THE WAR INSIDE MY HEAD

Hello again. I think it's been longer than I thought it was since I last updated and I'm sorry about that. I've been working a bit and trying to find time for writing and editing this when I can. Speaking of writing, if you get the chance would you guys mind reading a new story I posted just yesterday? It's called Pas de deux. I always get nervous about those kind of things. Plus I have a new one-shot up (Who Am I?) also if you need any more to read haha.

One more thing before you read all of this: Thank you so much for continuing to support this story. I know it might not be the best, but I know that Alicia and I have had a good time working on it. So I really appreciate your kind words about it even if I don't really get the time to tell you guys that individually. You're all so wonderful.

Without further ado, please read and let me know what you think! Much love, day

6.

She looked back up at Sherlock and quickly ushered him into her more than cramped closet. She then threw the Semtex jacket out of the window just seconds before the man stomped in frantically.

"Molly, are you alright? Oh dear god, you've been bawling!"

"Lestrade? Is this even your division?"

"No, Mycroft told me to hurry here immediately. I don't even know why, said you were in trouble."

Molly was about to begin to breathe when she saw John coming through the door with the cane in his hand, huffing between breaths.

"Sorry, I was having a drink with John. Asked him to come along."

Molly tried not to act too panicked over the fact that they were both there. It wasn't that she didn't expect them to worry over her, she just rather they not at the current moment. She currently had a supposedly dead man hidden in her closet. She didn't know how well this could end if anyone was to find him there.

"Oh, no it's fine. I had a good cry about it. Just a bit of a misunderstanding. John." She turned to him. "You didn't have to come all this way for me. I'm fine." She insisted. She gave a smile for good measure.

"Nonsense, Molly. It's what a-," John cleared his throat, "friend would do."

Molly saw the hurt in John's eyes as it shot past her. She knew he did not take Sherlock's death very well. Heck, he was back on a cane, and his right hand was tremoring a bit. She suddenly wished she was not lying anymore, and that Sherlock would just waltz out of the closet door for John. But she held it in, and judging by the closed doors, so was he. 'It's not over yet', she told herself.

Her mind drifts for a moment to one of the only conversations they've had about John and what was to happen to him emotionally after the fall. It was during the planning of his fall. He told her all of the things that she later would come to know. The tremor being one of them. She tried not to zero on it and make the army doctor uncomfortable.

"Thank you, John. I appreciate it you know. Would you like some tea? Since you've come all this way?"

Both men nodded but Lestrade is the one to immediately tell her, he'll do it. He guides her into the living room with John. There are still a few officers milling around - her protection she suppose as she is ushered onto the sofa where John sits. She's now away from her room and from the detective who could freely roam around if he wishes to. Or would he leave? Molly tries not to think about it, she has to focus on whom she's around and how to not raise any more suspicion. John turns to her hesitantly.

"Alright?" He asks, his gaze locked on her. He's searching for something. Molly doesn't know what but she lets out a little nervous sigh.

"Yeah, and you?"

He lets out a little noise of affirmation.

"Fine."

It is quite awkward after that; it seems to go smoothly once Lestrade comes back with the tray of tea. Molly consumes herself with drinking it. Chamomile; supposed to calm her down. She's still feeling a bit rattled but this is okay.

Lestrade decided to go ahead to ask her questions like how he usually did on his cases. Molly silently prayed that his deduction skills had not honed itself with Sherlock's death as she lied through her teeth about what had happened in the house earlier. She described everything to be a burglary which she managed to get out of, though not entirely convincing. She could feel John's suspicious glare next to her, blinding her with the guilt of lying, but she did her best to ignore that voice chiding in her.

When Lestrade was done John, who had been quiet during the questioning spoke up. Lestrade had left to put the tray of empty teacups away.

"Why was Mycroft called? I recognize some the men from previous arrangements…" He told her.

"I don't know. I suppose he felt pity for me. Most people do these days. I imagine he has been keeping an eye on me though I'm not really sure why. I wasn't really in his brother's life. I just don't really know John."

Just as Lestrade was coming back in John reached over and patted her hand. "You did matter to Sherlock. I think he just wasn't sure how to not to be a complete dick due to your affection towards him. You're still working at Bart's. That counts for something."

