Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read this story. It really means a lot! :)

Molly closed her eyes, feeling as the warm water of the bath soaked into her skin. She grabbed the soap and slowly began to scrub, reveling in the clean feeling. After washing her hair, Molly slowly lifted herself out of the bath. She began to dry herself with a towel, when she heard a knock on the door.
"It's Mrs. Hudson dear. Violet told me to bring you a nightgown."
"Oh…um thank you. You can just hand it to me." Molly felt the cool air from the room begin to seep in as Mrs. Hudson cracked the door open. Molly took the immaculate nightgown from Mrs. Hudson and pulled it over her head. She noticed the intricate floral design at the hem and the small flower on the chest.
"Where did she get this?" Molly asked, exiting the bathroom.
"Oh, don't you just look darling." Mrs. Hudson gushed. "It's one of her old ones dear."
"She didn't have to do that" Molly whispered as she began to dry her damp hair.
"Do you need a dressing gown dear?" Mrs. Hudson inquired.
"May I have a blanket instead, please?"
"Of course. I'll go get one for you, dear." Mrs. Hudson exited the room. Molly picked up a brush from the bedside table and began to brush her hair. She had forgotten how long her hair actually was after wearing it up for so long. It came midway down her back and she could feel the moister beginning to soak into her nightgown. Molly pulled it over her shoulder and began to braid it. Just as she finished, Mrs. Hudson reentered the room with a brown woolen blanket.
"Thank you." Molly took the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Mrs. Holmes said she sent some food to Sherlock's room if you'd like to eat. I'm afraid we've already had dinner."
"I'll pop by to get some food. How is he doing?" Molly avoided Mrs. Hudson's eye, knowing that the woman knew who she was referring to.
Mrs. Hudson gave a sly grin "He made it up the stairs ok, but I'm afraid there's going to be puddles all around the house for a month."
"That's good; that's he's improved, I mean! Not the part about the puddles." Molly looked down bashfully. It was at that inopportune time that her stomach decided to grumble.
Mrs. Hudson chortled. "Why don't you go get some food? It seems you need it."

"Are you feeling any better?" Molly said, hesitantly opening Sherlock's bedroom door.
"Actually being clean has done wonders for my health." Sherlock replied. Molly walked through the door to find Sherlock sitting on the edge of his bed wearing his pajama pants. He had taken all of the bandages off and Molly could see the scars. She slowly walked forward and began to inspect them.
"Is anything sore?" Molly asked as she began to lightly poke and prod Sherlock.
"None more than usual. I've had worse." Sherlock shrugged, trying to keep himself from grimacing. Molly gave a nod and backed away from Sherlock. He picked up his shirt that was lying next to him and put it on. Molly walked over to the desk where the food was, and began to nibble on a slice of bread.
"Would you like some?" Molly inclined her head towards the soup and bread on a platter.
"I'm not partially hungry-"
"Eat" Molly's stern voice cut him off, handing him a bowl and spoon. Sherlock's eyebrows rose, practically disappearing under his damp hair. He swiftly took his food and began to eat it. He almost had to spit it out when the heat of the food contacted with his mouth. He swallowed it quickly, feeling the warm feeling travel down his throat.
"Potato. Yummy." Sherlock managed to choke out. Molly turned away, failing to hide her smile.
"Well, aren't you going to have some?" Sherlock asked.
"I was-I was going to bring some to my room-"
"Stay…please."
Molly turned to see Sherlock sitting there staring at her. Molly was shocked to see the vulnerability and openness in Sherlock's face. She couldn't resist, not after he'd asked her so nicely. So she gave a small nod and went to get herself some soup. She awkwardly stood there with her bowl, eating her soup. After finishing her food and checking to make sure Sherlock had eaten all of his (he had), she quietly placed the bowl back on the tray.
"So…um, at the risk of making you angry, is it any use asking about your nightmares?" Molly inquired.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Sherlock said, his tone void of any emotion.
"You haven't been sleeping, that much is obvious. Judging by what happened the first night I was here, I think it's safe to guess that you've been having nightmares. Am I correct?"
Sherlock sat in silence staring at the wall.
"Am I correct?" Molly asked again, her tone quieter.
