Once again thanking you all for the favs/follows/reviews. It looks like the issue with reviews is resolved and I will start responding with this chapter. I'm very grateful that no one is burning me at the stake for the "John" moment.

Hope everyone got a chance to read ma little 'Gran' story ; )

Trigger warning: Little bit more conversation about Molly's attack and some description of her injuries. Noting graphic at all.

Thanks again to the lovely Miz & Mrs for their assistance. I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~

Sherlock paced the length of 221B for the, oh, hundredth time. He was flummoxed and properly pissed off. His brother, in his infinite wisdom, had released his minion, citing that there was no cause to consider him any kind of threat. The man's record was spotless. Every interview with every ex-girlfriend cited his kindness and gentleness with them. His family and friends had said much the same. He had shown no signs of escalating behavior. His record with MI6 was impeccable. In other words it was Molly's word against his.

What Sherlock couldn't understand was why Mycroft wouldn't automatically believe Molly. They were raised right, after all; if a woman says she's been abused, you listen to her. Not to mention the physical evidence was overwhelming. Add in the fact that Mycroft had known Molly for years and it made no sense that he though her capable of something like this.

He also had the problem of finding... what had Molly called him...right: Agent McHandsy, and taking care of the piece of shit himself. He had warned his dear brother, he given Mycroft a chance to make this right. The old man just chose not to take it. This man had harmed a woman, a defenseless woman... well, perhaps not completely defenseless now that he thought about it. She had managed to get away and evidently done quite a number on the trained government agent, if his brother was to be believed. Something suddenly struck him. Ah, so that's why Mycroft didn't believe her. He thought if his agent had really tried to rape Molly, he'd have been successful. Disgusting. Suddenly Sherlock had even more of an urge to punch something or... shoot something. That's when he realised he still had John's Browning in his hand, he looked at the wall and took aim.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed from the sofa.

Fuck...

In an instant she was standing next to him, one hand on the shoulder of his shooting arm and the other on his back, rubbing slowly. "Hey, let's put the gun away... kay?"

He looked down at a terrified Molly Hooper. God, she was more scared than she had been when he and John had found her in his bed. "S-sorry Molly," he said trying to regain some control. He was used to John or Lestrade or even his brother seeing him like this. But Molly? It didn't seem right for her to see him on the verge of such violence, especially after what had just happened to her.

She forced a smile and continued to rub his back. "It's fine. But can you maybe put that away, for now?"

He nodded and turned to place the gun on the mantle; as he did he heard Molly release a deep breath. Turing back around he found her looking a little peaky. "Molly, oh my God. I'm so sorry. I should have sent you to stay with John and Mary."

She held her hand up. "No, no. I'm fine. Just a bit, wow! That's...you and a gun. I'm thinking you might be a bit too keyed up for firearms right now." She laughed.

He took a step back and looked at her, really took her in for the first time since everyone had gone. She was wearing his pajama bottoms rolled up, of course, and tied at her waist, still far too big for her. She was also wearing an old tee-shirt of his; though it was too small for him now, it still engulfed her. She had taken her hair down and clearly had brushed it out. He couldn't get over this feeling that had suddenly overtaken him. Someone had hurt her, someone had touched her and thought it was okay to... to... He glanced at Molly's damaged lip. The man had bitten her. It was angry and bruised; teeth marks still visible. Someone else's teeth. He looked from her bandaged wrist to her bruised arm. Then there were the injuries he couldn't see at the moment: boot mark on her shin, the bump at the back of her head, bruises on her upper arms. He had just calmed down and suddenly he was about to explode once again.

Molly must have sensed the storm building, because she approached him, though she was even more careful this time. "Sherlock, hey, what's going on?"

He didn't speak. He couldn't. He just kept looking her over; picturing what that brute had done to her- almost done to her. His friend, his pathologist, his Molly...

"It's been a very long day and I for one could use some sleep," she said, taking his hand.

As she laced her fingers with his he felt his entire body start to relax. "Yes," he finally managed. "You must be tired."

"Yeah, so let's get you to bed and I'll camp out on the sofa..."

"No!" he said taking her other hand in his. "You'll sleep in my bed. And..." He paused. "Ah..." He knew what he wanted, he just had no idea how to phrase it. How do you ask a woman who has just been nearly sexually assaulted if she would share a bed with you? "Ah..."

Molly looked up at him with concern. Well of course she'd be concerned, he was suddenly stammering.

"Sherlock," she squeezed both of his hands. "What is it?"

"I just don't want to be away from you... does that... can..?"

"Are you asking if you can sleep with me?" she asked.

He nodded. "I just want to... this is my fault."

Molly smiled, her kindest most reassuring smile. "Oh, Sherlock, it's not. Really." She stepped closer. "But if you'd feel better sleeping next to me, I mean, it's not like it'd be the first time." She giggled.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course. It's just I was worried that..."

