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thank you for reading this story and appreciating it with your reviews, favourites and follows. I am very grateful for all of them. So here's the next one. I hope you will like this. Let me know your opinion by reviews or any kind of way. I will be very happy if you do.

Sherlock woke up under the three blankets Molly had covered him with to avoid him shaking from freeze he felt, thanks for the fever and the painkillers. But he was hot now and with a wide, sudden move he threw away two blankets from himself. Sherlock regretted this quick action because felt the growing ache in his thigh. He opened his eyes to see Molly nowhere. As he stretched his neck to look around he noted with relief that her backpack was still there leant against the wall next to the door, and let his head fall back onto the mattress.

Sherlock felt the urge to call her shouting her name out loud, but suppressed it and decided to wait patiently. The staff room he settled in was without windows so he could use the lights freely anytime without being visible from outside. He switched the small storm light beside his temporary bed and reached out for his phone Molly had put beside him to check the time. It was half past midnight so he had been sleeping for more than half a day.

When he finally heard squeak the heavy steel door he turned his head to see Molly entering with her hair down in her long, light brown jumper. As she lifted her face she smiled weakly at him.

'You are awake?' It was more a statement than a question. Sherlock cleared his throat feeling it sore from the too much sleeping.

'Yes, I am,' he answered huskily.

As Molly stepped closer and kneeled down beside him, he was following her movements with his eyes. Her presence, her slow movements were so tranquilizing. Focusing on her, her well known face, long brown hair, on her familiar scent was... but something was wrong.

'Molly? Were you smoking?' Sherlock sniffed towards her.

'Hmmm, yes. Sometimes...when I am very nervous...I haven't had any since university. I quit after ... you know...my dad died.' She didn't look into his eyes but started to fidget with the hem of her oversized, worn jumper.

'Why are you nervous now?' Sherlock frowned at her. Molly suddenly raised her head and looked at him with a frown.

'Are you ... you kidding me?' Molly glared at him in disbelief. No, he wasn't, he really looked confused. Molly sighed rolling her eyes. 'I..uhm..You could have died. And it is ... not exactly the state I want to see you in.'

'But you've saved me.' His confusion melted away and his look became inquiring. Molly couldn't stand his glance and looked down on her hands again.

'Let me see your bandage,' she said shortly, clearing her throat and without looking at Sherlock, missing to see his eyes intensely following her every movement. She folded away the blanket to reveal his thigh. She gingerly removed the dressing and sighed.

'It seems it started to heal well. I change the dressing.'

Sherlock remained silent and motionless. As he was watching her working, his face was still. When Molly finished she covered him back carefully, stood up and shuddered.

'Now you have to eat. I've brought some tinned food.' Molly pulled out cans from her bag and walked back to Sherlock. Which one do you prefer?' And she put down four different tin in front of him. 'I think they have to be equally awful, sorry, I didn't have the proper time to cook something nice, because, you know, you were bleeding out somewhere in the middle of nowhere,' Molly added with a smile which didn't reach her eyes.

Sherlock pointed at one of them without looking, his eyes were still on Molly. He swallowed hard and started to speak as Molly walked back towards one of the cupboards he occupied, 'You are a doctor. I knew you could do it.'

'My patients rarely require lifesaving.'

'Nobody knows bullet wounds more then you.'

'Well, John...' Molly stopped and took a deep breath. 'Sorry. But why don't you tell him? He would be more effective help than me.'

'I can't, and you know why. If it's too much to ask...'

'Oh, no, no, no. I mean... yes...that's hard to see you wounded...but it's good. I mean it's not good that you've been shot, but I am glad I can help you. But I think I am not such as useful as John would be. That's all.' She shrugged to look easy, but Sherlock saw the small clench of the little muscle under her chin. She was still tensed and annoyed.

Opening the can Molly returned with a spoon in it and passed them to the now sitting man. He began to eat with suppressed disgust.

He murmured between two bites, 'This really is awful, but it's ...nourishment.' He glanced up at Molly with a small grin, taking the next bite. Molly smiled back at him shortly, and leaned back to the doss next to Sherlock's mattress and closed her eyes...

'Don't be ridiculous, Molly! Sleep on mine, I've already slept enough.' Sherlock dragged to the end of his mattress while wincing and looked at Molly expectantly. She didn't have enough energy to argue about anything with him. Being exhausted from the previous day she rolled over without a word where he slept before. She could feel the warmth of his body still lingering on the surface.

'If you need anything...' Molly murmured and yawned as she turned onto her stomach.

'I know, now go to sleep. In the morning you'll leave.' Molly's already half closed eyes snapped open.

'Oh, will I?' Her heart sank from Sherlock's cold words.

Sherlock simply nodded staring into the darkness of a distant corner of the room.

Soon he heard Molly's steady breathing and left his eyes to dwell on the small form of her body. Since that certain day he had been thinking about if it had been a good decision to make Molly involved in all of this. In this whole sick game Moriarty played, which he enjoyed first too much with all its puzzles and thrill. Molly was just a blushing girl in the morgue who had the misfortune to have a crush on him, which he had been using without thinking it twice. Although she was the key to his survive, this innocent, brave, loyal woman. He sometimes wished he would never let her into this rotten word of his, and would keep her safe where she belonged to. But she was his saviour, and all he could offer in gratitude was rushing her into danger constantly.

Sherlock swallowed hard and decided to serve himself from Molly's smoke. He stood up with bigger effort and pain he had previously assumed. After taking on a pair of jeans, which seemed an endless suffering, he wobbled to Molly's bag and searched it for the cigarette. It was low-tar, of course. With a roll of his eyes, he took one between his lips and limped out of the room. He leaned back to the door lighting the smoke he was so grateful for.

When Molly woke up in the early morning, Sherlock was sitting next to her paddling on his phone. He looked better and definitely cleaner, but the first thing she saw was that his curly mops were gone. He cut it short on the side and combed it back on the top. He looked so different.

'I can't risk being recognised during my trip. I leave the country today, I am done here for a while,' he said without looking up from his phone. 'I saw you rented a car in the city. I presume you borrowed a friend's car, drove to Northampton, then took a cab or a bus, to cover your tracks, and then rented this car. Am I correct?' He glanced up with narrowed eyes expecting appreciation.

'Actually both.' Molly said after clearing her throat to banish the huskiness. When Sherlock only raised one eyebrow in confusion she added. 'Took a bus then a cab.'

'Hmm' he nodded 'Clever girl.' He smiled with a warm smile she had never seen before. She blushed, a small grin spread on her face and her eyes fell.

'Now, you have to go,' said Sherlock returning his attention back to his phone.

Molly stood up slowly and stretched with a yawn. As she took on her shoes and gathered her stuff she constantly glanced at Sherlock, hoping to get some more attention from him, but of course, he stayed passive. When Molly was ready to leave, she was standing in front of the door, clenching the handle and changing her weight from one foot to the other waiting for Sherlock to say something or at least look at her.

'So, good bye then. Be ... safe.' She said as tears began to roll down her cheeks and turned to leave when she heard Sherlock's deep baritone.

'Good bye, Molly.' Molly froze but didn't turn to face him. She didn't want him to see her cry although she didn't know the exact reason of her tears. She felt sorrow for Sherlock, she feared for his life or she pitied herself for being in love hopelessly with this unbelievable git? She really didn't know.

As Molly was driving towards the city, constantly wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, her phone buzzed. As she read the short text, her face brightened up and Molly knew that this text will give enough strength to her pathetic, lovesick heart to hold on till next time.

Thank you, Molly Hooper.