"Well, I've always had my job even before Sherlock Holmes came into the picture." She told him truthfully. That was her one constant in her life. She would have to go back in the morning. She'd rather just not for one day. She was quite exhausted now. The adrenaline of the past hour or so had finally vanished.

"Would you like one of us to stay?" Lestrade said as he noticed how tired she looked.

Molly saw her window of opportunity and exaggerated a yawn. She shook her head politely, and then stood up to send them off. She gave them a small smile, convincing enough to let them know she was okay. They exchanged some hugs before finally dispersing the house, leaving her rushing back into the bedroom.

She slowed her pace as she entered to see Sherlock watching from the window overlooking the streets. She knew exactly which car he was eyeing on, and stayed silent until she knew the car had gone.

Sherlock could feel Molly's gaze on him. She was worried, within good reason he supposed. He almost got caught by two of the people he had "died" to protect. He stayed there looking out the window watching not only the cars but the people.

He would step back in a moment; this wasn't Baker Street where people once were used to seeing a lanky man brooding at the window. He wasn't brooding now; he needed to see his friend. He missed him. Missed all of them. He let out a sigh, his eyes shut for a brief moment.

He turned around to see Molly walking about the room. The door was closed now. It was quiet again. If he listened close enough he would know without even having to deduce that they were alone once again.

Molly gave him a little smile and walked towards him. She interlaced their fingers together and lightly cocked her head to the bed. He knew exactly what she had meant, it's been a rough night, let's get some rest, and come to the bed with me. She pulled him along by his hand, him moving slightly emotionlessly with her.

Molly let go of his hand as she climbed onto the bed, only to be surprised by Sherlock not only joining her, but also slipping his arm around her waist, pulling her to close contact.

Sherlock didn't think too much about what he was doing. His body was reacting to a need that he couldn't yet truly could grasp. It wasn't something tangible, though Molly Hooper was at this moment. When he was a boy there had been times when he would just grab hold of Mummy when she would be there with him and not let go. She was safe for him. Molly was safe. She was soft and caring even with the few ragged lines across her skin. He tucked his face into her neck. Taking a deep breath.

He spoke to her, "Can you promise me something Molly?"

Molly looked down to meet his tender gaze still tucked under her chin. His former evil glint had disappeared, so had the piercing pain from before. He looked almost at peace as he held her close. She didn't know why, but she didn't ask. 'It could be the adrenaline crashing', she told herself. She stroked his curls and spoke, her voice in a soothing sleepy whisper, "Anything for you."

"Forget about everything that's happened tonight. I don't enjoy the idea of you associating myself with bad memories. I think I've done that enough. Just, forget it." He told her, his eyes tightening close. He had thought about asking something else but this was what was on the tip of his tongue. He needed her to forget all of it for now. It wasn't necessary.

Molly stopped caressing his hair when he was done. She didn't know whether she could forget that Sherlock, but she lied anyway.

"Okay," she chirped, her heart beginning to pound a little faster, as she continued to twist his curl in her finger. "Goodnight Sherlock."

Sherlock noticed the pause and her increasing heartbeat, but chose to say nothing about it.

"Goodnight love," he said, ignoring the stiffening Molly under him, he will blame it on the adrenaline tomorrow if he must.

Did he really just say that? Love?

Molly lay there for a few moments trying to decide whether or not the man had gone too far into that head of his. She decided that he must have. Terms of endearment weren't his thing. It took him a good long while to even come to think of others who were clearly his friends as friends. It was the adrenaline. It had this weird effect on him. Molly relaxed after a moment, a smile on her face as she sighed, her eyes closing as she fell asleep. A part of her hoping that he would maybe return into the robot of a man that he was and the other half struggling to come to grips with the idea of an affectionate Sherlock Holmes.

As Molly closed her eyes, the night's happening flashed before her eyes. It frightened her at first, but she loosened up once she ignored the fact that she was the hostage for the night. She watched flashes of the scene unfold and slowly came to realization that she might have dug a place in his heart. She wasn't sure what to feel about that, but she knew she liked that idea. As that image seeped into her mind, she cautiously drifted into sleep, not wanting all these to end when day breaks.