At long last! I'm finally sharing this with everyone :D

I have been working away, off and on with this fic since May.

It is one of those that my brain decided to throw me and refused to leave it alone until I started to write it.

For some odd reason, I didn't want to start posting it until I had it written in full.

This will be 10 chapters long, and I am going to drag it out by not posting them all at once, HEHE!

Anwyay ... enjoy :)

Part One - The Benefits of working at Barts

It had started out as a simple stomach ache, nothing too horrible, more annoying than painful. Molly decided to skip breakfast and settle for only a cup of tea. The pain faded off a bit, but by the time she arrived at Barts she was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. She got another cup of tea and forced herself to ignore the storm that was beginning to rage inside of her stomach. Perhaps it was just a warning of her approaching menses.

She had always prided herself on her work ethic. She was very devoted to her job, and never left her work half-finished or incomplete just because she had reached the end of her shift. But now she was silently cursing herself and her determination to work through the pain. All she had to do was go to her boss and tell him that she didn't feel well and he would send her directly home. He was a wonderful boss, and had on several occasions told her to take the rest of the day off when he knew she wasn't feeling well. She had never opted to ask him herself, she always waited until she was told (more or less forced) to go home.

Continuing to ignore the roll and swell in her belly, Molly pulled on a pair of gloves and turned about to face the examination table. That was a bad idea. The room began to spin; she couldn't find a spot to focus on. She stumbled forward, her palms hitting the table, steadying her slightly. Her ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton, the sound of the morgue doors opening trickled faintly in.

"Molly?"

The deep voice sounded to her as if she were underwater. The room was tilting now, why could she suddenly see the ceiling?

"MOLLY!"

The next thing she heard was something beeping. Her head hurt, and her stomach felt rather odd. There was also a strange sort of pressure on her hand. Not uncomfortable, or painful, just strange. Her eyelids felt as if there were lead weights holding them down. She struggled to blink, to open her eyes. When she finally managed to do so, it was to a darkened room. She tried to move her head to the side, but found that to be rather difficult, so she accepted defeat for the moment and allowed her eyes to slowly drift around the room.

What happened? Why was she here? It was clear to her, in spite of the darkness that she was still at Barts but now in one of their rooms, in one of their beds. Ever so slowly it started coming back to her. She remembered feeling unwell, but that she still came to work. She remembered being in the morgue, and that she was getting ready to take out a body. That was when things became a bit fuzzy. What had happened after that? Oh. She must have fainted.

The pressure on her hand abated slightly, pulling her back to the present. She dropped her gaze down to the bed. Her eyes met the back of a dark head of curls that was lying beside her hand. The pressure she had been feeling was his fingers clasping hers.

"Sherlock?" Her voice did not sound like her own. It was course, raspy, unused.

The head of curls stirred, rolling to the side. His eyes opened slowly, he blinked several times before his head shot up. "You're awake! I should call the nurse. John told me I should call the nurse if you woke up." He moved to get to his feet but Molly stopped him.

"No. Don't, not yet. It can wait a minute or two. Please, don't go." She had turned her hand so that they were now palm to palm, and she was holding onto him as tightly as she could manage.

He settled himself back down in his chair, staring down at their clasped hands.

"What-what happened?" she asked him, her voice shaking.

Sherlock sighed, running his free hand through his curls. "Your appendix ruptured and you-you lost consciousness." He kept his gaze locked onto their hands.

"Oh. Why does my head hurt?"

"You fell, just as John and I entered the morgue. I couldn't get to you quickly enough; you hit your head on the edge of the examination table." He inhaled slowly, and it was only then that she fully realized how distressed he appeared to be.

"Sherlock? It's all right, I'm ok."

He looked up at her. The rims of his eyes were tinted red.

"I'm ok," she repeated.

He took in a shaky breath before slowly releasing it. "Molly, there's a reason I seem like a machine, that I put on a front and that I act as if I have no concept of what feelings and emotions are. The truth is, I know them far too well. When I was seven my dog Redbeard, my one and only true friend, got sick and had to be put to sleep. I was devastated. I promised myself that I would never become emotionally attached to anything or anyone ever again, because I didn't want to experience that pain of ... loss." He took in another shaky breath, his gaze having fallen back down to the bed. "Seeing you, lying on the ground like that - looking as if you were -" He shook his head, unable to speak the word. "I very rarely experience fear Molly, not since I was a little boy, but seeing you like that, I've never felt so afraid. I was terrified that I was going to lose you, forever. I don't know what I would have done if John hadn't been there. My mind, it just, shut down completely. I didn't want to stop holding you-" his voice cracked.

"Sherlock."

He took in yet another shaky breath before slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.

"Come here. Lie with me?" She gave his hand a slight tug.

His eyes dropped from hers and trailed over her body, hesitating over her stomach. "But your stitches."

"Please?"

Without another word he stood up. He toed off his shoes and slowly climbed onto the bed. He stretched himself out alongside her, cradling her hand to his chest. She turned her head until they were nose to nose, their eyes locking. She slowly brought up her other hand, careful not to disrupt the tubes, her movements sluggish. Ever so gently she ran her fingertips across his cheek. He leaned into her hand, closing his eyes as she moved her fingers into his hair.

"Sherlock." Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

His eyes opened. She could feel the tension in his body beginning to ebb away.

"Kiss me."

He may have hesitated when she asked him to join her on the bed, but he did not do so now. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers. She sighed into his mouth, nudging him with her tongue, desperate to deepen the kiss. Several minutes passed in pleasant silence.

