AN: First off, all of you have been incredibly lovely! I'm glad to know that many of you supported my depiction of Sherlock's 'freak out' in the previous chapter. Those who didn't were still respectful, and I can't tell you what that means to me. Sorry it took me long to update, but angsty stories and Christmas don't exactly mix!

I had a hard time with this chapter, and I am a bit self-conscious about it... I hope it lives up to your standards. :)

'Italics in quotes'= inner thoughts

Despite being in a familiar setting, John Watson was unable to sleep. Whether it was the lack of comfort he found on the sofa or the heaviness of his friend's vulnerability, he did not know. Once he had checked on his 'patient' for the twentieth time that night (who was still knocked out from the sedative), he accepted the fact that he would not be sleeping at all. He began to think about the events that lead to him drugging his best friend.

Anyone who met Sherlock Holmes immediately learned he was an odd sort-of fellow. He was blunt, aggressive, manipulative, incredibly brilliant (and completely aware of it), anti-social… well the list went on and on. However the few (very lucky) people privileged to know Sherlock on a personal level knew that this was just his first layer, an armor if you will, in place to protect himself. Those in his inner circle knew him to be protective, occasionally caring, and self-sacrificing. Many attributed these changes to the arrival of John Watson. Maybe it was. But however privy he was to the inner workings of the great detective, there was still a number of things he didn't share freely. Topping that list: his emotions.

So it was unbelievable to witness Sherlock, a man always in control, giving into his feelings. John had rushed to Baker St. expecting to find the occupant high or worse, overdosed; what he did not expect was to find the man wrapped in a blanket left behind by the woman who broke his heart.

'Sherlock Holmes, heartbroken. Quite the declaration,' John thought as he ran his hands over his face. But that was the only word appropriate to describe the situation. By all definitions of the word, Sherlock was a broken man. He had messed things up with Molly, pushed her away, and possibly lost her forever. Finally, when he had resigned to admit that he did love Molly Hooper, it was too late.

In the midst of his internal rambling, John remembered his conversation with his wife from the night before. When he told Mary about Sherlock admitting that he loved Molly, Mary said something very peculiar. 'Something about… what was it? Oh yes! There might be hope for them after all. What does that mean?' He continued to reflect on the comment while he drank his coffee in front of the fireplace. Though his deductive reasoning was nowhere near that of the super sleuth, he arrived to his startling conclusion fairly quickly. 'Oh of course! Now that the git admitted that he loves Molly, all he has to do is tell her! According to Mary this is why Molly ended things. There's no reason for this not to work out… Perfect, there is hope! He'll be thrilled... or as thrilled as Sherlock is capable of.'

Noises coming from elsewhere in the flat broke his concentration. The groans and shuffling got louder as Sherlock exited his bedroom. He sleepily, or drowsily rather, puttered around the kitchen until his eyes landed on John. "John, what are you doing here?" he asked flatly.

John cocked his head to the side as he replied tentatively. "I came over last night to check on you and…"

"Yes, yes I remember that. I meant what are you still doing here?"

"The sedative I gave you was relatively strong, I wanted to make sure there weren't any side effects. Besides I thought you might want to discuss- umm- some of the things you said… last night," John finished lamely. If he was being honest, the whole situation made him uncomfortable. Theirs was not a friendship that consisted of sharing feelings and having 'heart-to-hearts' with one another. But there were several issues he needed to address, and if Sherlock was being particularly thick then it was up to John to start the conversation.

Sherlock glared at his friend. "There's nothing to discuss," he spat. His face morphed into something slightly less than a scowl. "I admit I got a bit carried away, but that was only because I hadn't slept for five days. I beat my own record by seven hours!" he added triumphantly. "Anyways, now that I've rested, I am feeling more like myself. Thank you for staying… though it was entirely unnecessary."

Incredulously, John shook his head. "No. No, you're not seriously telling me that you said all that because… 'you were tired' are you?"

"Look John…" Sherlock started before he was interrupted.

"Sherlock I saw you! You were devastated, you were holding her blanket, you worked yourself into a panic attack… I had to sedate you for fuck's sake! So don't you dismiss it by saying that you were exhausted, because we both know that that is bullshit!"

Mary Watson had just come in from outside when she caught the last of her husband's rant. Not wanting to subject her daughter to such a heated argument, she chose to leave the child in the care of Mrs. Hudson while she attempted to calm the situation. By the time she dropped off Emily and exchanged a few pleasantries with the elderly woman, the yelling was absolutely thunderous. She opened the door to the flat slowly and found the two men toe-to-toe, exchanging angry looks.

"Hello boys," she greeted, wisely opting to leave her 'lover's quarrel' comment unsaid. "What's going on?"

John smirked (Mary recognizes it as the scary smirk he uses when he is completely pissed), "The idiot is under the impression that he confessed his love for Molly Hooper because he- and I quote- 'hadn't slept for five days'… Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard of?" The mention that he, the Reichenbach Hero Sherlock Holmes, was being ridiculous set him off again.

In an attempt to stave off a headache, and fix the situation once and for all, Mary decided to take control. "John love… leave!"

Both men turned to look at her, somewhat confused by her command. "What?!"

"I said 'leave.' You're not helping matters at all by yelling. And honestly you two are annoying me…" she said sternly. She turned to face Sherlock, in time to catch him giving John a smug smile.

"No sir, don't think you're getting off that easy! I am staying. We're fixing this… Now!"

