Molly, on the other hand, knew that Sherlock didn't really want to talk about it, which caused her to stay mute.

After a while, Sherlock started, "Molly, you know that I probably will not be able to comfort you in any way. But maybe it helps to let you know that your hormonal balance should be on track again in one to three months. If you quickly find some other recipient of your affections, the process will even speed up. Have you thought about getting another cat?"

Molly couldn't help but laugh at this. It was typical for Sherlock to break everything down into chemistry. And he was most likely right. She had experienced more than once that time could heal emotional wounds quite successfully.

"You're right. Not about the cat, though. Any number of household cats that exceeds one will most definitely cause me to become a grumpy old spinster. And I'm not ready to be that – yet!"

"In that case you'll have to redirect your affections towards another human. You shouldn't have problems finding male companions. You are reasonably attractive. Come to think of it, why have you been single for so long?"

Molly's cheeks went crimson and she could see puzzlement on Sherlock's face. He didn't know why the question would make her nervous. She was pretty sure that 'because I've been desperately in love with you for several years' wasn't a good answer. So she settled with the equally true, "I simply don't have a lot of time, my job is very demanding. And I…," it had been a long time since she had opened up to someone like that. She didn't know why she was telling Sherlock these personal things. But she didn't mind and the words came naturally. "I find it hard to trust people. I have been disappointed before, by men in general. Not just by Jim or David. I used to believe that everyone meant well, I was so naïve. Maybe I still am, but every disappointment meant that it took me a little longer to be ready for someone new. Now, I don't even know if it's worth the trouble and the time you put in."

She started crying again. Sherlock looked at her with an almost sad face. Then, mostly to not have to deal with the tears, he extended one arm behind her, grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her into a tight hug. Her face rested on his chest and Molly allowed herself to sob into his shirt quietly for a while.

After a few minutes the sobs went very silent and eventually stopped. They didn't move and the only sound in the room was their breathing. Molly's breathing had become very steady and Sherlock sheepishly slid a hand to her wrist to take her pulse. She had fallen asleep. He didn't dare to move and so he just sat there. Thinking about what she had said. It was weird seeing people in distress like that. The thought of not finding a companion she could trust and spent her life with had made her seem so desolate. Suddenly, Sherlock wasn't sure if his lack of those feelings actually made him superior to anyone else. It certainly saved him some pain. Though, he realised, he would willingly suffer this pain in her place if it was possible.

After an hour, he carefully sat up and lifted Molly off the sofa. Balancing her light figure through her flat, he found her bedroom and entered. Very slowly, he lowered her down on her bed and took her shoes off. Then, he draped the sheets over her limp body and looked at her for a few seconds before leaving her bedroom and her flat.

_.:0:._

It was only in the early hours of Saturday morning when Sherlock returned to 221 B. He had walked aimlessly through the streets of London after leaving Molly's flat. He'd thought about her, about David, about what he had said before he'd punched him. She really goes like the clappers… you wouldn't believe the things…The blonde man's words kept ringing through his head and Sherlock tried to shake them away, recalling the memory of the satisfying feeling of his fist hitting the other man's face. Then, his thoughts wandered towards the case again.

Piers Miller was obviously doing something very illegal and Sherlock was already sure that it had to do with his research. Had some people died because they were treated with the wrong medication? Likely, but if he had everything covered through Max Knight why did he bother to have the bodies stolen? And, why did no one in the other towns catch on to something being wrong. Dr Garrett couldn't have been the only one involved in this in London. He had help as well. The next days would hopefully clear that up. It wouldn't take him longer than a few hours to go through the information on all corpses. The emails and texts from Lestrade told him that, all in all, 578 bodies were confirmed to be missing. Silently, he congratulated himself on such a good quota.

Sooner or later, and he imagined it would rather have to be sooner than later, he needed to contact that horrible man David again. He despised him, his line of work, and his dishonesty towards him, towards Molly. There was her face again. To see her tears had almost hurt Sherlock physically. He remembered that feeling from when Mrs Hudson had once come home after being burgled in the streets on her way home from Tesco. She had seemed so distressed. Of course, he had made sure that the burglar fell down some flights of stairs accidentally before being reported anonymously to the police.

With a sigh, he walked up to the nearest main road and waved for a cab. At least he could now delete his note in the mind palace telling him to find what was wrong with David. For some mad days, his brain, as well as John, had him almost convinced that he was actually being jealous. How ridiculous. After all, there was something very wrong with David and he had simply caught on quickly. Like he does!

Back in Baker Street he decided to get some rest. He had a long day of paperwork ahead of him. And, he thought, he needed to go check on Molly. He owed her that much, after having dragged her into the case. Also, he still needed to convince her not to get too close to Miller. If she got hurt –

Right, bed now!

Oh look, another note: There's another reason why this took so long. I was writing two chapters at the same time. I had asked you before if this story should turn to, well, more adult themes. Some of you would prefer it to remain clean and others really would like to read some sexy scenes. I decided that this main story will keep its T-Rating, BUT: I wrote an M-Rated extra chapter (see it as a kind of chapter 15.1 that starts where this one ends). I will post it as a one-shot soon.