Molly phone bleeped and it woke her up.

Put the news on. GL

Molly sleepily headed out of her bedroom into the lounge, and put on BBC News 24. Something about a shooting. A shooting at a place called Appledore. She'd heard of that. She'd heard Sherlock talking about that place. Oh shit. It's Sherlock. What's he doing on the TV? Why has he got his hands above his head? Why are they handcuffing him? Oh shit. What's happened.

What's happened? MH

Sherlock's shot Magnussen. He's in custody now. GL

Molly collapsed to her knees. Please no. Sherlock, what the hell have you done?

She lept to her feet. There was a body. And a shooting, which meant one thing. The body would be at Barts for a post mortem. She needed to be there. She needed to know what had gone on.

At the police station, Lestrade was pacing backwards and forwards. Mycroft was on his telephone. John was sitting quietly in the corner, staring into space in shock.

"The bloody idiot" Lestrade said over and over again "The bloody idiot. Why on earth?"

Sergeant Donovan popped her head around the corner "Always said it. Said that one of these days there would be a body in the morgue and Sherlock Holmes would have put it there."

"Shut up Donovan" snapped Lestrade. He walked over to John "John, this is Sherlock we are talking about. He doesn't do things without planning them. So, what the hell has he done and why did he do it? He has to have a reason. There has to be an explanation."

"Motive and reason are entirely irrelevant" Mycroft responded "I regret to say that my brother is a murderer, and as such we must deal with him accordingly." He returned to his phone call.

Lestrade paced some more. Mycroft ended his telephone call. John looked up to see what was happening. "I do believe that there is not a prison we can incarcerate Sherlock Holmes in" Mycroft explained. "It has been arranged in the short term he will be placed under house arrest whilst we decide upon a suitable punishment for him. There is, what you might say an element of support for my brother on his choice of victim. Perhaps Magnussen wasn't the most popular of people, but it is still murder. Cold blooded murder."

Lestrade nodded, and set about sorting out the relevant paperwork. He knew that Sherlock would be punished, and that was to come, but at least for now he could get home. A home under police guard but at least it was home. There Lestrade may be able to talk to him, to understand why, and perhaps even to sort things out.

Sherlock was back at Baker Street within a few hours, with a police presence mounted at the front door. Sherlock was utterly drained from the events of the past 24 hours, and unlike him, fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. But it was not a restful sleep. Flashes of the events of the day hit him. His drugged, unconscious parents, of the shot, and the memory of his own pain upon being shot. But most of all his mind went to Molly. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have extricated the documents relating to Mary and then to let Magnussen get on with his life. He was supposed to come home and to know Molly was safe, and to fall back into her arms, but it wasn't going to be. One moment of cold blooded realisation that the documents didn't exist and everything had to change. Sherlock had to end Magnussen's life. He had to save John and the baby. He had to pull the trigger. He had to sacrifice himself for John, or he would never have been free. He would never have been safe. He'd always have been looking over his shoulder. John, the man who had saved him, now needed saving himself, and Sherlock was the only person who could do that.

He lost count of the number of times he woke up in a cold sweat. The number of times the rush of sheer panic waved through his body. The number of times the pain in his stomach grew at the thought of not being able to hold Molly again.

He woke up with a start, conscious of a noise in the flat. At first he thought it was John come to visit but the footsteps were too light, too quiet, too familiar.

He climbed out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown, noting the time as 9am. He'd been home and trying to sleep for 4 hours. It had been a long night. He let out a stifled yawn, mad at himself for being tired.

He walked out into the kitchen and there she was. His Molly. Looking like she'd not slept all night, with her hair scraped back and her scruffy jeans on. She made two cups of coffee and then sat down at the kitchen stool in silence, her head looking at the surface of the table. Sherlock sat down on the opposite side of the table to her, and sipped the coffee she'd made for him.

Eventually Molly spoke "He wasn't a very nice man, was he? Everyone I've spoken to says he wasn't a very nice man. A really horrible man actually. Is that why you did it?"

Sherlock stared at his coffee. He couldn't speak. He hadn't expected to be hit with a question like this from Molly of all people. He hadn't expected to have to speak about it at all. He'd made a decision to shut it out. To close himself from it. It had happened. He couldn't change it.

"I went to the morgue" Molly continued. "I saw his body. It was a clean shot. A clean kill shot. At least you did it properly."

Sherlock let out a nervous laugh and continued to stare into his coffee. He sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity to Molly.

When he did speak, he simply said one word "Sorry."

"Why?"

Sherlock could hold back no longer. The last 24 hours had drained him of all emotional strength he had left. What was it John had said 'Let go and I think you'll enjoy it', wasn't it? Well perhaps if he let go now, he certainly wouldn't enjoy it, but he might be able to help Molly understand why he did what he did, both to her and Magnussen.

He let it all pour out. He told Molly the whole story. About how Magnussen played on people's weaknesses. Their pressure points, and how he exploited them for his own gain. For blackmail. And for him, John had always been his pressure point until he met her. He wasn't prepared to put her in danger. Magnussen had to believe that John was still Sherlock's pressure point for the plan to work. But John was no longer his pressure point, it was her. She was the one who mattered the most. She was the one who was in danger from Magnussen, so he had to do something about it. He had to protect her. To make sure she was safe.

Molly sat and listened to Sherlock, her mouth agape. She knew something had happened which had made him pull away. She knew that his behaviour wasn't as she'd expected. She knew he still cared. And the more he spoke and the more he explained, the more she knew he still cared. He still wanted her by his side.

Sherlock finished talking and Molly stood up. She walked over to him, and held him. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you at least give me some kind of indication?"

"Because Magnussen had to believe John was my pressure point. You were being watched and observed. If you had known I was lying, you would have behaved differently. Magnussen had to believe that you and I had split up. That we were over. It was the only way to keep you safe. And then once it was sorted out and the case closed, you and I were going to be back together. I'm so sorry, Molly. Now I've gone and blown it all by shooting him."

Molly held Sherlock even tighter, then lifted his head. She kissed him on the forehead "Don't talk about it. Lets just have today" And with that she stood him up, held his hand, and led him to the bedroom.