"Sorry to have woken you," Mycroft Holmes spoke, entering the hospital room. Molly had woken just as he arrived.
"I was waking up anyways," she told him. There was a short pause.
"How is he?" he asked.
"He'll be okay," Molly replied.
"Miss Hooper, I hope you know that I take full responsibility for what's happened. It was the case I assigned him after all," Mycroft told her in his best professional voice.
"The only person to be blamed is the man who did this to him," she said. "You are not at fault."
"That is very kind of you to say, Miss Hooper. The man in question has been detained," he informed her.
"How are you?" Molly asked.
"I am quite well with work today. I'd say it was a job well done, though—"
"No, Mycroft, I mean, how are you feeling?" she clarified.
"Oh, well, I uh," he struggled with answering, clearing is throat. His gaze shifted downward and his hands clasped behind his back. Molly had never seen him look so uneasy. "I am thoroughly distraught that I could've—that we could've possibly lost him."
"I wouldn't want to cause any distress," Sherlock suddenly remarked. Molly stood then and offered to give them some privacy. As she walked towards the door, she laid a comforting hand on Mycroft's upper arm and left to get something to eat in the canteen.
"How are you feeling?" Mycroft asked.
"Sore," Sherlock answered.
"I have given great thought to cutting back the amount of cases I send your way," the eldest Holmes confessed.
"Is it Christmas?" Sherlock asked.
"No," he rolled his eyes. "You're fine now of course, but what if one day you're not?" Mycroft took a deep breath before sitting in the chair beside the bed. "I meant what I said that Christmas; your loss would break my heart. And it would break the hearts of so many others. If I can do something to lower the risk of your loss, then I will do it. Think of your life, Sherlock. Your best friend, your goddaughter…your soon to be wife whom you plan to start your own family with. What good is any of it if you're not even alive to be with them? You're not getting any younger and neither am I."
"For God's sake, Mycroft, I'm only forty years old," Sherlock argued. "I do think of my life; a lot more than I used to, but I'm not going to cease all casework."
"I'm not saying you have to stop taking cases; by all means, take all the cases that DI Lestrade or your clients throw your way. All I'm saying is your work for me is done," Mycroft stated.
"So, if it's not Christmas, my birthday then?" Sherlock smirked.
"You've made your point," Mycroft told him. "Happy to have had this chat."
The first night Sherlock was home after being discharged, Molly made a complete fuss over him. She had made shepherd's pie and baked fresh ginger nuts for dessert.
"Molly, it's not that I don't appreciate it, because I really do, but you didn't have to do all of this," Sherlock told her.
"When's the last time you had a homecooked meal? Or rather, when's the last time that we had one together?" she asked.
"I see what you mean," he replied. "Thank you." There was a moment of silence as they ate together. "Mycroft isn't giving me any more cases."
"You're probably thrilled about that," Molly laughed.
"I am," Sherlock confirmed. "It has come to my attention that with everything going on lately, we haven't talked about our wedding beyond the date and time. Why is that? You're not having second thoughts, are you?"
"No, of course not, Sherlock. It's just that we've both been so busy and I didn't want to distract you from more pressing matters," she answered.
"Well, I consider my impending marriage to the future Mrs. Holmes quite important," he spoke softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. A flutter went through her at the sound of her future surname spoken in his rich baritone voice.
"Tell me what you had in mind," Molly encouraged him. And so, the two of them discussed wedding plans that night, both quite eager to be planning it together. They had managed to make the small guest list and chose where they would have the wedding and reception. Mrs. Hudson had come up to bring them tea whilst also wondering what all the laughter was about. She never thought she'd see the day where Sherlock Holmes would plan his best friend's wedding, let alone his own.
"We should keep Mycroft seated away from the cake," he joked.
"Hush you," Molly giggled, playfully swatting at his arm. "One more crack like that and I'll take your ginger nut privileges."
"You wouldn't dare," Sherlock's jaw dropped in mock-seriousness.
"I would," she teased, her lips just barely touching his. Sherlock moved in to kiss her, unable to resist and Molly pulled away just slightly so he missed.
"You're not playing fair, Molly," he pouted with his arms crossed. She inched closer and took his face in her hands gently and pressed several light kisses on his lips. He wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. Molly laid her head on his shoulder afterward and lazily traced her lips across his jawline.
"Sherlock?" she asked.
"Hm?" he replied.
"I am truly sorry for how I reacted at the hospital," Molly told him. "I know your job can be dangerous and you can't always promise you'll be okay. I was just so worried and I no it's not an excuse but—"
"Molly, it's okay," Sherlock assured her. "I understand why you reacted that way. I'm understanding of a lot more now than I used to be."
"You know I'm proud of you, right? I've always been proud of what you've accomplished," she spoke softly. A surge of pride shot through him at her words.
"Thank you, my darling," he smiled. They were wrapped in a warm embrace, neither wanting to let go of the other. Molly was his home and Sherlock was hers.
Author's Note: A huge thank you to Dreamin (strangelock221b on tumblr) for beta reading!