"Every time I closed my eyes…I had one every time I closed my eyes." Molly wasn't sure if Sherlock had actually said it or if she was imagining things.
"What happened in the dreams?"
"I don't-"
"It will help. I promise…I promise it will help to talk about it." Molly hesitantly sat next to Sherlock on the end of the bed.
"Sometimes it's just a bright light, like just before the explosion. I feel myself falling back just like when I was injured." Sherlock started, quiet "But this time it doesn't end. It's just an explosion and falling, an explosion and falling, over and over and over again until I wake up. Other times it's been other people in the explosion; John, Mrs. Hudson, even Mary and my family have made appearances. But every once in a while it's…it's just…"
"Yes?" Molly scooted closer to Sherlock, almost touching his shoulder. Her tone was gentle and she placed her hand over Sherlock's, trying to comfort him.
"Sometimes it's just darkness. Everything is black, but for some reason I panic. I just get this overwhelming sense of fear. And this happens every time I try to sleep. I've stopped trying to get away from them. They happen every time…the only time they didn't was when I had tea with you."
"You need sleep." Molly said quietly, subconsciously beginning to rub his back. "Would it make you feel better if you had some warm milk before you go to bed?"
"I don't know."
Molly sighed. "I'll read you a story."
Sherlock snorted. "I'm not a child."
'And he's back' Molly thought to herself as she got off of the bed and walked over to the single bookcase. There, sitting on the middle shelf was Grimm's Fairytales. If she cared that it had migrated from the library to Sherlock's room, she didn't show it.
"Get under the covers please."
"I'm not-"
"Under the covers, Mr. Holmes."
Sherlock rolled his eyes but complied with her wishes. He laid down with his hands folded on the duvet and turned his head towards Molly. "Well?"
"Which story do you want to hear?" Molly sat down on the bed, covering her legs with the brown blanket.
"I have absolutely no preference." Sherlock sassed.
"Random page it is" Molly muttered to herself, opening the book.
"It looks like we're going to be reading 'Lean Lisa'." When Sherlock made no sound of disapproval, Molly continued on with the story.
"Lean Lisa was of a very different way of thinking from lazy Harry and fat Trina, who never let anything disturb their peace. She scoured everything with ashes, from morning till evening, and burdened her husband, Long Laurence, with so much work that he had heavier weights to carry than an ass with three sacks."
"She sounds rather boring to me." Sherlock mumbled. Molly turned and gave him a 'shhhh' before continuing.
"It was, however, all to no purpose, they had nothing and came to nothing. One night as she lay in bed, and could hardly move one limb for weariness, she still did not allow her thoughts to go to sleep." Molly felt Sherlock bring his arms under the blanket and lay on his side "She thrust her elbows into her husband's side, and said, 'Listen, Lenz, to what I have been thinking: if I were to find one florin and one was given to me, I would borrow another to put to them, and thou too shouldst give me another, and then as soon as I had got the four florins together, I would buy a young cow.' This pleased the husband right well." Molly heard Sherlock yawn and felt herself beginning to yawn. "'It is true,' said he, 'that I do not know where I am to get the florin which thou wantest as a gift from me; but, if thou canst get the money together, and canst buy a cow with it, thou wilt do well to carry out thy project. I shall be glad,' he added, 'if the cow has a calf, and then I shall often get a drink of milk to refresh me.'" Molly turned to see that Sherlock's was dozing off, and a small grin graced her lips. She quietly shut the book and tip-toed over to the bookcase, placing the book back where it came from. She was beginning to pick up the blanket when Sherlock stirred making a slight whine. His brow creased and his mouth morphed into a frown. It was obvious to Molly that a nightmare was beginning.
'It wouldn't do too much harm if I were to sleep in here would it?' Molly asked herself, looking down at Sherlock.
'It wouldn't be proper…but he needs me…but what would Mrs. Holmes say?!...But he needs me…" Molly argued with herself for seven minutes before finally deciding that more nightmares and sleepless nights weren't worth the risk of being proper.
She laid down, staying on top of the duvet (some measure of dignity had to be intact). Wrapping herself in her blanket she soon found herself drifting off to sleep. Just before she lost consciousness, Sherlock gave another small whine. She reached out, took his hand in hers, and fell promptly to sleep.