So, this is my first time posting a Sherlolly fic, so please be nice :) Although I do appreciate constructive criticism so feel free to leave a review. Thank you very much for reading. If I get enough positive reinforcement, the second chapter will be posted in no time :)

Molly grumbled, resting her cheek against the hand that was propped up by her elbow on the hard metal work surface.

2 am. Bloody 2 am! And he wasn't even here!

Molly had been unceremoniously awoken by her mobile vibrating off her bedside table, crashing to the ground of her bedroom and being batted across the wooden floor by Toby who was hissing at the sound it made. She'd groaned and stretched out of the bed in that way one does when they're determined not to leave the warmth of their covers. Sticking her tongue between her lips in a completely pointless effort to make her arm longer, she finally managed to get the phone into her hand and crawled back into bed. When she clicked the lock button she flinched at the brightness of the screen in her near pitch black room. 1 o'clock. Who was texting her at 1 o'clock? Sliding open the lock screen, Molly held back a heavy sigh.

Bart's. Now. -SH

She should have guessed. Shaking her head, she rolled out of bed, her feet flinching at the cool touch of the floor. It wasn't like she could say no to him, was it. Always eager to impress.

The door to the lab crashed open, jerking Molly from the sleep she had just dozed into for mere minutes, and more of the lights were turned on causing her to have to squish her eyes shut to let them adjust.

"Uh… evening Molly." offered John as Sherlock immediately began banging his way through cupboards to get the things he needed.

Opening her eyes again and nodding a little in acknowledgement, Molly didn't smile. She was tired. In fact she was fucking exhausted. Instead, she watched Sherlock's back, his long coat swaying at his legs as he moved about. When he turned towards her, she gasped audibly, her hand quickly covering her mouth.

The left side of Sherlock's face was turning a dark purple over his cheekbone which also had a large scratch across it, and the corner of his opposite lip was bleeding. "Apologies Molly. We got a little… held up." He smirked that Sherlock smirk, his eyes darting to find John's in a knowing glance. John just stood there, grinning in return at the man, his hands clasped behind his back.

Molly forgot all about wanting to yell at him for waking her up in the middle of the night and was instead trying to fight the urge to leap off her stool and comfort him even though he didn't need it. Especially not from her. She settled for wrapping her hands tightly in the sleeves of her thick jumper. "Wh-what happened?"

She could tell John was only barely holding back telling the whole story as he began to shake from silent laughter. He didn't though because Sherlock had shot him a look of daggers, daring him to. "Let's just say I had a rough night and end it there." His deep baritone slightly growling as if he were daring her to pry deeper just so that he'd have the chance to bite her head off for it.

"Er.. okay. What do you need from me then?" She bit her lip hesitantly.

Sherlock looked up from the bag he'd just pulled out of his coat pocket, his brow furrowed and eyes questioning her in confusion. "Need… from you?"

"Yes." When he continued with his lost look she sighed heavily. "Sherlock you woke me up and told me to come here. I was sleeping. I'm supposed to be working the early shift tomorrow… or I guess today."

His face relaxed as he remembered. "Oh. Right. Can you get me some more petri dishes?" He looked back down at the bag, began removing its contents with tweezers and set them on a clean slide, placing the slide under the microscope.

Molly just stared at him, her mouth open slightly, unable to believe that he had called her to the hospital to be his errand girl who fetched him petri dishes. She was trying everything in her power not to let out the tears that were threatening to escape from behind her eyes. She was tired and crabby, and apparently lack of sleep was making her more emotional than she usually was. When she didn't move from her stool, Sherlock's brows furrowed again in thought. A moment later, he glanced up from the slide he was placing and gave her a smile. A smile that could always melt her heart. It was as if he were saying 'Thanks darling.' even though she knew that was silly. Sherlock Holmes never thanked her. For anything. And she found it very unlikely that he would ever use a word like 'darling', especially concerning her. But like always, it did the trick. She slowly slid from her stool with a sigh and headed towards the door.

"Oh and Molly…"

She spun around quickly, hardly believing that he had something else to say. Was he going to say thank you?

Sherlock pulled off his coat and scarf and draped them over the work surface. He straightened up, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "A coffee. Two sugars." He flashed his smile again before sliding a stool underneath him and gazing into the microscope.

Sherlock barely glanced up when a cup was set near his elbow, his attention focused on his slide as he adjusted the zoom and focus to try and get just the right view.

"Is there anything else? Or can I go curl up on an examination table now?"

This made him knit his eyebrows in confusion. "Why would you do that?" It sounded ridiculous. Why would she want to lay down on a table she used to cut up dead bodies?

"Because I'm bloody tired Sherlock and I have the early shift today." It wasn't until he looked up at her that he realized she was right. Molly was downright exhausted. Her eyes were bloodshot from straining to stay open against the harsh fluorescent lights and there were dark circles forming underneath them. Her eyebrows were knitted tight as she stared at him in… what? Frustration? Anger? Molly didn't get angry. At least he'd never had a reason to try to push her far enough to find out what did make her angry. Maybe he'd done something now.

"I don't understand. If you're tired, go to sleep." He returned his gaze onto his work. That's what John did. In fact that's what he was doing right now. They'd been up for three days straight chasing leads around the city. This was their first somewhat quiet moment since the beginning and while John was supposedly reading over his notes on the other side of the lab, he'd rested his head on his arms and gone out like a light. Why didn't Molly do the same? He didn't understand the point of her being tired if she didn't need to be.

