Hiya! Just wondering if some of my readers might like to leave some reviews? Just wondering what your take is on what happens in this chapter is all. Please and thank you! (:

Molly woke up to find an empty bed, she stretched in the tangled white sheets. She brought one up to her chest and wrapped it around her naked body, and went on the hunt for her missing Sherlock.

She heard the shower turn on, 'Well that solves that mystery' she thought to herself. She flicked the kettle on and poured herself a bowl of cereal. After a few minutes a very wet and very half naked Sherlock padded out into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Good morning Molly", he smiled.

"Good morning Sherlock", she whispered hoarsely.

"I trust you slept well", he smirked.

"The little sleep that I got was nice", she grinned.

"You work today, yes?"

"Yes"

"Excellent. That'll give me time to go to 221B and collect some things"

She narrowed her gaze at him, "Sherlock Holmes. If I come back here to find bits if bodies in my fridge I will not hesitate to punch you in the face".

"Sex makes you violent. Noted", he went back to his tea.

She shook her head, "I'm going to go have a shower".

Sherlock poked and prodded some if the bruises and bite marks Molly had managed to inflict upon him last night. Last night. What had happened? He'd never experienced anything like that, not just the lull in his mind that climaxing had caused, but just being with Molly.

Molly reappeared from the bathroom half an hour later dressed for work. Her hair was pulled into a messy side braid and she wore black pants and a tight purple blouse, much similar to his own shirt. His mouth tugged at the corners.

"What?" She grimaced.

"Was dressing like me intentional? Or completely accidental?" He chuckled.

She looked down at her clothes, "Oh!" She laughed, "That purple shirt of yours is my favourite", she giggled, "Speaking of, where are the rest of your clothes?"

He looked down to his pants ad bare chest, "Are you complaining?" He said slyly.

"No not at all", she stood behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder, "Just curious", she tilted her head and planted a kiss on his cheek, "I'm off to work, I'll be home by dark".

She straightened up and turned to walk away but Sherlock reached out and grabbed her hand, unsatisfied with a mere kiss on the cheek to last him a whole day without her. He pulled her in to a long, deep kiss, from which they both came out breathless.

"Better", he nodded to himself.

She took a deep breath and used every ounce of strength she had to walk out her front door, and not dive right back into bed with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock delved into his mind palace, re-reading old information. He subconsciously began playing his violin, though it wasn't any of his favoured melodies, it was Molly's. Molly seemed to appear around every second corner, shedding a little light on every file.

Twilight was setting in when he snapped back into reality. The front door squeaked on its hinges.

"Did you go see John today?" Molly asked, setting her hand bag down on the table.

"Hmm? Oh! No, I got caught up... Thinking" He plucked at the strings of his violin.

"Typical", she huffed.

"Bad day at the morgue I presume", he sighed.

"As a matter of fact no".

Sherlock set his violin down, "Really? So why the bad mood?"

"Bad trip home from the morgue", she faced Sherlock and he looked her up and down, she was absolutely drenched! Her lips were turning blue an her nose and fingertips were already a rosy red.

"Molly! You're soaked!"

"A round of applause for the Great Sherlock Holmes everyone!"

"Here. Let me help", he unbuttoned and peeled her shirt off and then he began unzipping her pants.

"This would be a lot sexier if I wasn't freezing my ass off", she noted before her teeth began to chatter.

Sherlock grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and draped it around Molly and then scooped her up in his arms and strode off to the bedroom, "If I was going for sexy, you'd know", he winked as he dropped her onto her bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin.

"I'll go throw your clothes through the wash, want a cup if tea?"

"Sherlock Holmes waiting on me, hand and foot. I never thought I see the day!" She giggled.

"Do you want tea or not", he half sighed, half chuckled.

"I'll be fine in a minute. As soon as I'm warm enough I'll put dinner on, yeah?"

"Yeah", he smiled.

She nestled down into the blankets and closed her eyes. She wrapped Sherlock's, entirely too large for her, coat around her body and soon started slowly drifting to sleep.

