Disclaimer: I don't own, you know that.

I'm loving the support that this story has gotten. You guys have been fantastic. I love reading your reviews. They really do bring a huge smile to my face whenever I see them. So leave more of them please!

Chapter 22

Molly awoke screaming. She could still feel his fingers digging into her, the flame burning her skin. The dreams were far more intense than any she had ever had before- they felt so real. The doctors had told her that she would probably have some Post Traumatic Stress, but she hadn't realized just how bad it was going to be.

She looked around for a while until she remembered where she was. She had been staying at 221B for the last few days after being released from the hospital, so that her flat could be repaired from the break-in and John could keep an eye on her and her injuries. She could feel them, tingling after the dream, and knew that the scars would always be there to remind her of that hell.

Sherlock came into the room, a panicked look on his face. "Molly? Molly is everything alright?" He sat down next to her on what was usually his bed and stared at her. She didn't answer him, almost ashamed that he had caught her in a nightmare.

His voice got lower, and he said quietly, "It's the dream again, isn't it." It was not a question, and Molly wasn't sure she would have been able to answer if it had been.

She sighed, looking anywhere but at him, and answered in a meek voice. "He is always there, every time that I close my eyes. I can hear his laugh and feel his breath on my skin, and… Sherlock, it is just so real. I just don't know what to do, and I am not sure that I can take it for much longer."

He nodded once to show that he understood. "It is completely normal to experience nightmares after a traumatic event over the course of recovery" he said, sounding like a textbook on PTSD. "John experienced a similar situation after returning from Afghanistan, although I believe that yours may be worse." Molly grinned wryly as her morbid sense of humor acted up, telling her that at least she finally won at something.

"The things you went through that night were more than enough for you to have these nightmares already. However, with the hypersensitivity stimulant that was running through your system at the time, the experiences were heightened and far more upsetting, so it is understandable that your nightmares seem to be more realistic as well. The nightmares will be worse, because the experience was much more intense."

Molly frowned. Logically, she already knew all of this. It only made sense that this would be happening, but that didn't make it any less disturbing. She didn't know how long this would last. Sherlock was making it sound as though it was a temporary thing, but somehow Molly doubted that. She had a sneaking suspicion that the nightmares, although they might get less frequent, would never completely go away. She wasn't sure if she could handle it, but she had no choice but to find out.

Sherlock watched as the different thoughts raced through her mind, intrigued by the fleeting expression each one made on her face. Finally she shook her head. She got out of the bed, walked to the kitchen and put on the kettle, making enough for two mugs of tea.

They sat on the couch and in silence, until Sherlock broke it. "Molly, I'm… I'm sorry. This is all my fault." She turned and looked at him, surprised, but he couldn't look at her. He ran his fingers lightly over the bandages on her broken wrist. "He used you to get to me, he tortured you, and even now he is still hurting you through your dreams. All this is because of me. Everything is my fault, and I..."

"Sherlock, stop." She interrupted him sharply, and he looked into her eyes, surprised by the steel hidden in the tenderness there. In this moment, she was breathtaking.

She continued, holding his gaze. "What happened was because of you, but that doesn't make it your fault. It was a reasonable assumption that, after all we have been through these last few years, we would have gotten closer. And although he overestimated the extent of that closeness, Moriarty knew that you cared about me. If it hadn't been me, it would've been John or someone else again. But none of that matters now."

She grabbed his wrists as he tried to turn away from her. She couldn't let him do this to himself. "At the end of it all, I am still here and so are you. This is all in the past, and we can either let it overcome and define us, or we can move forward and be strengthened by it. I am choosing the second option, Sherlock. And I expect you to do the same."

He couldn't speak, his voice trapped inside of him by her words. Slowly, uncertainly he nodded, amazed again by the woman sitting next to him. She should have been broken by the experience, and yet she refused to be. Here she was, taking care of him just like she always had. Molly Hooper was indeed a very incredible woman.

After a few minutes, she asked him a question, bringing them back into an easy, meaningless sat together and talked about nothing and everything for a little over an hour, until Sherlock looked down and saw that she had fallen asleep next to him and her head had fallen onto his shoulder. She looked so peaceful in that moment, and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from thinking how perfect this was.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her and loved the way that her body was leaned against his. So trusting, he thought, and smiled a bit at this realization. Molly trusted him, and she didn't have nightmares when he was around. He readjusted himself on the couch carefully, lying down in a comfortable position without waking her up.

As he fell asleep, he thought how much he wanted this to last forever, his heart beating in time with hers and their breathing in unison.

In the morning, John came down the stairs to make his coffee before leaving for work. He stopped when he saw the consulting detective and his pathologist asleep together on the couch. Molly was lying with her head on Sherlock's chest and Sherlock had wrapped one arm around her, the other buried deep in her hair. They both looked at peace, which was something that neither had been in weeks. John smiled at this unconscious display of affection, and then took his coffee quietly upstairs, feeling no need to disturb them just yet.