First of all, I want to say sorry for the delay. These past two weeks had been a complete mess. Almost everything turned upside down in my life and it was a rough process for me. During that time, I didn't feel like writing so I kinda neglected the story a little bit. That's why this chapter will be shorter than the others, and less detailed. Sorry for that :\

Nevertheless, I hope you like the new chapter and I gotta say thank you SO MUCH for the positive reviews coming from you guys. And thank you so much those who favourited and followed the story. Each and every one of you is the reason I keep writing this fanfiction! (:

Beta'd by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle. I appreciate your efforts so much and I cannot thank you enough, darlin'! (:

A/N: English is not my native language so please ignore my grammar mistakes if there are any. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this fanfiction. All credit goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.

After a month's time, Sherlock was about to set a new record for cases solved within that time frame.

Right after Molly left, Lestrade called him in for a new case out of town, and he immediately accepted it. It was a case about a man who was found dead in his own bathtub. Apparently, the wife thought her husband was old enough to be killed. Then she—of course—got all his possessions that he left for her. It took Sherlock approximately 5 minutes to figure it all out.

Then he accepted another case, then another and another and another…

After some time, Lestrade was left with no cases and Sherlock was bored as hell. His eyes kept staring at the skull on top of the fireplace. He knew there were some drugs left in there, but he had promised Molly that he would never do drugs again.

Yes, the same Molly who left you a month ago and vanished into thin air, his brain yelled at him. But then his other side yelled back: Yes, the same Molly who left you because you snogged Irene Adler in a hotel room!

He tried every way to stop this internal argument: he solved cases, played the violin two days straight without getting tired of it, talked to John every day, even talked to Mary; but no, nothing kept his mind away from Molly. Yet, every time he picked up his phone to call her, he felt like he had no courage left to do it. She had said she needed time and he was giving it to her. So he kept calling John, saying the same lie all the time: I'm not feeling well, I might relapse and do drugs again. Sherlock knew this would make John come every time he asked him to.

That's why John was in Baker Street once again, listening to Sherlock complaining about the lack of criminals outside. He kept saying he needed a case, and John kept saying there aren't any left because he'd solved them all. The conversation went on and on like that when finally John had had enough of his constant calls, constant complaints, constant screams of, "Get me some!" Enough was enough, and that's why he decided to call Molly. Sherlock was not in a good condition, and he hated seeing his friend like this. Sherlock was missing Molly, it was obvious. And John knew, wherever Molly was, she was probably missing Sherlock too.

So, without Sherlock seeing him—because he was now doing an experiment on a human toe for some reason— he went to his former bedroom in 221B and dialled Molly's number. She picked up after three rings.

"Hi, John." Her voice was sweet, unlike what John expected. He expected her to be angry, even cold towards him, but it seemed like Molly wasn't mad at him.

"Hi Molly. How are you?" he asked, still hesitating about the whole calling Molly thing. If Sherlock found out about it, he'd be very pissed.

"I'm fine, thanks. You?"

"I'm fine. I wanted to tell you that—"

Before John could finish his sentence, he heard his voice behind him. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock was pissed. John could tell by the look on his face and the way his hands were curled up into fists. Sherlock were throwing daggers from his eyes to John and he knew exactly who he was talking to. Now I'm in trouble, John thought. He was about to push the NO button when Sherlock snatched the phone from his hand and held it to his ear.

He took a deep breath before talking. "Molly, don't hang up," he pleaded through the phone.

Molly didn't give an answer immediately. But when she did, her voice was ice cold. "You made John call me?"

"No, I swear I didn't know he was going to call you! Molly, I want to talk to you."

Molly sighed through the phone. "Actually, I've been wanting to talk to you, too. Come to the address I'm going to send in a text."

"Alright," he said, and they both hung up at the same time. Then Sherlock turned around to face John who was about to say something and went past him to the living room. John knew Sherlock was mad at him but he had no other choice. Because John knew, after some time the violin and the books about science were not going to be enough for him. After some time, the cases were not going to suffice his needs. After some time he was absolutely going to seek comfort in drugs and relapse.

But Sherlock said nothing to him. John kept talking to him, asking questions about the situation, and Sherlock bluntly ignored him. He was getting ready to go to the address Molly sent him. The address belonged to a hotel which was out of town, and it'd take him approximately twenty minutes to get there. He didn't even question why she decided to stay at a hotel far away from Baker Street because the answer was as bright as the day.

So he exited Baker Street without uttering a single word to John and made his way to the hotel. "Drive as fast as you can," he ordered the taxi driver. He wanted to be there as soon as possible.

He took the stairs as he made his way to the third floor. When he was in front of her room door, he stood there for a few minutes. He had no idea what he was going to face. Had his Molly changed? Was she happy? Had she been crying? Did she find someone else?

Then he stopped thinking and knocked on the door. He knew he was going to have his answers in a few seconds.

She opened the door and he took in every detail just with a glance. She had purple circles under her eyes and some new wrinkles around her eyelids. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing pyjamas with a cartoon character on it which he was not familiar with. She had also lost a few pounds and had been drinking wine every night before going to sleep. It was clear she had been neglecting work, too.

Basically, her condition was no different from Sherlock's: they were both a mess.

"I didn't think you'd come today," she said. She let him in, and immediately started tidying the place up. She had some underpants on the ground, a few vests on the bed, emptied wine bottles on the nightstand… She had no idea where to start tidying up. She wanted to get rid of the wine bottles first, but then she remembered his incredible skills of deduction. He'd probably figured everything out already.

Sherlock knew she was trying to hide away her stuff but found it unnecessary. So he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. She turned to him and saw that he was standing close to her.

"You needn't have stayed at a hotel. You could have just told me to stay away," he mumbled and stared at her lips. They were swollen from her constant biting.

"No, Sherlock. I needed to stay away. To clear my mind, you know. I needed some time away from home, from work, from…you."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done what I had done. My weakness caused you pain and I hate myself for that. There isn't a minute that I don't regret my actions. I'm really sorry, Molly," Sherlock whispered as he leaned in closer. He was now inches away from her lips.

Molly smiled at him. "I know. I forgive you." He smiled back at her and was about to kiss her when she stopped him and spoke again. "But know this: if you ever, ever do something like that again, I won't be able to forgive you again. I'm giving us a second chance so please don't ruin it, Sherlock. I want this to work, more than anything."

Sherlock sighed against her lips with relief, knowing finally he was forgiven. At that moment, nothing else mattered to him. He just wanted to hold her and kiss her, feel the warmth of her body that he has been missing this whole time. So he just couldn't hold himself back anymore and gave her a chaste kiss. Then she hugged him. It had been a long time since they had hugged properly. She noticed how much she had missed his warmth, the scent of his cologne. She had almost forgotten what a big comfort it gave her to listen to his heartbeat. So she smiled against his chest and he kissed her head, putting his chin on top of it. They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity for both of them. Then Sherlock put his finger on her chin and made her look up at him.

She bit her lip, knowing that look oh so well. But he wasn't the only one looking that way.

"I missed you," Sherlock whispered against her lips.

She smiled knowingly and nodded as she took his hand and led them to the bed. "I know."

So, things are better now! Whew… For a time, I thought of making Sherlock turn into a total mess before they made up, you know. But then I thought, we need Sherlock strong. That's why things turned out like this. Smut on the way, by the way ;)

Oh and, did I mention I LOVE reviews? ^^

xoxo Louvreangel