Molly held Sherlock in her arms as his sobs rattled through him, effectively soaking her t-shirt. The events that had transpired at Sherrinford with all of the secret puzzle pieces revealed had been too much for him to handle. Sherlock Holmes was emotionally compromised; the dam had been broken and there was no going back. All of that pain and terror now came back to haunt him as well as his realization that he had nearly lost a future with the woman loved.

His tears subsided as Molly gently twisted his curls with her slender fingers, cradling his head against her chest. She was murmuring reassurances to him, attempting to soothe him. Her eyes were also rimmed in red, but, unlike Sherlock, her tears were silent.

"I'll never let you go," she whispered. "I'm here, always." He felt her rocking him ever so slightly, causing him to nuzzle his head upon her breasts for comfort, listening to her heartbeat. Sherlock wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

Eventually, Molly had given him his spare pajamas—green tartan pants and a t-shirt—and left him to change in her bedroom. He was settled in her bed when she returned with a cup of earl grey for him, made just how he liked.

"This'll help you sleep," she said, setting it down on the bedside table. "If you need anything, I'll be on the sofa, okay?"

"Molly," Sherlock finally spoke, his voice hoarse from crying. "Please, don't leave me here alone." Her heart ached for him and all that he'd been through. Slipping into bed beside him, he immediately latched on to her, his arms holding her tight to him like a child gripping their favourite stuffed animal. Molly wiped his tears from his cheek and kissed his forehead.

"Just close your eyes and sleep. You'll be alright," she assured him. "No one can hurt you now."

Musgrave Hall was on fire. Molly was screaming his name for help. Sherlock searched the entire estate but couldn't find her. He looked out the window and saw everything around him was on fire. Eurus stood outside, looking up at him with a grim smile on her face beside a grave marked 'redbeard.' Molly screamed again and then so did John. He stepped backwards frantically tripping over something behind him that rattled together as he fell. Victor's bones. His heart felt as if it were imploding with how tight it felt. Sherlock felt helpless. Useless. Everyone was dying around him; everyone he held dear. No sign of his parents or Mycroft. Sherlock Holmes was alone, and for once, he no longer wanted to be. He closed his eyes slowly, in defeat, as the flames took over.

"Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound."

Sherlock woke suddenly to the sound of a sweet lullaby being sung to him. The soft voice in his ear belonged to Molly who held a cold cloth to his forehead that had begun burning up during his nightmare.

"There's my Sherlock," she said as his eyes adjusted. "You're okay; it was just a nightmare."

"I was alone, so alone. Fire everywhere. I lost you and John and Vic—" his breathing became rapid again.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here. John's fine too," Molly told him. "He's stopping by to see you. I was so worried about the sudden fever you had acquired."

"Are you cross with me?" he asked out of the blue.

"Why on Earth would I be cross with you?" she inquired.

"I hurt you; I broke your heart. You have every right to hate me," Sherlock explained.

"Don't say that, Sherlock. I could never hate you. Yes, I was hurt, but I also know the situation was out of your depth," Molly told him. "I'm sorry I made it so difficult. I love you and I always want you to remember that even if you don't feel quite as strongly about me. All I ask is that you allow me to love you."

"I do," he blurted. "I mean—I love you too, Molly. I meant it. I mean it. I want to make you happy and I want a future with you. I want it all with you."

"Oh, Sherlock," she smiled, shaking her head. "I'm so happy to hear that, but for now let's just focus on your well-being right now. We'll have time for that when you're emotionally ready for it. I'll wait for you to be okay again, however long it takes."

Sherlock sat up a bit too quickly, the cloth dropping from his forehead. He didn't want to wait; he was tired of it. Gently cupping her face in his hands, he leaned in to kiss her. If he was going to heal, being with Molly was only going to help him, not hinder it. If she could mend his heart the way she could mend a cadaver, Sherlock was sure that he would be okay; maybe even more than okay. They were going to be alright, finally, safe and sound.