John took off rather quickly; he had been on the receiving end of his wife's stern voice one too many times, and knew that it was best to make a swift exit. He scurried on down the stairs, stopping by his former landlady's flat to collect his daughter. John hesitated for a second before inviting the poor dear out for lunch. If Mary's conversation with Sherlock was anything like the one they had, then pretty soon the entire building would become unbearable.

Back inside the flat, Sherlock childishly avoided Mary. He busied himself by preparing tea, then took a trip to the loo, and dawdled around in his bedroom for a few minutes. Mary used the time to make herself comfortable in 'John's chair' and observed the man quietly, planning her next course of action.

'Ooh he's clearly uncomfortable… He appreciates facts and truth. So it's best to be blunt and efficient. Of course, that will require him to stop wasting time!'

Loudly clearing her throat, Mary finally spoke up. "Um- Sherlock, join me over here." She noted his apprehension before kindly adding, "Please."

Sherlock grunted and walked towards his favorite armchair. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted to talk about, and he wasn't about to make it easier for her either. He took his seat and begun to fidget under Mary's glare. Sherlock could tell he was being deduced; he didn't like it.

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. What could I possibly be afraid of?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Sherlock…," Mary said warily. "I am trying to help you. Now we can pretend you don't know what I am talking about, or- and this is what I am recommending- we can figure this all out and come up with a plan."

He turned and smiled at her arrogantly. "Really Mary, I am not afraid of anyth-" One look at the former assassin was all he needed before he acquiesced. "Honestly, I don't know."

'Good now we're getting somewhere!' Mary thought. "How about I ask you some questions, and see if we can come up with some answers? Hmm?" She waited for him to acknowledge her suggestion before she continued. "And it would do you well to remember that I can tell when you're fibbing!" Sherlock sighed, while rolling his eyes, and nodded in agreement.

"Do you love Molly?"

Sherlock considered lying. He had only come to terms with it himself, and he wasn't sure he was ready to say it out loud. Of course he had already admitted it to John, but he knew that if he confessed his feelings to Mary… well she would certainly make him do something about it.

The lie he had prepared was ready in his mouth, when instead came out a soft, "Yes."

Stunned by his own answer, he gaped while Mary grinned. "Next question: do you think Molly loves you?"

He knew that she had fancied him for years, he had deduced as much, but love? That he wasn't sure of. "I don't know. She never said it, and I never asked. I am aware that she cares for me…"

Mary chortled, "That, Sherlock Holmes, is the understatement of the century! Surely you realize that she loves you. No one would willingly put up with you for as long as she did, if they didn't love you."

The pout on his face reminded Mary of the one that frequents her daughter's face. "If she did love me, then she wouldn't have broken up with me…"

She took a moment to consider what he said. 'Great, now I have to deal with his hurt ego as well!'

"If she didn't feel loved, and you did nothing to assure her that you cared for her, of course she would end things. People need to be continuously reminded that they are loved. Not everyone is a master of deduction... You know, it's likely that Molly never said it because she was afraid of your reaction- and before you deny it, you know you probably would have said something horrible to her!"

"I don't deny it Mary, I have been horrible to her. I always say such horrible things…" he said sadly. "I treated her atrociously for so long, and yet, she continues to be there for me. I don't know why."

Like puzzle pieces coming together, the problem became clear. Mary gasped, "You don't think you deserve her."

Unfazed by her conclusion, he responded curtly. "No, I don't deserve Molly." He huffed as he stood up from his chair and walked towards the window. "I know your intentions are good, but I don't understand why this is any of your concern. Why do you care?"

Perhaps after hearing a response like that, it would be easy to take offense. But Mary had been around Sherlock long enough to know that this was a comment stemmed from curiosity, not malice. She approached him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. She was glad that he had his back towards her; she didn't think she could get through what she needed to say if he were looking at her.

"Do you remember the vow you made at our wedding? When you said you would always be there for us- ha- what am I talking about, of course you do… Well I didn't understand what you meant at first. I thought you would continue being a good friend to John, and in time you- we- would become friends as well."

Mary paused to wipe away a few stray tears. "I've done things that I am not proud of. When I left that life behind, I never expected to have all this. I am a wife and a mother; it's extraordinary! And when someone threatened this new life, you protected us. You could have let Magnussen come after me; turn me into Mycroft; leave my daughter motherless; you could have encouraged John to not forgive me, but you didn't… What I have now, I owe entirely to you! You made this all possible… Doesn't that sound like a man who deserves happiness?"

Sherlock turned to face her. He was amazed to see Mary so affected; the real-life Bond girl reduced to tears. Only, he couldn't mock her because now he understood. He had messed up in the past, there was no questioning that. But everything he had done, had sacrificed, to help others should count for something. Though he felt far from being entirely absolved, the burden he carried lessened. He wasn't the man Molly deserved, yet, but he could be. And for the first time he felt hopeful.

He reached to touch her hand, still on his shoulder, and gave her a small smile. "Mary, you don't owe me anything." She brought up her free hand to dry her eyes and returned his smile. "Yes I do, and I've just decided to make a vow of my own..." Grabbing Sherlock's hands in her own, she stared him straight in the eyes with fierce determination.

"I vow to help you win Molly back… and keep you from fucking it all up!"

AN: Things are looking up now, right? It's a Sherlolly story, so there has to be a Sherlolly ending! I'm thinking that there will be one more chapter, but I haven't decided yet. Thank you for reading, please take a second to review and let me know what you think!

I do read all your kind messages and words of encouragement, and they help! I try to respond to you all, and have had pleasant conversations with many of you. You guys are awesome, and I would hug each one of you if I could! Anyways, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! :)