A/N: Hello, another chapter at your service!

Before that begins, two things. A huge THANK YOU as always for everyone reading and reviewing. I love the feedback. If anyone has any theories, feel free to speak up!

Second: tinmiss1939 correctly pointed out that Molly would've had bandages on her back. And I'd remembered that, and re-wrote this chapter to fit that, so naturally I uploaded the wrong version. What should have been said was that Sherlock took her bandages off to see it and then replaced them. Sorry about that!

Molly swallowed hard. Here was her chance to show Sherlock she wasn't a complete idiot.

You've been attacked, beaten, had letters carved into your skin by a dead man, OK, not-so-dead man, and all you can think of is proving yourself to him? her brain shrieked.

She really needed to be slapped.

She nodded, composing her thoughts for a few seconds. He waited, looking bored but patient.

"I was on my way to work. Usual time, leaving from my flat. I was alone. I didn't notice anything odd. I didn't see anyone until I got in the street, which is normal as well," she began, not quite looking into his eyes.

He nodded approvingly. "Good, good. Go on."

Encouraged by his praise (well, praise coming from him) she continued. "I had just rounded the corner at Sutton when a man grabbed me from the alley and pulled me in. Taller than me, probably by half a foot. Broad, muscular, wearing a long black trench coat. I caught a glimpse of it at the bottom as he dragged me. I couldn't scream, he'd covered my mouth with a white handkerchief. It was… his left hand. He wore black leather gloves. He chloroformed me. And…"

Her breathing came faster and harder. She fell silent.

"Molly?"

She drew a deep breath and met his eyes. "And I woke up there, about an hour later. My… back and face hurt. My back more so. He'd… he'd put my clothes back on me. Even buttoned the shirt."

"I started screaming, and someone came running into the alley. You can probably figure out the rest."

He nodded.

"It's him, isn't it," she said. "Moriarty. He's not dead."

"Yes and no, in that order."

"And… he's figured out that I helped you. And he's used me to leave you a message."

Sherlock was about to ask how she knew, then he remembered. Molly had heard him muttering "IOU" that day in the lab. Whatever else she did or did not pay attention to, he knew he was definitely one of the people that she did.

"So what's his game this time?"

"I have no clue," Sherlock said, and in most ways that was the truth.

He startled her by moving from the chair to sit beside her on her bed. Sherlock, sitting next to her? What was going on?"

"Ok, what's going on?" she blurted before she could stop herself.

He shook his head. "Thank you, Molly," he said, looking at her.

Oh. More being nice. Well, she had done a lot for him with, and since, Reichenbach. She certainly deserved him being nice to her. And it wasn't that he'd been mean since then. Well, not as much. He just hadn't been quite this… human.

He looked… troubled. "Tell me what's wrong. Other than the obvious, I mean."

He drew a deep breath. "This is all my fault."

She stared at him, shocked. "What? No it isn't."

"Yes, it is. You helped me and he used you to send me a message. You were attacked, Molly. He had someone cut letters into your back. Because of me."

He reached down and took one of her hands in his.

At that moment the door opened and a nurse came in. "All right, sweetie, time for…" her voice trailed off when she saw Sherlock and Molly holding hands, staring at her as though she was a stick insect.

"Would you give us a minute, please?" Molly and Sherlock asked in unison.

The nurse gulped. "Of course. I'll just, ah, I'll just be right outside, then."

She backed out, closing the door behind her, and Molly almost giggled. Then she remembered that Sherlock was holding her hand, and for a second she didn't think she could breathe.

Sherlock. Holding her hand. Sherlock.

She spun around to face him again. "Sherlock?"

He gazed into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Molly. I am so, so sorry." His voice broke a bit.

"It's," she began, but he cut her off.

"No. It's not OK. But I will stop this, Molly. I'll stop it. I promise."

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Molly thought she might never breathe again.

"Um… good. That's… really good, Sherlock."

He nodded, slowly standing up. "I have some things I need to do. But I'd like to come back and see you soon, if that's all right."

"What? Yes. Yes, of course," Molly said, feeling more confused by the minute. He was sorry? He kissed her cheek? He wanted to come back and see her? Was the world about to end and everyone knew it but her?

"Good." He smiled briefly and crossed the room to the door. He looked at her one last time. He looked… she wasn't sure. Something she couldn't figure out. Haunted, almost. As though something was really upsetting him. "Goodbye, Molly."

"Goodbye, Sherlock," she said faintly, watching him go, trying to analyze what had just happened over the deafening beating of her heart.

Sherlock stepped into the hall, almost knocking over the nurse, who was standing near the door. "May I go on in? Are you finished now, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

He fixed her with a fiery gaze. "Madam, you certainly may." He turned away and started down the hall. She could've sworn she heard him say: "but I am far from finished."