By far my worst chapter, just warning you. Terrible. Im better at angst and John and Sherlock banter clearly. At least I hope I am. Next chapter will have both I think..to make up for this travesty.

Living with Sherlock was an interesting experience. Certainly not boring. She never knew when she'd come home to find him there, either asleep, performing some sort of experiment or jumping out of nowhere with a gun, in fear of his life. But again, it was not a boring life and she wouldn't change any of it. It was a constant adventure. Even if he did explode her microwave. Or dismantle her hair dryer. Or wake her up at all ours of the morning by yelling down the phone at Mycroft.

Molly didn't know when he would turn up, he just did. Like today for instance. She'd just come home from work to find the lights on and the detective sprawled across her too small couch. Shoes still on, one hand under his shirt, revealing his pale, smooth stomach. He was fast asleep and absolutely adorable. She placed her bag on the floor, taking a blanket from Sherlocks room and laying it across the detective. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping, nothing like when he was awake and the weight of the world rested firmly on his shoulders.

"Sweet dreams, Sherlock"

He did have his own room. Well, it used to be her study. Now the desk was in a corner, her bookcase filled with his books. No bed though, he though that might be suspicious, her buying a new bed. He was fine with just a mattress on the floor. It had all the trimmings of a bed, though. But the room.. messy was an understatement. It was utter chaos. But in a lot of ways, that was Sherlock all over. At least it had been lately. She smiled and went back to her room.

Sherlock woke with a start, sitting up immediately, knocking an angry Toby to the floor. The creature was quite taken to him, much to the detectives distain. He wrapped the blanket around him protectively and wandered into the kitchen. It was cold, he needed a warm drink. Did Molly still have tea? She must have tea. He scoured the cupboard but could only find hot chocolate and coffee. Well..hot chocolate it was.

"Sherlock?" Molly peeped around the corner , still in her nightie, Sherlock still in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before. "'s bit early don't you think?" Sherlock gave her a quizical look. "Its 3am Sherlock, your inner clock is mixed up again." Sherlock raised his eyebrows, sipping his newly made, warm drink. "Sorry Molly...I'll be quiet, I promise" She smiled at him, the look in her eyes clearly doubtful. "Just don't blow up anything"

"When did I last blow up anything?"

"Two weeks ago, you blew up the microwave"

"It was for a case!"

"Thats your excuse for everything. You were bored. Its ok, I understand. Makes you feel at home, blowing things up and experiments. Doesn't it?" She picked up Toby, who was quite put out that the detective was ignoring him. "I'm glad you're back though Sherlock. See you later" She went back to bed. Sherlock took his drink and sat back on the couch.

When she woke up a few hours later the house was empty. She never knew when he would turn up, and she never knew when he'd leave either. She constantly worried about him and hoped he would come back soon and in one piece.

Sherlock crawled across the floor of the attic, as quiet and as graceful as a cat. He brushed a stray strand of blond hair from his eyes and laid his head against the floor, listening to the footsteps below. He then crept quickly to the small scuttle hole in the middle of the floor. He made sure the rope securing his legs was tight enough, he had no desire to fall out before he'd caught his prey. That would be rather embarrassing.

The detective deftly removed the small square of ceiling and looked down below. Excellent, mouse in place. He poked his head out of the hole, continuing until his entire torso was hanging out, upside down, blond hair waving about. He lifted his arms, each hand clasping a gun.

"Freeze!" Thats what people say...right? John would know. The bearded man turned around in surprise, raising a finger to point at him. "You're...you're..". Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes I'm the late Sherlock Holmes. Now will you come quietly or do I have to shoot you? And please don't be boring." The man's eyes widened, patting his body to find his guns gone.

"Looking for these?" Sherlock waved the guns in his hands about. "Shit" His prey ran. What did I just say? Boring. Why did they always have to be so predictable? This was clearly one of Moriarty's less intelligent disciples. He had hoped he would come quietly though. Sherlock tapped the little earpiece against his cheek. "He's on his way out. Don;t miss this one like the last please?" The rope suddenly snapped, he'd moved his foot too much. He fell, quickly and unceremoniously to the floor. Ok, now that was embarrassing.

"You alright Sherlock? Have another little fall did we?" Laughter echoed down the line. Mycroft's men sometimes accompanied him on his missions, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, do shut up" The detective picked himself up and ran after the suspect.

Molly yawned as she sleepily headed towards the front door. "Ok.. ok I'm coming" She wiped the sleep out of her eyes and opened the door ever so slightly. It was still night, 2am to be precise. "Hello?" "Molly..?" A croaky, confused voice answered her back. "Is someone there?" "Down here" Molly looked to the ground to see Sherlock resting against the outside wall, blood dripping from the side of his head. "Sherlock!" She grabbed him by the shoulder and hurriedly pulled him inside. "Sit here.. oh.. are you ok? What happened? Did someone hit you? Did you fall over? Are you ok?"

"Molly"

"Oh look at you! You're bleeding. Do you need painkillers? I'll get you a glass of water..and the first aid kit. What happened?"

"Molly"

"What is it Sherlock? What do you need?"

"I need you to shut up."

"Oh."

His eyes darted around the room. "Where am I?" Molly looked confused for a moment, still looking for the first aid kit. They had moved it into the kitchen some time ago, after Sherlock had burned his hand. Toby had knocked over his boiling cup of tea. And then a few days later he'd dropped the toaster on his foot. He never used to be so clumsy. But nowadays his mind always seemed to be on anything but what he was actually doing. "You're in my flat, Sherlock" She began to mop up the blood gently, from his brow. The sudden image of him back in the morgue appeared in her mind, she dropped the towel in shock.

"Molly?"

"Sorry, Im sorry" He must have concussion, she told herself, trying to distance her mind from that terrible memory. Even though she'd known he was alive, it didn't make seeing him like that any easier. It had been terrifying to walk into that room, to see him unconscious, covered in blood. Just like now. Except for the unconscious part. "Molly.. you're doing that Scrubs thing again. Are you ok Molly?" Oh, he always made her feel better. He'd been forced to watch the show the last time he was here. He clearly had yet to delete it from his mind.

"Molly.. I.. what was I saying?...Where am I Molly?"

"Sorry Sherlock, here. You're in my flat... I just told you.."

She placed a small patch of plaster onto his brow and finished cleaning him up. He stood, his legs shaky and ended falling flat on his face. "Sherlock!" "Molly..my legs aren't working properly.." She sighed and smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Sherlock.. you need to eat more." He snorted. "Yes, Mycroft" Molly giggled, not sure if it was an actual joke or his mind messing with his head. You stay here, Toby will look after you. I'll be right back with some painkillers"

She left the room, Toby hopped onto the couch, staring straight into Sherlock's eyes. "What are you looking at?..No.. no I don't want you on my lap go away..no..no purring. Please..oh fine. Whatever." Toby curled up on the detectives lap, purring loudly.

"I hate you"