A/N - Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou - magicstrikes, MadAsAHatterJayy, mycatsaninja47, Ssmill, MelodyHolmes, Amalia Kensington, Guest, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, patemalah21, TheDayItRayne's, Myseybee, Rose DeTyler and foreversherlock. You people are amazing!

Enjoy this chapter, its the penultimate one!

Thanks to my beta.

Disclaimer - I still don't own it...

Molly Hooper had been in a coma for three weeks now. The doctors had tried to wake her twice but she was all too content to stay in her safe state of quiet nothingness rather than wake and be forced to face the inevitable reality of her situation.

Every day she would get a visitor, sometimes two, but the shorter man always left before the taller man. The taller man would come in unannounced, sit with her for a couple of hours just listening to the machines sounding out her heartbeat and watching the soft rise of her chest as she slept, and then he would leave without saying a word.

The mysterious visitor was the favourite topic of gossip between the young nurses who would tend to Molly throughout the day. They agree the man is handsome, aloof and most certainly posh, judging by his attire. They speculate about his relationship with Molly. Some say that they are related, distant cousins or the like, that care about each other greatly, some even say he could be her uncle but that would be ridiculous. Other nurses think that they are married although they wear no rings. Others think they are partners, or perhaps just friends but none dare to approach him to find out the truth.

Sherlock can see the question on the tip of their tongues; he sees it crossing their mind when they look at him as he sits and watches Molly. If they were to ask him, he doesn't know what he would say, of course he could lie; tell them they were married or that they were partners but what's the point? They needn't know any of this; they should concentrate on their jobs and less on idle gossip.

He wishes Molly would wake up. He wishes she would make a miraculous recovery and return to being what Molly Hooper was but he knows he is asking too much. Despite what others may think he does understand basic human emotions, he knows how they work and how they make a person feel and especially how they can affect a person, that's why he shuts himself off from his feelings so that they do not affect him. However, he knows that Molly will have changed, no matter how slight, because he knows that a person who has been through what Molly has has to change to deal with their life as it is now. He just wishes that Molly wouldn't.

He has thought of many things over the hours he has spent with Molly during the past few weeks. He has thought about his life and where it is headed. He thought about his past days as a consulting detective, the days before the fall, everything had been so simple back then.

He has thought about the life he could have. Would Molly even want to be with him?

He put such a trivial thought to the back of his mind and focused on the here and now. There was no immediate danger facing him, Moran had been dealt with and Sherlock had been reliably informed by Mycroft that the body had also been properly dealt with, so Sherlock was able to focus all his energy on Molly.

He had been sitting with her for forty minutes when a small nurse entered the hospital room to check Molly's vitals and mark up her chart. Sherlock took to staring out of the window opposite him when nurses came in, no need to fuel gossip, he thought.

This particular nurse had been in a few times during his visits. Her nametag read 'Miranda' and she was of average intelligence. Most likely suffered from mild OCD judging by how she always methodically carried out her duties and her dress was impeccable, not a single stain or crease. Single, only child, dad died when she was a teenager, allergic to shellfish. Sherlock had gotten used to deducing the different nurses that tended to Molly; it kept his mind sharp since he was not taking any cases from Lestrade while Molly was in hospital.

Sherlock was startled when he heard a crash. Miranda had dropped Molly's chart and was now blushing wildly and scrambling for the fallen clipboard, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, I'm really very sorry!"

Sherlock just waved his hand dismissively and continued staring into space; he didn't feel the need to speak.

"Are you ok?" Miranda asked quietly, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to talk to this stranger who the nurses often talked about; something had always seemed a bit off about him if you asked her.

"Yes, I'm fine." Sherlock answered.

Miranda looked sincerely at Sherlock, "She will be okay you know," she said. She was new to the job and had never really dealt with the relatives of patients, if that was what he was.

"And how do you know?" said Sherlock as he stared at the young nurse.

"Sometimes the patients respond to voices. Perhaps if you were to talk to her she might start to wake up." Miranda had heard of a couple of cases where coma patients woke up to the sound of their loved ones maybe it would work here. Clearly, this man needed Molly and if she woke up then maybe he would be a bit happier, "Talk to her, about anything really, it's worth a shot, right?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Hardly."

The young nurse looked taken aback by Sherlock's brash attitude, surely if he cared for her he would do anything to help her, that's what you're supposed to do, she believed, for those you care about you are supposed to do anything, that's how it worked but obviously not for him.