She didn't need him to explain, to tell her why it had taken him so long to admit that he was in love with her. She could read him like an open book; she was the only one that had that ability. She had known, she had seen it in his eyes, and sensed it in his actions. He had taken so much care in making sure that Moriarty couldn't get his hands on her when he had made his return. He had made Mycroft keep her hidden, safely tucked away, in a tiny little remote village in Italy. She had known then but she wasn't going to be the one to call him out on it. She was willing to wait until he was able to do so himself. Molly had of course, not quite expected it to happen like this. But she was happy, nevertheless, that it had at last taken place.

They parted, both of them breathing rather heavily. He smiled at her, and she quickly smiled too. He gave her another gentle kiss before he sat up.

"As much as I want nothing more than to continue kissing you, I'm certain that John will have my head if I don't let the doctor know that you are awake," Sherlock said to her. He pressed his lips to her forehead before slowly slipping off of the bed.

Molly was frowning slightly, already missing his warmth, as he bent over to put his shoes back on. He straightened and leaned forward to now press his lips to hers.

"I'll be right back." He strode from the room, only to return a minute or so later with a tall, lean man in a white lab coat. Molly recognized him straight away.

"Doctor Wheaton! Hello."

He smiled at her. "Hello Molly. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts quite a bit, and my stomach feels a bit off," she told him.

Doctor Wheaton stepped closer to the IV drip and pressed the button to raise the level. "This should help with that. If the pain becomes unbearable you can use this button here to increase the morphine." He walked back over to the foot of her bed. "You suffered a minor concussion, and were given emergency surgery to remove your appendix. You're a very lucky woman, Molly. If it had not been for the quick action of Dr. Watson, you would be a lot worse off right now."

She could see out of the corner of her eye that Sherlock had clenched his hands into fists. "How soon will I be able to go home?" she asked the doctor.

"I would like to keep you here for at least two more days, just to keep an eye on your stitches and to make sure there aren't any complications from your concussion. I don't think that there will be, but it is better to be safe than sorry," he explained to her, giving a brief glance at his clipboard.

Molly nodded. "All right."

"When you do go home you will need twenty-four hour care. It would be unwise for you to be alone during the healing process." His eyes glanced towards Sherlock who had stood off to the side, before returning to Molly. "We can provide you with a nurse-"

Sherlock's voice cut in, "That will not be necessary."

Both Dr. Wheaton and Molly looked at him. His hands were still clenched in fists. Molly took in a breath before turning back to the doctor.

"Thank you, Dr. Wheaton."

The man nodded, side-eyeing Sherlock for a moment before saying to her, "You should try and get some more rest. I'll come back in the morning and have a look at your bandages." He left, closing the door behind him. The silence in the room was deafening.

Molly tilted her head to the side. "Sherlock," she spoke his name softly, watching as the tightness in his shoulders lessened and his hands unclenched.

He turned towards her, quickly moving closer to the bed. "You trust him. That's why I forced myself to hold back," he said in answer to her unasked question.

She lifted her hand, reaching for him. He took it, dropping down into the chair. He brought her hand to his lips.

"You heard what he said though, 'If it had not been for the quick action of Dr. Watson, you would be a lot worse off right now.' Am I really so useless? I could have just sat there and allowed you to die!"

"SHERLOCK."

He stopped, raising his eyes to meet hers. Her expression was fierce.

"You would have not allowed me to die. I know that you wouldn't have. John is a medical man, you are not; his training and instincts kicked in. You are not useless. Please don't feel guilty; I'm glad you were there to hold me. And even though I was unconscious, I am sure that somewhere inside, I knew that you were there with me."

He leaned forward and kissed her. She lifted up her free hand and placed it on the back of his head.

"Why won't I be in need of a nurse?" she asked when he pulled away. She was smiling, certain that she knew the answer.

His expression mirrored hers. "Because, you will be staying at Baker Street for the duration of your convalescence," he explained. He hesitated for a moment. "And I hope even after." He swallowed, his gaze drifting to the corner of the pillow. Her hand shifted from the back of his head to his jaw line, making his gaze return to her.

She was still smiling. "How about we just see how the convalescing goes, hmmm?"

"Ok."

They stared silently into each other's eyes for several moments.

"Toby is already at my flat. He's taken a liking to my chair."

Molly giggled. "Has he now?"

"Yes. The feline will not though, be allowed in the bedroom." Sherlock dropped his head back down and kissed her.

She laughed against his lips. "Stay? Please?"

He nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." He stood and once more toed off his shoes before stretching himself out alongside her.

"I don't even know what time it is," she said to him.

He glanced down at his watch. "It is nearing three in the morning."

"How long have I been out for?"

Sherlock shifted himself a bit closer to her. "Since the day before yesterday." He nuzzled at her shoulder.

"You look exhausted."

He glanced up at her. "I don't need sleep."

"Yes you do."

His eyes narrowed.

"How can I expect you to be able to take care of me, if you can't even take care of yourself?"

He let out a huff, but otherwise stayed silent.

"Get some rest, and I will too."

He shifted again, so that he could lay his head down on the pillow. She smiled, reaching up to brush back a few of the curls that had fallen across his forehead. He took her hand in his and kissed the palm, her smile widening. She wanted nothing more than to be able to lie on her side and curl into him, but at that moment that just was not possible. She leaned her head towards his, until their foreheads touched. She let her eyes drop closed, and with a smile still upon her lips, she fell asleep.

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And there we have it! Chapter one :D

What do you think? Have I caught your interest?! ;)

Please let me know if I should add any sort of trigger warnings/etc. at the beginning. I didn't go into detail or anything, but I don't want to upset anyone :-/

And I'm probably going to be taking some serious medical licenses ... is that the correct wording? Anyway, I'm not going to be perfectly medically accurate, and that's really not the point ... the point is Sherlock taking care of Molly ;D

Also, as always, please leave a review I drink them and eat them right up! :D