"I'm not afraid of you, silly." She looped her arm in his. "Come on, let's go to bed."

They walked into the bedroom and Molly sat down. Sherlock gathered some clothes from his chest of drawers. "I'll be right back," he said as he exited the room. He went into the bathroom and started changing his clothes.

Molly was right, this wasn't a new situation. They had shared a bed many times when he stayed at her flat. It started after the Fall. Molly was sleeping on her sofa as she had insisted that Sherlock recover from his injuries in her bed. While she was at work one day he had drifted off into his mind palace, delving deep, trying to put together a plan to break apart the criminal organization that James Moriarty had built. He was lying on her sofa carefully organizing his thoughts. None of this would have mattered one bit, except... he had been smoking. He came out of his thoughts to find a smoldering cigarette on her cushion. He tried to put it out but it had begun to blaze by the time he got back into the room with a fire extinguisher.

Molly came home to find her sofa all but destroyed.

That night he insisted they share the bed and they continued to do so even after Mycroft had a new sofa delivered the next day. They never really stopped. As a matter of fact, her fiancé stopping by unexpectedly and finding just such a scene was the final nail in that coffin (a coffin that was well and truly assembled, if you asked Sherlock).

He finished brushing his teeth then proceeded back to the bedroom. Molly stood up quickly and walked out of the room as he walked to the other side of the bed and settled in. She returned a few minutes later.

"Feeling better?" she asked standing next to the bed.

He was, but only a little. Sherlock's mind was still racing, albeit slower, with thoughts of finding the agent and putting his fist down the man's throat. He was also concocting a plan to slowly replace Mycroft's waistcoats with smaller and smaller sizes, convincing him he was gaining weight (that was only a small part of the revenge plan.) And he was still feeling confused about Molly. He had no idea what to do with his emotions.

"Sherlock?" she disturbed his thoughts.

"I'm fine Molly, but you need some rest."

"Of course." She pulled back the covers and lay down. "Are you gonna try to sleep?"

He just stared at her. She sighed and snuggled under the covers and turned to face him.

"Well, I'm going to enjoy this bed. I bet it cost at least three times what I paid for mine." She giggled and he didn't respond. "Good God, Sherlock, I'm fine! I told you, he didn't do anything, not really. Just roughed me up a bit. Did it scare me? Yes! Do I want to punch your arse of big brother? Yes! But I promise you that I'll be okay."

He rolled to face her. "I feel responsible for all of this. And I never feel responsible for... anything."

She smiled and reached for his hand, which was lying on the bed between them. "I know. But, I just want you to try to relax and get some sleep."

"I can't when I'm like this."

Molly sighed. "What do you normally do to calm down?"

Don't be cute and say heroin, he thought. "My mind palace, helps. Ah, I'd probably just not go to bed. Not even attempt to sleep."

Molly nodded. "Well, I took one of those pills John left. I'll be okay if you want to..."

"No! I want to be here with you," he interrupted tightening the grip on her hand.

"O-kay, well..."

Sherlock suddenly had an idea, he acted before he could stop himself. "Can I hold you?"

Molly looked about as shocked as she possibly could. "Ah," She closed her eyes and shook her head. "What?"

"Well, touching you seems to calm me... I can't really explain it, Molly. I don't fully understand it myself."

Molly stared at him for a moment before speaking. "Yeah, I suppose that'd be okay. Um..."

They scooted closer to each other, then she turned around and switched off the bedside lamp. They were nearly touching when something dawned on Sherlock. "Um, I don't know... how would you like me to do this?"

"Well, ah, you normally sleep on your back. So, just get comfortable and I'll put my head on your chest... I suppose." She sounded very apprehensive.

"Is this going to make you uncomfortable because of what happened?" he asked as he rolled onto his back.

"No, it's not that, Sherlock. It's just... well. It's a bit confusing, that's all," she confessed.

"I'm not sure why I want this, honestly. But I just... need it?"

Molly smiled at him knowingly and put her head on his chest then looped her arm around his upper abdomen. "Is this okay?" she asked.

Sherlock sighed as felt his entire body relax almost at once. "Oh God yes."

Molly jerked her head up at him.

"S-sorry. I mean, yes. This is definitely helping."

She slowly put her head back down. He didn't quite know what to do with his hands.

"You were going to hold me."

"Right," he said as he brought his right arm around her back.

"Can you pull up the duvet, I'm a little cold," she said.

He pulled it up a bit higher, since it had slipped down, covering them both. She snuggled in, bringing her body even closer to his. Sherlock tightened his grip on her back then brought his head down and nuzzled her hair. "Thank you Molly," he said. "This seems to be exactly what I needed."

"Me too, Sherlock." Molly smoothed her hand over his chest and sighed.

Snuggles! Thanks for reading!