It's the time of the month for Molly!

I was inspired to write this because of what I am currently going through and feeling (and also what I used to deal with when I was a bit younger).

So yeah, it just, sort of happened.

I am sure all of you here have had experience (hopefully not to this extent!) with what goes on in this story.

Anyway, enjoy!

And please leave reviews/comments if you like, I love them! :)

AHEM: Decided to turn this into a series called Alphabet Soup, namely that I will be going through each letter of the alphabet (not in proper order obviously), should be fun!

F - Flow

It hit her suddenly; a great wave of nausea and a painful ache in the lower pit of her belly. Molly inwardly cursed herself for having forgotten to check her calendar this morning. She had gotten so good at doing that, what had caused her to forget? She gripped the cold metal autopsy table with her gloved, slightly bloody hands, as another wave of nausea hit. In spite of the coolness of the lab she could feel perspiration forming on her forehead. It was no use, she had to get out of here; she had to go home. Once more she cursed herself for not having paid more attention to her bodily schedule.

With a few deep breaths she brought herself back to her full height and ripped off her gloves. Now to go and tell Mike Stamford. She inwardly cringed. Sometimes she really did not enjoy the fact that her boss wasn't a female. She already had a red-face inducing conversation with him before. Now it seemed that it would have to happen again. How she hated her body and its womanly functions, sometimes!

She struggled out of the morgue, one hand placed upon her abdomen, as she made her way towards his office. The hallway was empty, she was thankful for this, knowing that the paleness of her face would make anyone, even a stranger stop and ask her if she was all right. Another deep breath, here goes.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in!"

She opened the door and stepped inside. Mike looked up, his mouth dropping open at the sight of her. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to her.

"Molly! Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head, hoping that she would be able to speak without the nausea rising to her throat.

"Mike … remember …" She paused to take in a deep breath. "Remember several months ago when I had spoken to you about why I would be missing work, for several days each month?" She watched as his ears turned a faint shade of pink.

"Errr… uhm yes."

She fought back another wave of nausea. "I – I'm terribly sorry, I had told you that I would be able to give you fair warning beforehand, but I need to go home, NOW."

His eyes widened. "Absolutely! Don't worry about it, I'll be able to have someone come in, and I'll take over until they do. Don't worry at all. Would you like me to call you a cab? You look as if you can barely stand."

She simply nodded, swaying slightly. "Can I, can I go out the back? I really don't want to attract attention."

Mike gave his own nod. "Yes of course. Here let me call for the cab, why don't you have a seat?"

She fell into the offered chair, her hand still on her stomach, resting her forehead onto her other hand. She focused on breathing in and out, in and out.

"How about I get your things, they are in locker 22 right?" he asked.

She nodded again, not sure if speaking would be wise.

"I'll be right back," he told her.

She covered her face with her hands directly after he left. How embarrassing all of this was! And he couldn't possibly be any kinder about it. God bless the man for having sisters! Another wave of nausea hit her, much stronger than the ones before. She needed to get home, before it really consumed her.

Focusing her mind on her breathing, she didn't hear the office door open, or notice the sound of rustling fabric as someone lowered themselves in front of her. It wasn't until the faint smell of cigarettes and a slightly spicy scent hit her nostrils that she realized she wasn't alone.

Dropping her hands away from her face her eyes met two blue-green ones. They were filled with concern. It wasn't every day that the eyes of Sherlock Holmes looked concerned about anything or anyone.

"Why didn't you know not to come to work today?" he asked her.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "My mind was preoccupied. Mostly by you! Which in fact means that I could actually blame all of this on you."

His eyes narrowed. "Very funny. I would have said something to you before I left, but I thought you kept close attention to all of that." He waved his hand as he spoke the last word.

"I do," she moaned. "Usually. This is the first time that I've not paid attention to it. And oh God, I feel worse than ever!" She leaned forward pressing her hands over her face once more.

"The cab Mike called for should be here any minute; I brought you your things. Do you think you can walk, or do you need me to carry you?" he asked.

She lifted up her head and glared at him. "I am not letting you carry me out of here!"

He raised his hands in mock-surrender. "I merely asked!"

She struggled to her feet and he grabbed her elbow to steady her. After helping her on with her coat the pair of them walked out of the office and towards the back entrance. He put his arm around her, holding her close to him, his own large hand coming to rest upon her abdomen. They stepped outside, and waited. She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of his body beside her and his hand on her stomach.