"Well, there's no change in her condition. I'll see you next time." Miranda scuttled out of the room as if the floor was filled with hot coals. Something about that man unnerved her and she wasn't going to stay to find out what.

Sherlock mulled over what the nurse had said. He had looked into theories about talking to a comatose person. Hearing is often the last sense to go and the first to return, would Molly be able to hear him? People who were in a coma could often hear the world around them but they couldn't respond to it so what would be the point, it would be like talking to a brick wall. He could always play the violin it would help him think and perhaps she would hear it too. But, no, he didn't have his violin with him. He could conduct an experiment. Yes, that was it! An experiment, into the hearing abilities of comatose patients.

"Molly," he started, "I'm going to talk to you, well more at you, to see if you respond to my voice." He leaned forward from the chair and took Molly's hand in his own, "If you can hear me try to squeeze my hand. You've been in a coma for three weeks now, you lost a lot of blood but you're healing. The cuts are almost away and you can't see the bruises anymore. Moran is gone, really gone, and I won't let you get hurt again, I promise."

Molly was slightly aware of a faint light through her eyelids. It wasn't bright but it was there. Where was she? She tried to open her eyes but couldn't, her eyelids were heavy and she didn't have enough energy to bother. She was aware of her body, which was good, she could feel it but couldn't move it, this was strange. She could hear a slight steady beeping in the background. Then she heard his voice…

"So Mycroft dealt with that. John is ok but says I need to eat more, he always does. I told Lestrade I'm not taking any cases until your better or at least out of hospital."

So that's where she was, a hospital. Why was she in a hospital? Oh, Steve, no Moran, he had shot her. She wasn't aware of any pain though. She mentally groaned, if she could just move, open her eyelids, something then this would all be much easier.

"You're sister has been in, briefly. I don't like her, she's cheating on her husband by the way, but you probably didn't want to know that. She asked who I was and I said your partner, she looked confused but bought it. The nurses also wonder who I am but I haven't spoken to them much other than to ask if you're okay."

She didn't like her sister either, too much bickering when they were younger. Sherlock's voice was getting clearer as her hearing came back but why was he here, as far as molly could recall he wasn't the caring type.

"I have been thinking, Molly. John was the first to notice, in Edinburgh, and then Moran figured it out before I could. What I am trying to say is that I care for you Molly, I more than care for you. It's a different kind of caring to what I feel for John or Mrs Hudson and it took me a while to figure it out and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

Molly tried desperately to move but she just couldn't. The man she had loved for three years had just admitted to feeling something for her, she had to move!

She gathered her strength and slowly opened her eyes. The light was bright but comforting, being in the dark had always frightened Molly but seeing the light meant she was alive, she had survived. As her eyes adjusted she could make out the shape of the tiles on the roof, to her right was a swarm of machines tracking her heartbeat and various other outputs. She looked down her bed to see a mop of black curls, Sherlock.

Sherlock was sitting holding her hand, not on her bed, but very close. He had pulled the chair over but was looking intently at her hand. He caressed her fingers and turned her hand over in his, looking at each digit as if it were some fascinating medical discovery.

Her senses returned to her quickly. Hearing, then sight, touch, smell and finally taste. She coughed shallowly, her throat was dry.

Sherlock's head whipped up at the sound and he gazed at her open eyes, "Molly?"

Molly coughed again and Sherlock was quick to act, fetching a glass of water and helping her to drink. Once Molly had had enough he placed the glass on her bedside table and looked at her expectantly.

"Hello," Molly managed weakly her voice felt strange coming from her mouth as if she hadn't spoken in weeks.

"Your awake, finally," Sherlock sighed. He couldn't help the swell in his chest at the sight of her now open eyes, she was definitely going to be alright, "Do you remember what happened?"

Molly looked at Sherlock for a second longer, "Yes."

"Good, that's good."

"Did you really mean what you said Sherlock?" Molly asked, her eyes shutting as the strain started to catch up with her.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered. He had meant it, all of it.

Molly smiled a genuine, bright smile that she reserved only for Sherlock. Sherlock smiled back as Molly yawned softly.

"Go back to sleep Molly, you need rest," he said as he gently kissed her forehead.

Molly nodded and closed her eyes gently. In a few days she would be better, and then, she would finally have the world's only consulting detective all to herself.

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