Sherlock came back to the room ten minutes later and Molly was fast asleep, he had always pondered over people's fascination with other people sleeping. After watching Molly for a few moments he decided that maybe it was just with watching particular people sleeping. Molly had such odd breathing patterns and movements whilst she slept. She seemed to talk a lot too, after being asleep for just over twenty minutes she'd already yelled, mentioned marmalade and whispered Sherlock's name.

He slipped off his shoes and squished into the bed with Molly, he shuffled her over so that he'd fit too, she had a queen sized bed but managed to take up three quarters of it. The last time he'd slept in the same bed as Molly he'd ended up in foetal position at the end of the bed like a dog, before being kicked off and deciding sleep was probably out of the question. This time though was different, Molly was in a different state of mind, less relaxed and more likely to have more Molly-like dreams. Sherlock decided that watching his Molly sleep was his new favourite pastime.

He shifted his body so that his leg was twisted around hers and his arms held her head to his chest. This was a comfortable position and it allowed him to have more control of her violent outbursts while she slept.

The clock on the night stand read 1:37am. Molly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. How had she slept so long! 'No point getting up now!' She thought. She rolled over to go back to sleep and ended up face to face with a sleeping Sherlock. His eyes flickered behind his lids and his breathing faltered, he was dreaming. She reached up and flattened a lock of curling hair on his head, she laid there and watched him sleep for a little while, he talked in his sleep, he'd called out for her softly at least four times and made some reference to marmalade and falling off a bed. Odd. Her stomach growled, protesting at the fact that she hasn't eaten for twelve hours.

She sat up and flung her legs off the need of the bed, and instantly laid back down due to a massive head spin, 'Brilliant. Now I'm sick' she groaned inwardly.

She slowly lifted herself out of bed and tiptoed through the house attempting to not wake Sherlock, she didn't see him sleep very often and when he did it was only for two or three hours at a time. I suppose staying in his mind palace for six to eight hours at a time would be similar to sleeping.

She scarfed down a bowl of cereal and made herself a cup of lemon tea for her scratchy throat, then sat down to watch television, soon realising that infomercials were extremely boring. She flicked the telly off and headed back to the bedroom. Halfway down the hallway she was doubled over with pain, she bolted for the bathroom and leaned over the toiled bowl just as the contents of her stomach escaped her lips.

Sherlock woke up to the sound of Molly violently vomiting in the next room, before thinking, he burst out of bed and ran to her side.

"Molly? Molly, are you okay? What can I do? How can I help?" He blurted.

"Sherlock. Get. Out." She groaned.

"No! Why would I leave? You clearly need help!"

"Sherlock, the last thing I want you to see if me throwing my guts up curled over a toilet", she said just as another wave of vomiting took place.

Sherlock moved to her side and pulled her hair back out of her face, he gently rubbed her back as she threw up on and off for three hours. Throughout the entire time she went from trying to get Sherlock to leave, to saying she didn't care, to resting on his lap in between bursts of vomiting.

"Sherlock. I'm glad you're a stubborn bastard sometimes", she smiled, clearly a little delirious from the sickness.

"Mhmm, and why's that My Molly?" He hummed stroking her hair.

"Because if you'd left when I told you to I wouldn't have a pillow right now", she giggled, then her face turned completely blank, "Did you just call me 'Your Molly'?"

"And if I did?" He said hesitantly.

"Then I'd say... You're now MY pillow!" She found herself absolutely hysterical, she laughed until she had to stop to throw up again.

"Good Lord Molly! You're worse than a drunk John!" Sherlock teased.

"'Good Lord Molly! You're worse than a drunk John!' Gosh you're annoying sometimes!" She spread her body out on the floor and put her head in Sherlock's lap.

"It's what I aim for. Would you like me to go get you some medication of some sort?" He curled a strand of her hair around his fingers.

"Yes please! Strongest thing you can find!" Her eyes fluttered closed as he replaced his legs with a folded up towel underneath her legs.

He returned with two pills and a glass of water for Molly, only she was fast asleep, and there was no chance he was waking her up, just to sit next to her and be abused for another three hours while Molly vomited uncontrollably. He ducked into her bedroom and pulled a blanket off of her bed. He draped it over Molly and set the water and tablets on the vanity for her when she awoke. He bent down and placed a kiss on her feverish cheek.

"Sleep well, My Molly".