The drive back to London was long and arduous. Sherlock kept on slipping in and out of consciousness, but not once did he move his hand from Molly's. Whilst Sherlock was out cold, she had a good look at his injuries that she could see. He definitely had at least one or two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, possible internal bleeding-it was a miracle that the man was still alive.

Just when they had reached the outskirts of London, John broke the silence.

"I've been thinking. We really can't take him to any hospital. I mean, the world at large still thinks he's dead. So you and I are going to have to take care of him ourselves."

Molly had been staring down at Sherlock's face. He looked like he was in pain, but he was currently unconscious. She looked up at the sound of John's voice. She hummed in agreement.

"I've been thinking the same thing, but John… I don't think he can go back to 221B just yet. We don't know if Sherlock has taken down Moriarty's entire network yet. I think just for now he's going to have to come back to mine."

John nodded, although his face seemed to suggest he was not particularly happy about the arrangement. John wanted Sherlock back, but he could see the logic in what Molly had said.

"You sure about this, though? You and I both know what he's like when he's cooped up for too long. Plus he's going to be in massive amounts of pain. He's going to be an even bigger git than before."

A groggy, baritone voice spoke up. "I resent that."

Both Molly and John laughed; it helped to break some of the tension. Molly looked down at Sherlock and stroked some of his wayward curls off his forehead. She softly spoke to him. "When did you wake up?"

Sherlock looked up into Molly's brown orbs. "Just long enough to hear you two whine about how much of a git I am." He gave a half smirk.

Molly smirked back. "If you weren't in so much pain right now, I'd slap you. You know, eavesdropping is considered rude."

John piped up "Look who you're talking to, Molly."

Molly gave a small laugh. "Good point." She then looked back down to Sherlock. "Get some rest. We're nearly there."

Molly was expecting Sherlock to put up some sort of fight. Instead, he closed his eyes and squeezed Molly's hand once more.

Once they had pulled up outside Molly's block of flats, they struggled with getting Sherlock inside. Even though he looked long and lanky, he was anything but. He felt like a dead weight, but he did try and manage to walk up the stairs. Molly wished that her apartment building had an elevator, but that would be asking for too much.

Once they had gotten up onto Molly's floor and somehow managed to get Sherlock into Molly's flat and into the spare bedroom, both doctors took to tending to his wounds. Molly went into her bathroom to grab the first aid kit. John went to the kitchen to boil some water and look around for some towels or anything else they might need.

When John joined Molly back in the spare room, he stopped short. He stared at all of the supplies Molly had. She had bandages, syringes, drugs, and plaster to set broken bones - even surgery tools.

Molly looked up and saw the look of shock on John's face and gave him a sheepish smile. "When you live with Sherlock, you never know what state he's going to come home in."

John gave a knowing smile at that. "Don't I know it."

From there, they both tended to Sherlock. They bandaged his ribs, set broken bones and dosed him up to the eyeballs with pain medication. Once they were done, they left Sherlock alone to sleep off the medication. They cleaned up their mess and sterilised the equipment they had used. Molly made them both a cup of coffee each and they both sat down in the lounge room, completely exhausted and shattered from the events over the last two days.

They sat in silence for quite a while, both trapped in their minds, reliving everything that had happened. Molly was sitting in her favourite armchair with her feet under her. She held the cup of coffee in her hands, but barely touched it. She was coming down from the adrenaline rush that she had been on ever since she got home the day before to find her home in such a mess. The flat still resembled a bomb site, but as far as she was concerned, the clean-up could wait a little while longer. Her body was exhausted from all of the exertion and lack of sleep, but her mind was racing. In her mind's eye, she kept on replaying the moment where she had shot Moran. It didn't feel like it was her that had squeezed the trigger. She had only realised that she was the one that had done it once John had come over and taken the gun out of her hands. But, now that she was home, it was all starting to hit her. She had taken someone's life. She had a gun in her hands. She fired a bullet and it had killed a man. Molly felt as if the walls were starting to close in on her. She couldn't get enough breath into her body. She started to tremble.

Suddenly, she heard a voice screaming her name and her shoulders being shaken. She came back to reality and looked up into John's face.

"MOLLY! Are you okay?! Are you alright? It's okay! It's over now… it's all going to be alright."

Molly was overwrought with anger. She pushed John out of the way and stood up and rounded on John.

"Alright? ALRIGHT?! No John! It's not alright! How can it be alright! I just took a man's life! I shot a man in cold blood! I… I… I" Molly couldn't finish. She felt like her world had just crumbled down around her. Her eyes were as big as saucers and tears were falling freely down her face. She still felt like she couldn't get enough breath in her no matter how hard she tried. All of a sudden she felt herself be pulled into a tight bear hug. John rubbed Molly's back whilst trying to placate her with soothing sounds. Molly just burst into tears and cried onto John's shoulder. She had never cried so hard in her entire life – not even when her father passed away. She felt all of the fight in her leave and hugged John back for all that she was worth. They both fell to the floor and John held onto Molly, soothing and cradling her until all that was left coming out of her was soft sobs. After a moment, John spoke.