Molly's mouth opened and closed in shock at his words. "You… you told me to come here! You woke me up! You pulled me out of bed to hop in a cab and come here! And for what? To fetch you petri dishes and bloody coffee?! That's not a valid reason to pull someone out of bed and have them traipse across town in the middle of the night Sherlock!"

Sherlock lifted his head from the microscope again, this time his eyes slightly widened. She was yelling at him. Molly Hooper was yelling at him, Sherlock Holmes. It was a bit of a shock. It wasn't as if he'd never been yelled at before. He was yelled at every day, even when he didn't leave his flat, compliments of John. But this… this was something new indeed. Molly Hooper had finally snapped. She'd reached her limit with him apparently. When he didn't say anything, Molly spun around, tears spilling from her eyes, and retreated into the mortuary, slamming the door behind her.

Looking behind him, Sherlock couldn't help but be a little impressed with his partner. He hadn't woken up through any of that.

Molly leaned back against the wall, sliding to the ground. She swiped her thick sleeve over her face, trying to dry at least some of the wetness pouring down her face. She'd done it. She, Molly Hooper had finally cracked. In a moment of sheer frustration, she'd lashed out at him. She didn't usually do things like that. Especially not around Sherlock, who made her into a timid and blubbering idiot when he was near.

She sighed and pushed herself off the ground to go and apologize. Part of her wondered why the hell she was going to apologize to him. The other part of her looked back at his wide eyes and imagined there was hurt within them, even though she knew there wasn't. She pushed open the mortuary door, her lips already forming the words. Before she could speak, she closed her mouth. He was gone.

His scarf. His coat. Gone. The only thing he'd left behind was a mess. Well not the only thing. He'd also left behind his blogger, who was still passed out at one of the far tables. Did that mean he'd be back then, if he'd left John? She looked at the clock over the door. Quarter past four. It was pointless to even go home since her shift started at six. She'd only get an hour or so of sleep before she had to come back. Instead, she took a page from John's book and sat down at a table, resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes, intent on at least some sleep.

Sherlock hopped in a cab as soon as he left New Scotland Yard, his mobile in his hand and his eyes glued to it's screen. He hadn't bothered waking John when he found the evidence he'd needed, knowing that it would only take up precious time. Instead, he'd left the lab and texted Lestrade the findings that told him exactly who to pick up. He'd rode in a cab to the Yard to observe the interrogation just to be sure the man didn't pull a fast one on the detective inspector. As soon as that was finished with, he decided to go back to the hospital to pick up his favourite pair of tweezers. And yes, of course John as well. Although John could get around London on his own. His tweezers couldn't.

It was 8 am when he'd finally made it through traffic and stepped through the door of the lab. Making straight for the table he'd been working at earlier, Sherlock pocketed his tweezers. When he turned, he was a little surprised at the sight in front of him. John was exactly where he'd left him, albeit a little more spread out and the drool stain on his sleeve larger than when he'd left. But that wasn't what surprised him. Molly was sitting in the same sort of position as John, fast asleep at the table right in front of him. Wasn't she supposed to be working? She'd said she had the early shift. The early shift was at 6. It was now 8 and she was… sleeping?

He took a step closer, moving to her side. Her face was slack, relaxed, her mouth slightly open. But she wasn't drooling like John was. Unlike John, Molly was sort of… cute when she slept. Sherlock shook his head. Where had that thought come from? Without realizing it, he saw his hand move forwards to brush a lock of hair off her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Without her hair in the way, he could see where the tears had streaked down her face earlier and it felt as though somebody had placed a soft blow to his gut. He'd made Molly Hooper cry.

His eyes flicked towards the door as he saw somebody walk past through the small window. Molly would get in trouble if she was caught sleeping instead of working. But how was he supposed to wake her up. When he needed to wake John up, he'd usually throw something at him or else, if he was in a particularly bad or antsy mood, he'd pull out the gun and take aim at the wall. Those options hardly felt suitable when it came to Molly though. Throwing something at her would be… rude? So what then? That's when an idea popped into his head.

Sherlock leaned down, placing his hand on the side of Molly's head and running his thumb across her brow before pressing his lips softly to the skin where his thumb had just left. He spoke softly into her ear. "Molly, it's time to wake up."

She fussed softly, opening her eyes a little at the feel of his lips on her forehead again. Blinking the sleep away, she stared into his eyes as he crouched beside her and smiled a little. It was a few very long seconds before realization hit her. Eyes going wide, Molly quickly sat up and nearly fell off her stool. She would have had Sherlock's arm not slid quickly around her waist to stop her moving back any further. When he was sure she wasn't going to fall, he removed his arm and stood up straight, nodding slightly at her.

Turning away from her, Sherlock walked over to one of the shelves and pulled down a rather thick book. He strode over to the table where John was sleeping, held the book about three feet above the table, and let it drop a few inches from John's head.

"Huh wha…?" John jumped up abruptly, trying to get his brain to work.

"Case is solved John. Time to go home." With that, Sherlock crossed the lab without as much as a glance towards Molly and was out the door, his coat whipping around the corner without waiting for John.