The cab arrived. He helped her inside and slipped in next to her. He gave the driver the address to her flat. She curled into Sherlock, pulling her knees to her chest. He put his arm around her, before placing a kiss on her forehead. Ten minutes later they arrived outside her building. Now the real struggle was about to begin. The three flights of stairs; the lift had been out of order for many, many months.

"If you'd let me, I could just carry you up," he noted.

"No."

Molly began taking each step slowly, gradually increasing her speed. Sherlock stayed behind her, ready to catch her if she became unsteady once again. They at last made it to her door, just as a massive wave of nausea hit her. This was it. Sherlock flung the door open and she rushed inside towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and began to empty her stomach of all its contents. Her stomach heaved, causing the pain in her lower belly to increase. Tears were running down her cheeks, just like they always did. Suddenly she felt a pair of hands brush her hair back, placing it in a hair band. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Don't come in here!" she whimpered, and heard him chuckle slightly.

"That statement is rather null since I am already in here, and even when you tell me not to, I never listen," he said.

He sat down next to her, his hand rubbing circles on her back. She sat on her haunches, not entirely certain if her stomach was finished with her yet.

"Here." He handed her a damp towel and she wiped at her mouth, then her face, before passing it over the back of her neck.

She let out a frustrated sigh. "I hate this. Sometimes I really just want my ovaries removed."

It was a stupid thing for her to say. Especially in front of the man who was sat beside her. But pain like this often caused her to speak silly things. It was times like these though that made her love the very man beside her even more.

"You don't mean that." He kissed her temple. "You wouldn't be able to have children, which I know you very much want. And so do I. Eventually."

They hadn't exactly ever broached that subject, and this was most certainly not the appropriate time. Her nausea abated, for now at least, but her cramps were beginning. She slowly rose to her knees.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah, a little bit."

He helped her to her feet.

"Get into bed," he instructed. "I'll make you some tea."

He left the bathroom and she quickly brushed her teeth; hating the taste of sick in her mouth. She removed all of her clothing, except for her knickers and took care of the necessary requirements of her body, before stepping into her bedroom and slipping under the sheet. She lay down on her stomach, hiding her face in her pillow. No one would ever believe her if she told them how excellent a carer Sherlock could be.

The cramps were increasing in intensity. She let out a moan just as he walked back into the bedroom. She felt the bed dip as he sat down on the mattress beside her. Rolling over onto her back, she sat up and took the offered tea and two pills from him. After a few sips of tea she let out a satisfied sigh.

"I heated this up for you as well," he said, showing her the hot compress before placing it on her stomach. She reached out and grabbed at his shirt, pulling him towards her so that she could kiss him. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, noting the minty taste of her toothpaste.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Not many girls' boyfriends would do so much for them."

He humphed. "Then they are idiots!"

"Most men are disgusted by it, or just horrified, wanting nothing to do with it."

He humphed again. "Again, idiots. It is a perfectly normal body function. There is nothing disgusting about it."

She smiled and leaned back into her pillow, continuing to sip at her tea.

"Want me to stay?" he asked.

"Yes! Why would you think that I wouldn't?"

He shrugged. "Didn't know if perhaps you wanted to sleep."

"I sleep better when I'm with you."

He smiled and kicked off his shoes before getting up and walking around to the other side of the bed. He slipped under the sheet and pressed his body up against the side of hers. She sighed happily, continuing to sip her tea.

"I told Mike you wouldn't be coming in tomorrow, or the day after," he said to her.

"Three days? Really, Sherlock? I'm only like this on the first day, I'll be fine tomorrow."

He shook his head. "You don't know that. Remember last month?"

She exhaled loudly, remembering all too well how she had repeatedly thrown up for two days straight. "That was unusual. And it only happened that one time."

He started to kiss her shoulder. "It is best to take the necessary precautions."

She finished her tea and placed the empty cup on her nightstand. She moved down until she was on her back, repositioning the hot compress on her stomach. Sherlock gently placed his hand over it. She turned her head, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

"I'm going to repay you for your kindness when this is all over," she mumbled into his skin.

He cupped her chin in his hand tilting her head back just enough so that he could kiss her, before saying, "You always do."