"Molly… I've always believed that you were this mousy, quite person. I never would've suspected that you were capable of this type of strength. What you did… you did in self-defence. It was either him, or us. He was a psychopath. It's no wonder Moriarty had him as his second in command. You saved Sherlock. It was all you. Sherlock must've known that you had this in you; otherwise he wouldn't have put so much faith in you to not only help him fake his death, but to come after him and save him like you did. I'm not saying that you should be proud of what you did, but you do need to accept it. I'm an ex-soldier; I know how hard it can be to take someone's life. It's never easy. It's the biggest thing any human being can do to another. If I'm saying anything is, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you-and so is Sherlock in his own way."

Molly looked up at John with tears still in her eyes, but they weren't going to fall. She managed to squeak out a tiny 'thank you'.

With that, John pulled him and Molly to standing and guided Molly towards her bedroom.

"Now, I'm going to give you a sedative so you can get some sleep."

Molly started to protest. "But what about Sherlock? Someone's got to look after him…"

"With the amount of medication we gave him, he probably won't wake up until next Sunday. Don't worry about it. I'll stay and have a sleep on the sofa if need be. I'll look after you both."

Molly nodded at that. So she let John guide her into her bedroom and she lay down on her bed. John grabbed the medical supplies and dug around of the sedative and syringe that he needed. He then injected Molly's arm and sat with her until the effects of the drug took over and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Molly woke with a drowsy sort of feeling. She rubbed her eyes and looked over at her alarm clock. It seemed as if she got a good 12 hours sleep and considering the past few days, she certainly needed the rest. She stretched her aching muscles as best as she could, and got up out of bed. She grabbed her gown from her chair in the corner and proceeded to walk out of her room. She was about to turn and walk into the kitchen to make some coffee, but she heard voices coming from the spare room. She padded up to the door and was about to make her presence known when she heard Sherlock mention her name in a not so pleasant manner. She stopped short just before the door and leaned up against the wall. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she wanted to know why she was the topic of conversation.

"Sherlock, she is the one that saved your life, not me. You can't just ignore that fact!"

"I'm not ignoring the facts, John. I'm merely looking at them from another angle."

"She killed Moran to save your sorry life! " Molly heard John take a breath to try and steady himself. "You know why she did it, don't you? Why she came after you?"

Sherlock's voice became low and gruff. "Sentiment is a chemical defect, John. Whatever you are trying to insinuate, don't bother. I don't do feelings and I most certainly do not have any towards one Molly Hooper. "

Molly was shell-shocked. She didn't want to listen anymore, so she quickly turned and headed back into her bedroom. She closed the door as quietly as she could, and then sat on the side of her bed. Silent tears fell down her face. The rational side of her brain knew that Sherlock would never return her feelings, but to actually hear him say it out loud was crushing. She sat there, holding herself, letting the tears fall.

She had killed one of the most dangerous men in the UK – if not the world, to save Sherlock and he did not sound one bit thankful for it. It was typical of him. She didn't know why she expected anything different. Was she expecting his undying love and attention after this? A small part of her was saying yes, but that was only a very small part. She knew what Sherlock was really like. She was one of the few that could truly see him, so she should've known he would have put some form of wall up against her to shield himself from what was truly going on.

Molly became furious at this thought. She was mad at Sherlock, but she was mostly angry at herself for letting herself be played once again by the consulting detective. She knew that Sherlock was banking on herself and John finding him. She was played.

Molly wiped the tears away, got up and went to her closet to get changed. She then grabbed her bag and marched out of her room. She was about to head out the door when John appeared in Sherlock's doorway.

"Molly! You're awake! How did you sleep?"

"Fuck off, John." Molly didn't like swearing too often, but she was mad as hell and she didn't care who she directed that anger at. She opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind her.

John turned around and looked back at Sherlock.

"Do you think she heard us?"

Sherlock said nothing. He turned his head and looked impassive as he steepled his fingers underneath his chin, becoming deep in thought. John tried to decide whether it would be an idea to chase down Molly and try to explain, but thought better of it. She needed to calm down, so he walked into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea.

I'm such a bitch. I'm sorry!

But as always, nothing is ever as what it seems. ;)

Thanks again to everyone who has commented and have marked this in their favourite folder. It honestly does mean a lot. It makes my heart swell whenever I see a comment liking this story. So thank you ever so much.

And as always, thank you to my wonderful beta, Marilyn. She is an amazing person and she deserves all the love in the world. :)

Also, I now have an AO3 account. So I'll be updating this story both here and there as well.

Merry Christmas!