Six days, three surgeries, numerous drugs, blood transfusions and seemingly endless hours of unconsciousness were what Molly endured although she didn't know it. Extreme worry and bottomless exhaustion were all Sherlock knew at the moment. John and Mary came and went. Mary brought him food. Sandwiches, soup, endless coffee and tea and nothing tasted of anything to Sherlock. John made sure he made it home to shower and sleep for a few hours every day. He also kept Sherlock's calendar clear.

At one point, Sherlock's parents came to visit. They wanted to meet their son's wife in a much better setting under better circumstances. They made their son eat something while nurses took care of Molly but what little he ate sat like a rock. They left behind a beautiful arrangement of flowers for Molly. They reminded Sherlock too much of a funeral arrangement so he gave them to the nurses.

The most frightening day was the fourth day after Molly got shot. She spiked a fever and they needed to open her again. This was her third and final surgery. Now it was the long road of recovery. The medically induced coma let her body rest while medications worked to reduce infections. Sherlock had never suffered wounds this serious. Her fate was still unknown but he was determined to see it through.

The fifth day, Mycroft visited. He brought his brother tea and scones. He saw what sentiment had done to his brother. The pale face, the dark circles, the redness in his icy eyes, all due to sentiment. He couldn't resist saying something. "Sentiment, Sherlock. This is where it has gotten you." He barely finished speaking when a fist met with his nose. Mycroft left with his handkerchief over his bleeding, broken nose without saying another word.

Throughout it all Sherlock was oblivious to the armed guards stationed outside his wife's hospital room. The assassin's bullet had torn right through her abdomen. It cost her a lot of blood and three feet of intestine but she would hopefully be fine in time.

Molly's drug cocktail was slowly reduced over days six and seven and on day seven, Sherlock's thirty-eighth birthday, at 4:38 in the afternoon she opened her eyes. John and Mary had just gotten to the hospital to make sure Sherlock ate some dinner. Sherlock refused to go. He had seen some signs of wakefulness and he was going to be there when she awakened. She was groggy, eyes unfocused but she was awake. She reached up to touch her husband's cheek and he knew that she would be all right.

Sherlock's parents came to visit at Baker Street the day after she came home. She got to meet her father and mother-in-law and found them to be kind, pleasant people. Toby had been moved in while she was in the hospital by John and Mary. It did her a lot of good to have her cat to cuddle. Sherlock seemed to distance himself after she came home. In hospital he was attentive and loving; at home he was cold and distant. Finally Molly had enough and asked him what was going on. His answer was a sharpish, "I'm trying to settle this case. Leave me alone." Molly silently kissed his cheek, a tear in her eye, and went to bed. Her movements slow due to discomfort. What he couldn't tell her was that he was terrified. He came within a hairsbreadth of losing her. He was working that out. His need to protect her coupled with the knowledge that he couldn't protect her from it all angered him and, temporarily, he directed it inappropriately. He would feel remorse later and apologize. Now, he set forth trying to solve the mystery of who was after him, why they attacked his wife and what to do about it.

Molly woke up alone. She gingerly walked out to the living room to find Sherlock sleeping on the sofa, one arm across his belly, the other hanging off onto the floor. He looked peaceful when he slept, like all his worries were gone. She gently put a throw blanket over him and went to take care of herself. Washing herself and getting dressed went slowly but she didn't want to wake up her husband for help as he had gotten so little sleep in the past few weeks. A comfortable pair of track pants and a loose sweatshirt and she was good to go. She made a pot of coffee and some toast, took her required medications (antibiotics and much needed pain medication) and sat in his chair to read.

Sherlock woke up and found her fast asleep about an hour later. He carried her to bed and got her settled, kissed her forehead and gathered his clothes for the day. After showering and dressing, he dumped the coffee as he preferred tea in the morning and it was cold anyway and made a pot of tea. He spread the dry toast with a little honey and settled into breakfast.

There was a soft knock on the door and Mycroft came in. His face was swollen and bruised but otherwise he seemed to be OK, pity. Sherlock looked at his brother and waited for him to speak first. He pointed to the tea tray and waited for Mycroft to pour a cup before sitting down. Mycroft began, "I would like to apologize for my words a few days ago. I may not agree with it, but I hope you and Molly are happy. I withdraw my offer of an annulment."

"Thank you, Mycroft. We are happy, for the most part. We just had our first row and I need to resolve it by apologizing. I think you'll find Sebastian Moran's second, Marcus Wheeler, is our gunman. He tends to shoot into a crowd with that type of precision."

"I will have him interrogated then." Mycroft said with just a touch of menace in his voice. "How did you figure it out?"

"Shoes or lack thereof. Where the sniper stood, based on the ballistics, anyway, there were only footprints. Unfortunately they were of poor quality and virtually useless. Only one sniper that I know of hunts barefoot regardless of the weather; Wheeler. Before you say it, yes, my sentiment made me take longer to figure it all out. It would have been faster than normal if Molly hadn't have been the prey. You should try love sometime, Mycroft. Being with Molly has calmed my mind, made data more retrievable. She is better for me than any drug I have ever taken, Mycroft. Just as addicting but life affirming, not destroying. I am sorry I hit you, but you angered me by implying I was less than I used to be before. I am more and with Molly at my side, I feel like I can be so much better than before. In just a short time everything is better."

"Hormones, Sherlock. Hormones and endorphins."

"I know the chemistry, Mycroft. Serotonin, dopamine and oxytocin. The 'feel-goods' a professor once called them. Just don't be so dismissive of them. When they flood the brain it is amazing. I've only gotten that rush with Molly." Sherlock finished.

They sat in companionable silence, the first in many years. Mycroft finished his tea, begged his leave and asked Sherlock to give his regards to his wife.

"Mummy sends her regards and asked me to give you this for your bride." Mycroft took a small velvet box from his pocket and gave it to his brother. He smiled, congratulated Sherlock again and left.

When Sherlock looked in the box, it was as he expected. Their grandmother's rings waiting to be placed on another Holmes bride's hand.